15. To See You Smile
15
TO SEE YOU SMILE
DAKOTA
“ A bet?” I narrow my eyes at the smirk hinting across his lips.
Wyatt never smirks. It goes against his sweet demeanor, so I’m shocked to see one forming.
“Yes. A bet.” His lip curls higher, making him look nothing like the flower boy I knew. He looks like… a man now.
There’s really no other way to describe it.
I’ve always liked my men a little more rugged, but there might be something to be said for a gentleman like Wyatt Patterson.
He’s low-maintenance and wears the same flannel he’s had since he was a teenager. He says pardon me instead of excuse me . He’ll never grow a full-on beard because it’s “uncouth,” as he says, but he doesn’t want to shave every day, so he’s always got a bit of sexy stubble. I look down at the dirt under his nails from where he was plowing the flower rows.
He’s not afraid to get his hands a little dirty.
It’s different, thinking of him like this, but the only thing I want is a one-night stand. I need a few more palette cleansers after Boone, and Wyatt may as well have Looking for Commitment tattooed over his heart.
“Why do you want to help me train me so badly?” I drop my voice to a whisper, careful not to wake up little Vienna. The cutie needs her beauty sleep after wailing for who knows how long.
He shifts to me and rests his elbows on his knees, giving me his undivided attention. It’s unnerving. Men typically give me a two-second flirtatious head nod, not a full-blown penetrating stare. “I need to stay in shape this summer for next season, and I owe you one.”
I cast a quick, assessing glance his way, trying to determine if he has some ulterior motive.
Probably not.
Wyatt opens doors for gray-haired ladies and stops to fix a stranger’s tire on the side of the road. My guess is that he’s simply doing this because he’s got a good heart—one of the best.
“Consider this a thank you,” he adds. “I know it’s not ideal having a twelve-month-old move in with you. She’s already got her toys everywhere.”
I typically come home to an empty barn after a ride, and coming off the high of the crowd makes the silence scream. I can hear everything in that quiet—my worries, fears. But not with them here.
“It’s actually nice having the barn a little messier,” I admit. “The place was starting to feel like a hotel, so I’ll take little Vi, crying and all. Sure, she’s a bit of a handful, but what girl isn’t?”
“True.” He studies me, and his voice lowers to a rasp. “Any woman worth having takes a little bit of handling.”
A zing of… something shoots right through me at the rumble in his voice. I can’t stop imagining my sunshine-boy Wyatt handling a woman, so I take a hefty swig of my beer to squash the searing visual.
But it doesn’t work.
Now, I’m looking at his hands, and wondering if they’ve always been that big.
“Anyway…” He clears his throat, biceps popping as he lifts his bo ttle to his lips. “I still owe you, so let me do this for you. It’ll make me feel better ’cause I’m still sorry about leaving.”
I cross my arms over my chest, forming a barrier between us, and my next words are nothing more than a broken whisper, to my embarrassment. “Then why’d you leave like that? You used to be the one person I could always depend on besides my dad.”
He seems to struggle to find the right words.
“After you got engaged to Boone,” he grits out, unwilling to meet my penetrating stare. “He told me to keep my distance from you. Threatened, really. He said it was ‘fuckin’ weird’ that you had a guy best friend and that I followed you around like a ‘pathetic lap dog.’ Those were his exact words. I wanted to give y’all some space. Then Vi happened, and my whole life changed. After that, I felt like too much time had passed to just pick up the phone.”
He looks so guilty that my shoulders drop. It’s hard to stay mad at a man like him, but I can stay angry at Boone for saying that to him.
“Boone never should’ve said that,” I tell him fiercely. “You were the best part of my summers, and don’t believe a word of what he said to you. He was always a controlling prick. I’m not sure what I ever saw in him… I think I was blinded by the hot sex.”
He grimaces and drinks a big gulp of beer, saying nothing.
I thought passion meant you’d have a good relationship, but I think relationships are all about finding someone who balances you out. Passion burns everything and dies out quickly. Only in those ashes do you realize the relationship wasn’t made of anything substantial.
Eventually, Wyatt sets down his beer on the wooden coffee table. “Yeah, I always thought he was all wrong for you.”
“You should’ve told me.”
He gives me a grin that seems a bit sad. “You wouldn’t have listened.”
I salute him with my bottle. “That’s the truth. Once I get something in my head, there’s no reverse, only mistakes.”
Our lips hitch up at the corners, and we’re quiet, just staring for a moment. I always liked the girl I was around Wyatt. She was more carefree. Really, all she did was smile more, but it made a world of difference. Bull riding is such an intense career that I could use more wispy smiles.
“So, how about that bet?” he asks.
I face all challenges head-on, no matter how small, but I pretend to take a slow swig of my empty beer like I’m debating, just to keep Patterson on his toes. “Okay, let’s hear it. What’s the bet?”
He grins as if he knew I’d say that. “We arm wrestle. Like old times when we used to have to decide who had to shovel horse shi—” He glances at the bedroom where his daughter’s sleeping, quickly correcting his choice of words. “Shovel the stalls. If I win, I get to train you. If you win, you don’t have to spend any more time with me.”
The thought of spending less time with Wyatt isn’t all that appealing, and now I’m contemplating throwing the match, but I know myself. I’m too competitive, so I can’t do that.
“You sure you want to do that?” I drawl. “Don’t you remember who always won growing up? Me .”
His eyes flick over my body, and the corners of his lips lift even more. “Yeah. You’re a lot stronger than you look but give me some credit. I bet I could take you now.”
“Not a chance,” I say on reflex.
He arcs a brow. “You sure about that?”
I scan his broad chest, covered only in a white T-shirt that’s straining against his defined muscles, and continue my perusal up to the strong column of his neck, all the way to his wide shoulders. He’s got veins in his biceps now, and he’s not even flexing.
Maybe there’s a slight chance he’ll win .
“Damn, Patterson. All those hockey workouts have really worked to your benefit. It’s no wonder you got someone pregnant.”
Blood rushes to his face at the compliment, but I rest my elbow on the coffee table, wiggling my fingers. “Alright, sugar. You’re on. Let’s arm wrestle.”
His face scrunches in a frown. “One more thing… If I win, you have to stop calling me ‘sugar.’”
“Why?” I ask, confused. “I call everyone that.”
“Exactly. I’m not everyone.” There’s a note to his voice I can’t quite unravel. “So, do we have a deal?”
It’s getting harder and harder to keep my distance from Wyatt, and I’m also practical. He’s one of the best players in the NHL, so if anyone can motivate me, push me to be better, it’s him. I should just throw the match and accept his offer, but I like winning.
I set my beer on the coffee table with a clink. “Fine. You’ve got yourself a deal. Should we do this here in the living room?”
He nods to the front porch. “Let’s go outside so we don’t wake up Vi.”
“Good call. She needs her sleep.”
He checks the baby monitor app on his phone, and we step into the heat of the night. Sweat instantly prickles on my skin as the door closes behind us with a creak. The summer air hums with the serenade of cicadas, vibrating loud enough to ripple the twinkling blanket of stars.
Wyatt steps onto the front porch, eyeing the rickety patio table. He gives it a wary shake. “Think it’s sturdy enough?”
I drop my elbow on the wood. “Guess we’ll find out.”
He wraps his hand around mine, and the familiar brush of his calluses sparks years of rivalry in me. Bets, gambles, games—that used to be how we’d settle any argument, and right now, all I’m thinking about is winning this one.
I grip his hand, determined to beat him, but he only brushes his thumb on the back of my skin. I freeze at the unfamiliar contact. That’s something he never used to do growing up. We would hold hands, but we never interlaced fingers, never let our touches linger. It feels new, exciting, and my heart starts beating a bit harder.
“On three,” Wyatt says, arm flexing. Thumb brushing. Touch lingering. “One.”
I squeeze him tighter. “Two.”
Another hot brush. “Three.”
I clench his hand with all my strength, and he does the same. The veins in his biceps pop, straining with tension as he seems to put all his force into our wrestling match. I’m strong, but shit, he’s a lot stronger than he used to be. Sweat beads on my forehead as I muster all my energy to win.
“That all you got, Cutler?” Wyatt grunts.
“Not even close, Patterson,” I grit out, trying my hardest to put all my force into the match, but it’s not enough.
I lose an inch.
Then another.
And another.
Until finally, the back of my hand smacks against the table. “Dammit!”
Wyatt leaps from the chair, whooping in victory, while I slump forward in defeat. “Better be ready at eight AM sharp tomorrow.” He claps his hands together. “We’ll start with farmer’s walks since your grip strength clearly needs some work.”
A smile breaks across his face, quick and bright, and I stare at it like I do every sunrise. Seeing that genuine grin stirs something in me that I thought I forgot, and suddenly, I don’t feel all too bad about losing.
Wyatt always made me notice I was breathing. Everyone breathes, but it’s this innate, mechanical thing. Not with him. He makes breathing feel like a luxury, slow, pleasurable, relaxing.
With Boone, everything between us was go-go-go, hopping from rodeo to rodeo to compete. He always wanted to go for the bigger competitions, so his competitive spirit amplified mine. My life was all about bull riding, and there was no room left for anything, or any one , else.
It became exhausting. I barely noticed I was breathing with Boone, took it for granted, but with Wyatt, life seemed to move slow enough for me to sit and enjoy inhaling the country air.
“Damn, sug—” I stop, remembering my promise. “Patterson. When did you get to be so strong?” My knuckles pop as I flex out my hand.
He throws me a sidelong glance. “Dakota.”
“What?”
He keeps on staring at me with that same playful sparkle in his eyes. “Dakota,” he repeats as if he’s trying to explain something glaringly obvious.
“What?” I grumble, though the fight's gone out of my words. “I should’ve won. I always used to win.”
He leans against the porch railing, chewing on his bottom lip like he used to do when he was thinking hard about something. After a few breaths, he comes to a decision about whatever is on his mind. “So, here’s the thing… I might’ve let you win a time or two back in the day,” he admits sheepishly.
My mouth drops, and, for a moment, I’m speechless.
That ends quickly.
“What?” I nearly shout, but then remember Vienna sleeping, so I lower my voice. “How many times?”
All he gives me is a casual shrug.
I tilt my head and lean in close, so close that the tip of my nose nudges him. He’s still got that wild and sweet mountain laurel scent clinging to his massive body. I always loved the way he smelled, so he still must wear the same cologne. There seems to be more of the smell because there’s more of him.
I give his chest a poke, right above his heart, and I'll be damned if his pecs aren’t hard enough to break a nail .
“Patterson,” I demand, leaning toward him. He backs into the barn door. “How. Many. Times?”
He runs a hand through his blond hair, a rueful grin playing across his lips. “Just a few times. Not that many.”
“What!” I gasp, lightly slapping his chest. “Why would you do that? Did you like shoveling horse shit?”
He meets my gaze and holds it, never once looking away. “No. I hated that, but…”
Slowly, so very slowly, he lifts his thumb and strokes the corner of my dimple. The movement is so unexpected that I lurch back, and when I hear the next words out of his mouth, I regret jerking away so fast.
His teasing grin fades faster than a Texas sunset, all too quickly, and then—it’s gone. “I let you win because it always made you smile, and I would’ve done just about anything to see those dimples.”