Total pages in book: 115
Estimated words: 112903 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 565(@200wpm)___ 452(@250wpm)___ 376(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 112903 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 565(@200wpm)___ 452(@250wpm)___ 376(@300wpm)
I nod. “I’ll keep my eyes peeled.”
“Good. I’m gonna hit the bathroom. Then you want to head home? Or are you and Wyatt—”
“Mom.”
She holds up her hands. “Okay, okay. I won’t ask. One final piece of wisdom: people will make you happier than a job ever will.”
Mom heads down the hallway. I head for the sink. I’m turning on the faucet and opening the dishwasher when I hear the door open.
Wyatt steps inside the kitchen.
Stomach dropping, I take in the way his hair curls out from underneath his hat. The sleeves of his jacket and shirt are pushed up, revealing his thick, tattooed forearms. They’re bronze from the sun and covered in a furry sheen of hair.
I drop the plate I’m rinsing. It lands with a clatter in the sink.
Wyatt looks up with a smirk. “Just who I was hoping to see. Sawyer said you were up here, helpin’ your mama.” He glances across the kitchen.
“She’s in the bathroom.”
“Good.” He strides over to the sink and melts his front to my back, placing his hands on either side of mine on the lip of the sink. “You know I wanna take you home tonight, right?” he murmurs against my neck.
A wave of longing crashes through me at the feel of his body surrounding mine. Thick veins crisscross the back of his hands. His chest feels impossibly huge, impossibly solid as he breathes into me.
“You know I wanna come home with you, right?” I turn off the water, mentally cataloguing everything I’m going to throw in my overnight bag. Toothbrush, deodorant, the least ratty pajamas I own. I’m definitely leaving my retainers at home. Should I bring a razor in the off chance I stay more than one night?
Wyatt gives my neck a quick, tiny bite. “I need you to know it’s killin’ me not to invite you over. But you come with me, I’m not gonna be able to keep my hands off you. And I want to be intentional. Dinner first. Then—”
“Fucking.” I get what he’s saying, but my heart still falls a little.
“You got a mouth on you, Sunshine.”
“You got some nerve, handsome, making me wait. When do you propose we go on this date?”
“Friday. I know Frisky Whiskey is taking a break on account of your drummer having pneumonia. My place. I’ll make dinner.”
Laughing, I turn around in the circle of his arms and put my hands on his chest. “But you don’t cook.”
“Lotsa firsts happening these days.” Wyatt doesn’t budge, keeping me trapped against the sink so that our faces are inches apart.
Less when he leans his weight into his hands, flattening his hips against mine.
“What can I bring?”
The need between my legs coils tighter as he hovers over me, a massive, smirking slab of cowboy. “Just the shit you’ll need for a sleepover. Forget the jammies though. We don’t wear those at my house.”
“Okay.”
“Okay?” His eyes get this hazy look in them before he leans in and kisses me. “Aw, Sunshine, you got me feelin’ a whole lot better than okay.”
“And you have me feeling like I have the world’s worst case of sexual frustration. You keep doing this to me.”
His turn to laugh. “Patience pays off.”
“You’d better put your money where your mouth is, cowboy.”
“Lucky for you, I’m real good with my money and my mouth.” He kisses me again. “Friday. Five o’clock. I’ll come pick you up.”
CHAPTER 21
Wyatt
ALWAYS BE MY FIRST
I wonder what Mom would think if she could see me now.
I’m wearing bright yellow rubber gloves. I’m on my hands and knees, a toothbrush in one hand and a spray bottle of Clorox in the other as I go to town, scrubbing the grout on the bathroom’s tile floor.
I know she’d smile. She’d definitely approve of all the effort I’ve put in this week, preparing for my date with Sally.
Mama, you raised me right. Mostly, anyway.
Go figure, a toothbrush really does the job. It’s a trick Mom taught us when we were doing our chores. Cash and I always got assigned bathroom duty, so I have plenty of practice.
Falling back on my haunches, I survey my work. I’m sweating and I smell like bleach, but dang if the bathroom don’t sparkle and shine. The vanity is spotless, and so is the old claw-foot bathtub that does double duty as a shower. I even cleaned the windows and the walls and organized the vanity drawers to boot.
My heart twists. I really wish Mom were here so I could run my plans by her for the date. She’d have so many ideas.
Mom would love the fact that Sally and I are dating. She always adored Sally. But what would Mom have to say about my fears of letting my guard down?
Take your head out of your ass and realize not every relationship ends in tragedy.