Total pages in book: 69
Estimated words: 68293 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 341(@200wpm)___ 273(@250wpm)___ 228(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 68293 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 341(@200wpm)___ 273(@250wpm)___ 228(@300wpm)
“Adam,” Wes whispered, and the man in the mirror whispered it too.
Wes touched his lips to the lips in the mirror, wanting to see what Adam had seen when their lips met, but it was just a blur.
Scoffing at himself, Wes swiped at the mirror with the heel of his hand and went to get dressed.
Adam opened the door brandishing a bottle of gin and already-flushed cheeks. He smiled when he saw Wes and Wes felt as if he were the man in the mirror, looking out at the living, breathing world as if through a pane of glass.
Adam’s expression dimmed at whatever he saw on Wes’ face, and Wes saw exhaustion in the shadows beneath Adam’s smiling eyes.
“What’s wrong?” they said simultaneously.
“Jinx,” Adam said, and gestured him inside.
Wes kicked off his boots and followed Adam into the kitchen.
“You like gin?” Adam asked.
“It’s okay.”
“You want some mac and cheese?”
“Okay.”
“You wanna sit?”
“Okay.”
“Have you recently been stricken with a curse that only allows you to say the word okay?”
Wes smiled.
“Okay,” he teased, and Adam grinned.
“Oh, good. Then, uh, do you want to help me hang approximately one million strands of lights tomorrow that people have sent?”
“Okay,” Wes said.
Adam rolled his eyes. “I was just joking.”
“I know. But I’ll help. You’re a menace on the ladder. Can’t have Gus orphaned, can we?”
He’d been going for levity but swore at himself internally when Adam’s face fell.
“I’m sorry,” Wes said instantly. Not the thing to say about a kid whose mother hadn’t been able to care for her and whose other father had abandoned her. “I didn’t mean...”
Adam shook his head.
“It’s not that. I got home from work today and all Gus wanted to talk about was why Mason wasn’t going to be with us for Christmas. And I don’t want him here, but I’m so furious that he won’t be here. For Gus, I mean. River told me she called him today while they were here and left a message on his voice mail and he never called back.”
Wes felt his earlier anger flare back to life, only now it was directed at Adam’s ex.
Adam put a bowl of macaroni and cheese in front of Wes. Clearly he’d been spending more time with Adam and Gus than he even knew, because the first bite of neon orange goo tasted familiar and homey.
“Here’s to dad problems,” Wes said, toasting Adam with another spoonful.
“Oh my god, you have a father?” Adam’s blue eyes got comically large. “Tell me everything. I assumed you had sprung fully-formed from the head of Zeus or something, from the amount you talk about yourself.”
“Nah, that’s my sister, Athena.”
Adam laughed, then said, “Wait, you don’t really have a sister named Athena do you?”
“No. Lana.”
“Okay, just checking.”
Adam poured something into cups with the gin and handed one to Wes.
“Gin and mac and cheese. Parenthood classic.”
“Cheese,” Wes said, and clinked his bowl with Adam’s.
Adam smiled but his brows wrinkled.
“You’re in a weird mood. Or is this normal for you once you get comfortable with people?”
Wes tried to remember the last time he got comfortable with people. Only Zachary came to mind.
“Weird how?” Wes asked.
“Funny.”
“I’m hilarious,” Wes said seriously.
Adam smirked at him.
“It’s cute you think I’m gonna be distracted from your dad problems.”
Wes shoved more mac and cheese in his mouth and gave Adam an innocent look.
“Here, take this.” Adam picked up the drinks and his bowl and gestured for Wes to bring his. “And come sit down.”
They settled on the couch in the living room, farthest from Gus’ room. Adam turned on the TV where a video of a wood fire played.
“Until I can have a real one,” Adam said.
The fire crackled cozily, and Adam pulled a quilt over them. The first sip of the cocktail—make that concoction, Wes revised as the taste registered—cooled his lips and warmed his stomach. The second tasted slightly less weird.
“What is this?”
“Gin and apple juice. I don’t make cocktails much anymore,” he said sheepishly.
It wasn’t precisely disgusting, so Wes knocked it back and chased it with the last bite of his mac and cheese. Then he took a deep breath and began to tell Adam Mills a story he hadn’t told in fifteen years.
“My dad’s an actor in LA. That’s where I’m from. When I was little he landed a pretty good role on a soap. So he had steady work my whole childhood.”
“Whoa, what soap?” Adam asked excitedly. “Sorry, never mind.” He mimed locking his mouth and throwing away the key.
“When I was twelve, he decided it was time to make the leap to film. It was all he talked about.”
Every night at dinner—when he was home for dinner—and every morning at breakfast, his father detailed each line of his resume that would make him appealing and unappealing. He monologued about his looks, his ability with different accents, his charisma.