Page 110 of Wild Eyes
Leaning against the car behind her, a lean man with hair thinning at his crown shakes his head and stares up at the sky. He has a no-nonsense, tough-love vibe about him. “They don’t have the same shirt, Greta. Thatisthe same shirt.”
“We shouldn’t be presumptuous, Andy. It’s a nice shirt. Lots of people probably have it.”
“Ask me how I know that’s the same shirt,” he grumbles, while Greta blinks back at me, wearing an apologetic smile.
And me?
I want to dig my own grave right at my feet, crawl in, and cover myself with dirt. Because I’m positive these are West’s parents.
My lips pop open, then close. I don’t know how many times I try—and fail—to find any words to say to these people.
Andy is right—it’s pretty obvious what they’ve walked in on.
I settle on “Hi, I’m Skylar.” I extend a hand, and the woman takes it.
Her enthusiasm is genuine when she responds with “I’m West’s mom, Greta. It’s such a pleasure to meet you.” Then she drops her voice to a stage whisper. “That’s his dad, Andy. I’m sorry about him.” She hikes a thumb over her shoulder. “All bark, no bite. He’s grumpy because I’m keeping us from our pickleball time slot.” She shifts to peek around me. “Is West home?”
“Oh, yup.” I nod rapidly, eager for him to come bail me out. “West,” I call into the house.
Within moments, he saunters to the front door.
And tosses an arm right over my shoulder.
All casual.
Like we do this all the time.
“Hey, Ma.” He leans forward and presses a kiss to her cheek. “How ya doin’? I see you guys met Skylar.”
“We did, and we’re good.” She grins at him, reaching out to rub a hand over his arm. “Just wanted to check in on you.”
“She’s snoopin’,” Andy calls out, scowling at his wife.
“I am not.” She spins on him. “People were talking after the fair yesterday, and I wanted to make sure he was okay.”
“Woman, we pulled up to underwear and a condom on the driveway. We both knew he was just fine. Now let’s go. I didn’t get you that fake ID for nothing.”
I go rigid and wonder if it’s possible to bury myself alive twice.
West?
West laughs. “You’re both snoopin’. Call before you stop by next time. I have a phone. And what’s this about a fake ID? I thought that was my move.”
“Still have three of them in a box at home, ya fuckin’ shit disturber,” his dad mutters.
“Your dad got me a fake ID.”
West blinks, and I’m grateful we’ve all just brushed over the panties and condom. “Why?”
“Because the only good pickleball time slots at the rec center are for fifty-five plus. And I’m only fifty-three, which means we can’t go together, so he paid a tourist who looked similar to me for hers.”
“I don’t enjoy spending time with other people, and you keep telling me I need to exercise,” Andy grumbles. Although he seems irritated, there’s something incredibly sweet about the sentiment.
My hand finds its way up over my mouth to cover my amusement. After all, my ripped underwear are mere feet away—I have nothing to be smug about.
West looks between them in total shock. “But everyone knows who you are.”
“It was enough to shut them up.” Andy holds his hand out to his wife from where he stands on the gravel driveway. “Can we go now? We’re gonna be late.”
