Page 17 of Full Split (Forbidden Goals #8)

WYATT

We wave off Brianne, Sid, and Aimee at the airport and head into the long security check line.

I hate flying, hate airports, hate everything.

Weston is on his phone, probably texting Aimee even though we literally just walked away from her.

Niles has already struck up a conversation with some tall, muscular blond guy and his equally attractive brother.

Or maybe they’re together? I swear I overheard him say they were brothers, but the thinner brunette guy definitely just grabbed the big guy’s ass and then blatantly winked at Niles.

At least these guys look closer to Niles’ age, but that doesn’t do much to make me feel better.

As we make our way through security, I grumble the whole time about having to take off my shoes and belt, only to still get frisked.

The TSA officer says excessive sweat can sometimes set the scanner off.

That wasn’t embarrassing at all. Nor was watching Niles make flirty jokes at the definitely amused, and most likely interested, TSA officer that patted him down after he came through the scanner.

I’m sure my hard look at the way his hand slips a little low on Niles’ waistband doesn’t go unnoticed, considering the way Weston pushes me along to stop me from shooting eye lasers at the son of a bitch.

It might help if Niles didn’t play along like he enjoys the attention.

For fuck’s sake, does he even realize how much he flirts with every person he interacts with?

He’s so goddamn charming. We’re all just victims to it, and I am no exception.

He has been a lot less overt lately, but I definitely hear the innuendos and flirty tone in every other thing he says.

Or maybe I’m just conditioned to hear things from him because I’ve become obsessed.

It’s outrageous. I haven’t been able to stop obsessing for nearly two months, dizzy from the games my mind has been playing with itself, exhausted from fighting the magnetic energy between us. But these last couple of days, it’s been crickets.

Nothing has felt right since we ran into each other the other morning.

He seemed troubled, and I thought he was going to talk to me about it.

Part of me was grateful he got distracted, because I’m a coward and thought it might have something to do with what’s been happening between us, but watching his face relax into a smile when he got that text…

Who was it from? Was it that guy he was supposed to meet up with?

Did he go on that date because I couldn’t say the words that would have stopped him?

Did he kiss that guy? Touch him? Fuck him?

“Take a chill pill.” Weston breaks into my spiraling thoughts.

He means the prescription I have to help me relax, because I hate flying that much.

But the only thing I hate more than flying is not having my wits about me.

I usually reserve the pills for very long flights.

It’s only a couple of hours, then a layover in Atlanta, and then about five hours to San Jose.

There’s no reason I shouldn’t be able to handle that.

I’m just more on edge than usual, and it’s my own personal bullshit keeping me this way.

And well, Niles flirting with the lady at the coffee counter isn’t helping.

He's gay. He doesn’t even like women.

Doesn’t matter, that smile is supposed to be reserved for me .

Wait. What?

What the fuck is wrong with me? Shut it down, Wyatt.

The small plane to Atlanta is bumpy and loud, and I spend the entire flight with a vice grip on the armrests. Our layover is only supposed to be about an hour and a half, but ends up being twice as long due to bad weather farther south.

“I knew we should have flown to California first,” I mutter to myself. I didn’t want to deal with LAX.

Our gate is conveniently located right next to an airport bar, so I end up having a drink and watch while Weston and Niles act like they’re twelve years old instead of twenty-one.

If anything, you’d think their immature behavior would be another reminder of why I should get Niles out of my head.

But for whatever reason, watching them perform stupid stunts does the opposite.

The showcasing of his strength and flexibility, combined with his joy and sense of humor, is so incredibly attractive, I can’t look away.

When the previous flight finally gets on their way, the gate is mostly empty.

It’s not long before Niles and Weston get bored enough to try some of their ridiculous social media challenges.

So now my son is lying flat on his back in the middle of gate D15, with his legs up in the air while Niles tries to balance well enough to do a handstand.

They gather a small crowd of onlookers, who ooh and ahh when they’re in position.

But I know this isn’t where it’s going to end.

Sure enough, Weston grunts out, “Okay, ready?” as he widens his legs. When his arms are far enough apart, Niles slowly brings his legs down until he’s dangling between Weston’s legs in an elevated full split. They wobble a little while the growing crowd claps and snaps pictures of the spectacle.

I watch the entire stunt from my spot at the bar, my gaze zoned in on the corded muscles of Niles’ arms. How strong and lithe he looks. It goes right to my crotch, aided by the relaxing effects of the one drink I’ve already finished.

So when Weston throws up his hands because he knows they’re about to come tumbling down in spectacular fashion, I can’t jump up and run to their aid, afraid someone will notice my situation.

The pose crumbles, and Niles crashes down onto Weston, still in the split position, effectively scissoring my son. Weston cries out, and they roll onto the airport floor, both of them holding their crotches while laughing so hard they’re in tears.

My palm meets my forehead.

They get up and give the dispersing crowd a small bow, then walk over to me. Weston helps block Niles while he readjusts his packer, laughing that it’s a good thing he was wearing foam and not something hard.

At the words ‘something hard’, I swallow down the rest of my drink.

By the time we finally board our plane, I’m more than a little tipsy.

Enough so that takeoff isn’t so rough and I end up falling asleep almost as soon as we reach altitude.

When I blink awake, I’m leaning on Niles, my head on his chest. He has one arm around me, absentmindedly stroking the back of my neck.

I shiver as goosebumps spread across my skin, and Niles looks down, smiling when he sees that I’m awake.

Soft hues of brilliant color filter in the window, but the fathomless deep blue of Niles’ gaze could outshine any sunset.

It takes several moments to gather my wits and sit up, apologizing to Niles for using him as a pillow.

“Anytime,” he says softly, then winks. “You’re welcome to use me any way you like.”

Instinctively, I snap my head up to see if anyone heard him, but Weston is sleeping and no one else is paying us any attention.

We land shortly after, and I keep to myself while we head to baggage claim. While we’re waiting for the shuttle that will take us to our hotel, I notice Niles texting again. I can’t stop myself from peeking over his shoulder, spotting the name Jeff. Looks like they’ve been texting a lot.

Even though I’ve been the one pushing Niles away, it makes me irrationally upset to see him texting another guy.

It’s enough to convince me he’s just toying with me.

I think about everything we’ve shared since the night I picked him up from the bar.

Every tense moment, knowing glance, and smirk he’s directed my way.

How much of that was serious, or is he only playing around? Is there a difference?

Does he actually want me, or is this just a game?

And if he is serious, am I just another conquest? Another daddy for him to play with until he’s bored?

Surely he knows crossing that line would change everything. Right?

It’s going to be a very long ten days.

We learned the hard way to arrive a few days early when we have to travel cross-country or farther.

Our trip to Nationals last year was rough because we didn’t expect the three-hour time difference to affect us.

Since we learned our lesson, we’re in San Jose a few days before the competition begins.

I’m thankful for our foresight. Despite sleeping on the plane, I’m exhausted.

After we check in, we have dinner at the hotel restaurant.

I’m quiet while I listen to Weston and Niles’ conversation about what they’re expecting from different competitors, and what happens next if they make the national team.

Both Niles and Weston have been taking college courses at NC State, but they took the last semester and the summer off to commit to a grueling training and competition schedule.

It was Sid’s idea, and one that has admittedly paid off.

I’ve worried that them staying in North Carolina, where there aren’t any NCAA men’s gymnastics programs, would hold them back.

Neither of them wanted to move so far away to go to school, and as much as I feel guilty about it, I didn’t want them to either.

The plan is for them to go back to school full time if they don’t make the national team, but they’ve been upfront that neither of them particularly want to go back.

Gymnastics is their passion. If this doesn’t work out the way we hoped, they very well may end up moving farther west. They could probably get good scholarships.

But damn, I’d miss them. And it’d probably be too much for me to follow my son and his best friend to whatever college they transfer to.

We’re all hoping for the best at Nationals this week.

After dinner, I head straight for bed, and the boys say they’re going to get a workout in at the hotel gym before they hit the sack.