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I thought it would be hard, but it isn’t. One, I love bragging about my kid. And two, Lucas’s thirst for information and nonstop questions keep the conversation flowing.
“Decent grades?”
“As and Bs, yeah. He struggled with math when he was younger, but I found an amazing tutor. Now he’s killing it.”
“What does he do for fun?”
“The usual. Gaming is huge. Sometimes I think if it weren’t for soccer and skateboarding, or me forcing him out of the house on weekends, he’d live in a cave. But he plays mostly with his friends over headsets, so at least he’s being social while staring at a screen.”
Lucas laughs. “Can you imagine if we’d had something like that?”
I shake my head, smiling dryly. “We’d have wound up in a lot less trouble.”
“Ha! We never got in trouble. We were too smart for that.”
I gape. “Are you forgetting the hours upon hours of detention?”
The smile he throws me is wicked. “You mean your hours of detention.”
He’s right. Lucas always found a way to charm whatever teacher was in charge of us, and nine times out of ten managed to weasel his way into an early exit.
Finally, Lucas closes the grill and brings me dinner. The steak is perfect, the vegetables just how I like them, crispy and full of flavor. After scarfing down the food, I sit back with a groan. Lucas glances at my plate, then looks at me with twinkling eyes.
“I see not everything has changed. You still eat like a caveman.”
“Since when are you the food consumption police?”
He grins. “I’m glad you liked it.”
I shrug. “It wasn’t bad.”
He chuckles, pushing his own plate away—which, I notice, is substantially fuller than mine.
“Now you’re just shaming me.”
“Au contraire,” he says easily. “I was nervous-eating all afternoon.”
Before I can respond to that, he finally lifts the beer I brought him from the kitchen. I hold my breath, trying not to stare too pointedly, while the soles of my feet tingle in anticipation.
“A toast, Peapod!” he says, voice pitched for maximum drama. “To awkward encounters, old friends, and toothpaste in swim caps!”
My face flames at the challenging gleam in his eye. “You knew that was me? You, uh, never said anything.”
He laughs maniacally. “Because I was one step ahead of you. I knew something was coming my way after the tampon incident, so I made sure to clean that thing before every practice and meet.”
Remembering a pencil case full of tampons—that I hadn’t noticed until after pulling one out for a test—I say mildly, “I never did repay you for that.”
“Oh, no.” He chuckles, wariness flashing in his eyes. “We’re adults now. No more pranks.”
“Fair enough.” I lift my bottle and clink it against his, then take a swallow. Still eyeing me, Lucas does the same.
Two seconds later, he spits his mouthful all over his plate. I watch gleefully as he leaps to his feet, chair falling backward. Ridiculous grunting noises come from him as his eyes swing wildly. He grabs a glass of water from the table and chugs it. When that doesn’t help, he tanks my water, then the rest of my beer.
“What the fuck was that!” he cries, the words thick and slurred.
My grin of victory fades.
His eyes stream with tears and his face is bright red. With a pitiful moan, he pulls up the hem of his shirt and scrapes it over his tongue and around his mouth. My growing guilt hits pause as I stare at his exposed stomach, tanned and ridged, with a trail of dark gold hair disappearing into his low-slung waistband.
