He’s like the accidentally charming sidekick in a Netflix movie that you’re not supposed to fall in love with, but you do. You fall hard.
So, yeah, I’m that guy. You know, the kind that draws hearts around our names in Sharpie on my Five-Star notebook.
THIS IS JUST A CRUSH, OKAY?
Wes quickly locks his phone.
“I’m cool,” he whispers. “I’m hella cool.”
He raids the refrigerator. It’s obvious Leo has stocked it recently: grapes, sliced carrots, water bottles, deli meats and cheeses, and microwaveable meals. Thankfully, he bought Coke, which Wes grabs for himself, and Nico’s favorite, orange soda. While Wes is certain Leo’s a certifiable dick three-hundred days a year, he finds it lowkey sweet that Leo thinks enough of Nico to buy a whole six-pack of glass-bottled orange sodas. Personally, Wes believes orange soda tastes like Tang-flavored piss.
It’s telling that Wes would sacrifice prime refrigerator shelf space for Nico’s favorite drink.
He’s been whipped for a long, long time.
Nico is hip-to-hip, shoulder-to-shoulder with Wes as they eat. He’s built like Wes—lean but toned. It helps that Nico’s always been active—skateboarding and beach stuff—while Wes can thank Calvin for his gene-lottery win.
“Oh. For you.” Nico passes him a cup of teriyaki sauce, because Wes lives and dies for that stuff.
Cheeks flushed, Wes mumbles, “Thanks.”
Nico’s crooked grin reveals an overbite and the fact that his canines are slightly above average in length. Growing up, Nico was always self-conscious about that. He never flashed one of those toothy smiles in photos. A few of the jerk-faces they went to school with called him a vampire in the halls.
But when it’s just Wes and Nico, he doesn’t hide his teeth. Wes likes that.
“How’d you know I was home?” he asks between bites.
“Your mom,” Nico replies with a shrug. “Also, don’t pretend like I didn’t stalk your flight path on Delta’s app.”
“You did?”
“Duh.” Nico dusts his hands off on his jeans. He yanks out his phone, showing Wes his itinerary on the app. “I could’ve picked you up.”
“You got no wheels,” Wes teases, using an unopened pack of chopsticks to poke Nico in the ribs. They never got the hang of using chopsticks. Plus, Wes is a messy eater with basic tools like forks and spoons.
“I got wheels,” Nico argues with a puckered mouth. “My skateboards.”
“Yeah, no.”
“Whatever.” Nico resumes thumbing through his phone. “Check out this sick sunset.” He holds up the screen for Wes to view. He swipes through a few shots on his camera roll. Crisp images of the sun skidding behind the horizon. Everything is unfiltered. Nature at its greatest. By the angles, Wes presumes Nico took the photos from his bedroom window.
“Put a few up on my Pinterest.”
“Nice,” Wes says with a mouthful of beef and rice. “I like that one.” He points to the last shot: a smear of tangerine representing the sun. Palm tree silhouettes layer the bottom of the photo. It’s this unbelievable composition that Wes can’t look away from.
“Me too,” Nico says softly.
“I’ve missed—” Wes pauses before “you” leaves his mouth. It wouldn’t be weird if he said it, but it feels awkward on his tongue, as if he’d be saying it with a little too much emphasis.
You don’t confess your lifelong crush on a friend with beef and broccoli bits on your shirt.
“The sunsets,” Wes finally says after a gulp of Coke.
“Whatever. This place has nothing on Italy.”
Well, it doesn’t have you. Does Wes’s mind have a reset button?
“True that. Santa Monica sucks balls compared to Siena.”
Nico rolls his eyes, bumping their shoulders. “Keep telling yourself that, Wesley.”
They laugh at each other. Wes knows nothing beats Santa Monica. And nothing’s as great as their friendship, which is why Wes isn’t going to say a damn thing tonight about how kissable Nico’s mouth looks.
Nico slouches on the sofa, leaning into Wes. “Dude, today was brutal. A bunch of ravenous girls almost tore Anna’s face off when she confused Twilight and Vampire Academy.”
“So, by brutal, you mean hilarious?”
“Exactly.” Nico fills Wes in on what he’s missed. It’s not much, but Nico talks as if he’s breaking down the plot to every Marvel film ever made. Wes finds himself smiling at how normal this is. At how normal they are.
“Oh, man,” Nico says between laughs, “and Cooper…”
Cooper’s the new guy. Wes hasn’t met him yet. He’s also not sure if he’s flattered Mrs. Rossi had to hire two employees to replace him while he was away or if he’s been undervalued this whole time. He knows it’s for the sanity of the bookstore, but maybe he’ll suggest an increase in his hourly rate next time they’re alone.
Wes kicks his feet up on the coffee table next to Nico’s, nearly knocking over Savannah’s books. At six-foot-one, Wes has a good four inches on Nico, something Nico’s not fond of. But, thanks to fanfiction, Wes is absolutely obsessed with the height difference and the idea of leaning down to kiss Nico.
“…and he’s cute, leaning toward hot—”
Wes snaps out of his daze. “Say what now?”
“I said he’s kind of—”
“Yeah. Got that,” Wes says, cutting Nico off. He hopes the stiffness in his voice isn’t noticeable. The fact that Nico finds someone else attractive flusters him. But why? Of course Nico can check out another dude who isn’t Wes.
Wes hasn’t made any romcom-style declarations of his infatuation. Yet.
“So, is he, um, hotter than…” Wes is ashamed at how his voice trails off.
“Hotter than you?”
Wes’s face scrunches. Slowly, he nods.
“Hold up. Do you think you’re hot, Wesley?”
“I think.” Wes pauses, tongue stuck to the roof of his mouth. “I think I’m acceptably attractive on a scale of one to that guy who’s in all the teen Netflix movies.” He’s proud of that response. “I also think this city’s—this state’s—full of good-looking guys.” A factual statement.
Nico stretches his arms above his head, then casually drops one around Wes’s broader shoulders. “Well, then he’s just any guy from the city, right?”