Page 118 of The One Month Boyfriend (Wildwood Society)

Silas

I’m pouringtortilla chips into a bowl at my kitchen island when Wyatt comes down the stairs, then leans on his elbows across from me and grins. I stop, mid-pour, because that’s suspicious.

“What?”

“Looking good,” he says.

“Thank you.”

“Glowing,” he goes on.

“I moisturize.”

“Is that it?” he says. “Come on. Who’s got you smiling like that, baby?”

“Wyatt,” Gideon says as he comes into the kitchen. “What the fuck? Leave Silas alone. And don’t call him baby, you know he hates that.”

“No, you hate that,” I remind Gideon, because he does. “I’m neutral on Wyatt’s weird terms of endearment.”

“You shouldn’t be.”

“They’re not weird. Baby is an extremely standard form of affectionate address, and I feel affectionately about you assholes,” Wyatt says as I grab the chips and salsa and walk into the living room.

“Maybe if you were sleeping together,” Gideon points out as he crouches in front of my fridge. “It’s a little weird as friends.”

I shoot Gideon a glance, but he’s very involved in my crisper drawer. We both know that Wyatt and Lainey have a habit of calling each other baby after a few drinks, though I’m not sure I feel like bringing it up right now.

“Fine,” Wyatt says, parking himself on my couch. “Who’s got you smiling like that, bro? Oh, hello there. You’re looking fluffy as ever.”

“Thank you,” Gideon says, and Wyatt snorts as he gives Beast chin scritches.

“Barry sends her affectionate regards,” he tells my cat, and Beast mrrps in response.

“You think they remember each other?” I ask as Gideon comes into the living room and hands me a cherry soda.

“Probably,” says Wyatt, who’s now vigorously scritching with both hands, chips forgotten. “I mean, she’s her mom.”

“Cat memories aren’t that good,” Gideon says as he puts another soda down in front of Wyatt. “It actually creates inbreeding problems in feral colonies, because once a cat reaches adulthood it won’t necessarily remember who its mother was, so the males will often mate with—”

We’re saved from further details of upsetting cat incest by Javier coming through my front door like a hurricane, already talking at top speed, waving around a plastic bag in one hand and a baking dish in the other. He’s got holes in the knees of his jeans and paint on his shirt, dots freckling the deep copper of his arms.

“Sorry I’m late,” he says, and holds up the dish he’s got in one hand. It wobbles, but he lowers it before full disaster can strike. “I brought brownies.”

“Did you remember the sugar this time?” Gideon asks, and Javier sighs dramatically.

“I try to do one nice thing for you people, and it backfires forever,” he says, walking into my kitchen and putting the brownies right in the middle of the counter that I specifically cleared off so I could use it for food prep later.

“Javi,” I say, and point at him. He freezes next to the breakfast bar, one eyebrow raised. “Come on.”

Javier blinks at me.

“His thing about counter space,” Wyatt calls around a mouthful of chips.

“Right. Sorry,” Javier says, then carefully slides the pan all the way over to one side of the counter.

It’s… an improvement, I guess. He grabs a cherry soda from the fridge, twists the cap off, and is drinking it as he heads into the living room and joins Wyatt on the couch in front of the snacks.

“That’s the spicy one,” Wyatt says around a mouthful, pointing at a container of salsa, and Javier digs right in.