Page 1 of Full Split (Forbidden Goals #8)

Shifting into park, I shoot off a quick text.

ME: Here. Out front.

The message is marked as read almost immediately, but there's no response.

A minute later, the bar door swings open, and Niles steps out.

He sees my car, then looks over his shoulder and makes a face, quickening his steps and practically running across the sidewalk to get to me.

His outfit makes my throat go dry. His tight black jeans might as well be painted on, paired with an almost see-through white mesh shirt.

The fabric clings to his skin, so transparent that the faint outline of surgical scars can be seen through the material.

I can make out every defined muscle on his trim body.

I don't know what I expected when Weston asked me to pick Niles up, but this…

this wasn't it. It's a sharp reminder that my son and his best friend aren't kids anymore.

They're grown men, with lives that exist outside of my understanding or control. Otherwise, I wouldn’t be here picking Niles up outside a bar, saving him from an apparent date gone wrong.

Niles yanks open the passenger door and flings himself inside, slamming the door harder than necessary.

I shift into drive just as the bar door bursts open again.

Before I can pull away from the curb, a man comes out, looking around with a confused expression.

His eyes find Niles and his expression twists, face red and angry.

He throws his arms up and yells something, waving his arms like he expects me to stop the car, which I don't. In the rearview mirror, the man gestures angrily, mouthing expletives like they might catch Niles' attention and lure him back.

Niles isn't even looking. He's watching me instead, cheeks pink with exertion, or perhaps embarrassment.

"What are you doing here?"

My eyebrow raises. "West said you needed a ride, and he was too far away to get to you quickly enough."

"So he sent you?"

"Is that a problem?" I look pointedly at the seatbelt Niles is still holding, and he buckles it before we turn onto the main road leading out of the city.

"No, I—It's fine," he stammers. "Thanks for coming. I appreciate it."

"What was that about?" I ask after several tense moments of silence.

"Just a bad date."

"Bad enough to call for backup?"

"It wasn't really an emergency or anything. I would have called a rideshare if West had told me he was busy. But yeah, I didn't want to hang around."

"What happened?" I ask, ready to turn the car around and kick the dude's ass if I have to. Not that Niles needs me to defend his honor. But I would.

"Nothing too exciting. It was just a bad hookup. It happens."

A bad hookup. The casual way he says it makes something uneasy settle in my chest.

"Was that guy who followed you your date?” My brow furrows, although I try to maintain a calm demeanor. “He looked, uh… older ."

Niles shrugs, arms crossing tight over his chest. "And?"

My mouth turns down at the corners.I absolutely don’t want him to think I’m judging him. But that guy looked my age, maybe older.

"Just surprised. That's all."

He mutters something I don't catch.

"What was that?"

Turning his body slightly towards me, he twists his lips, possibly trying to decide if he should tell me anything.

"I said, it's your fault." His voice is louder and laced with sarcasm and something else… He’s teasing me, but I’m not quite sure I understand why.

All I know is it makes my heartrate pick up.

My hands tighten on the wheel. "Come again?"

Niles snorts a little and turns fully towards me, legs pulled up on the seat, one hand supporting his head like we're having a casual, late-night chat and not whatever this is. His smirk is wicked.

"I like older men," he says, shrugging. "And I was just pointing out that it's your fault."

“Why the hell would that be my fault?”

“Because the only guys I want all have something in common with you. Don’t act like you’re surprised.”

My heart drops to my stomach and my mouth falls open, but nothing comes out. I close it, sealing my lips together as I try to swallow, blinking rapidly and pointedly keeping my eyes on the road.

I've known Niles since he was a kid. He and Weston used to camp in our backyard.

I taught him to swim in our pool, took him with us when Weston showed interest in gymnastics.

I drove them to every early morning workout and practices, clapped and cheered them on at every meet.

As teenagers, they'd laze around the house and stay up all night whispering about girls or guys they liked, eating half the groceries every time he slept over, which was a lot.

Niles has always had a wicked sense of humor, full of overconfident charm and sarcasm. But I never took him seriously.

Suddenly, all of that feels like a lifetime ago.

It’s like they grew into men overnight, and I'm only just now noticing. It’s not just the outfit, or picking him up from a hookup that’s getting to me.

It’s the way he’s looking at me, sitting too close—gorgeous and grown and entirely too self-aware.

He's watching me with the same cocky grin he used to wear after sticking a difficult landing or nailing a routine that, in my overcautious nature to protect him, I’d warned against.

The unfamiliar awareness of him has my face burning. Worse than that—there's a heat radiating low in my gut, an unwanted twitch that has me shifting in my seat. Niles notices me squirm. Of course he does.

I've always been aware of how closely he watches me.

His mom calls it hero worship, not that I think I'm deserving of such a title.

Brianne is a single mother who worked a lot.

Niles didn't grow up with a father figure, and from the time he and Weston were in kindergarten together, they were attached at the hip.

I was such a young parent, barely out of my teens around that time, and it was comforting for Weston to have a playmate.

So he was always included in whatever activity we were doing, including tagging along to the gym I worked at until I finished my degree.

Niles' grin widens. "Relax, Daddy . I'm not gonna climb into your lap or anything."

I swallow dryly. "Don't talk like that," I mutter.

"Why not? It's the truth. You know I think you're hot."

"Niles—"

"Wyatt," he says, mocking my warning tone.

It's true he's always teased me about being so much younger than the other parents, and he's made some general statements about my looks over the years. But they were just jokes. Weren’t they?

"I've kind of been in love with you for as long as I can remember. And I would one-hundred percent let you do terrible, awful things to me naked."

I choke when he stretches his leg out, the bottom of his leather boot brushing my thigh deliberately.

"Lighten up, Wyatt. I know you're off limits. I'll keep my hands to myself like a good boy."

I blink rapidly, trying to process. I don't know what to do or say or where to look other than at the road in front of me. I just keep my mouth shut and drive.

And hope to hell he can't hear how hard my heart is pounding.