Chapter 12 Blake
BLAKE
ANNALIESE AND THE BOYS STAY well into the night.
When it gets colder, we move the party from the dock to the great room, where we play drunk charades and a game of “never have I ever” that devolves so fast that Annaliese and I immediately say we’re done.
Her friends are horndogs. Coming from the enchanting Kuri, it’s not that bad, but the other two are very broey.
Every time Clay says something flirtatious, it just sounds gross.
And Preston reminds me too much of Isaac.
He has his red hair and the same bulky build.
Speaking of my ex, he just texted, determined to stand his ground on the escalating Hot Boi situation.
THE CHEATER
Just buy a new one. I don’t see the big fucking deal.
I want the one I already bought.
THE CHEATER
Like it was even your money. Daddy bought it for his princess.
The accusation has me fuming. Low blow. I could easily buy a new toaster, but that’s not the point.
“I still can’t believe you broke up with an NFL player,” Annaliese remarks as she watches me rage text my ex.
“Maybe he’ll get cut in training camp,” I say hopefully.
“With that monster rookie contract they gave him? No way.” Clay drops his empty bottle on the coffee table and gets to his feet. “Need another beer.”
On the other end of the couch, Preston rolls his eyes at me. “I don’t get why you ended it. All professional athletes cheat.”
Annaliese stares at him in shock. “That doesn’t make it okay, Pres.”
“Just saying, it’s part of the lifestyle. You think all their wives and girlfriends aren’t aware of it? They just turn the other cheek because they want their flashy diamonds and their cars and mansions.”
“Yeah, well, I don’t want any of that,” I retort. “I want someone who doesn’t cheat on me.”
“Honestly, I’m surprised you were even interested in being part of that lifestyle,” Annaliese tells me, sounding bemused. “You don’t seem like the type who enjoys the spotlight.”
“I mean, I don’t love it,” I admit. “But I was never really in the spotlight with Isaac. I don’t think that would’ve changed once he started in the NFL.
” I offer a little shrug. “I was his plus-one. The woman behind the man. Nobody ever paid much attention to me when I was with him…” I trail off, suddenly disturbed by my own words.
But it’s true, I realize. I was Isaac’s arm candy, for lack of a better word. The cute, unassuming sorority girl he could bring to events, who looked good in a dress and could chat with the other girlfriends but never hog his spotlight.
Fuck.
Is that what drew him to me? For some reason, that notion bothers me.
Annaliese snorts loudly. “I’d rather die than be some man’s plus-one. This day and age, it’s time for the man to be behind the woman.”
“Oh, I’d love to be behind you, Liese,” Preston declares, and she flicks up her middle finger.
I catch a blur of motion from the kitchen. Clay is grabbing a beer from the fridge. But rather than rejoin us, he leaves the bottle on the counter and wanders toward the stairs.
That instantly raises my hackles. I made it clear they can’t go roaming around the house, and while I’d like to say I trust these guys by virtue of them being friends with Annaliese, I don’t.
Sadly, it’s not unheard of for guests to try to steal memorabilia from my dad and Garrett’s study.
It’s happened before. And we have valuable photographs and a few framed jerseys hanging on the walls upstairs.
“I’ll be right back,” I say, cutting Annaliese off midsentence. “I don’t want Clay wandering around the house by himself. I’m gonna go get him.”
“Yeah, go get him, tiger,” Preston drawls.
I track Clay to the top of the stairs, which elicits a rush of annoyance. “What are you doing?”
He offers a sheepish look. “Sorry. I was following the trail of pictures. I wanted to see this last one.” He gestures to a frame.
I relax slightly. Heading up the stairs, I join him on the spacious landing where he’s admiring a photograph of my father and Garrett Graham in their Bruins jerseys, arms thrust up in victory as their teammates celebrate on the ice all around them.
This was the first time they won the Stanley Cup together.
“It’s so sick that you’re from, like, hockey royalty,” Clay tells me, stars in his eyes.
“Honestly, I’m not much of a hockey fan,” I admit.
“Bullshit.”
“It’s true. I know everything about the game, but it’s not something I’d put on in my spare time.”
He cocks his head. “So what do you put on in your spare time?”
I shrug. “Sappy movies that make me cry or those reality TV competition shows. And I listen to a lot of podcasts.”
“Do you watch porn?”
Ew. Who asks somebody that?
“Not really,” I say.
He grins. “That’s not a no.”
I grit my teeth and take a step away. “We should go back downstairs.”
He reaches for my hand. “Wait.”
I stifle a sigh. “What?”
“You’re saying you don’t feel this thing between us? We’ve been flirting all day.”
“I mean, you’ve been flirting all day.”
His eyes flash. “So it was one-sided?”
Yes, I want to snap. My parents encouraged me to always be blunt and clear about my intentions. Don’t leave it up to the other person to guess, my dad always says. If you’re not interested, you’re not interested.
But my father is a man, and he’s never had to deal with drunk dudes whose egos get all bent out of shape when you reject them. It’s a very delicate line you have to walk as a woman.
“Let’s go downstairs,” I repeat.
I blink and both his hands are on my waist, trying to tug me closer. “I think you’re beautiful, Blake.”
“Thank you,” I mutter while swiftly stepping out of his grasp.
“Come on, one kiss.”
“No.”
“Just one—”
He’s suddenly hauled backward, releasing a startled yelp like a puppy that just got kicked.
“She said no.”
I turn to find Wyatt on the landing, his green eyes burning with anger and disgust.
Clay recovers quickly, putting on a careless smirk. “How about you don’t speak for the girl?”
“How about you don’t touch the woman when she tells you she doesn’t want you to touch her?”
“Oh, fuck off. Like you haven’t been touching her when it’s only the two of you here,” Clay sneers. “So you can hook up with her, but no one else can—”
Before he can finish, Wyatt slams him against the wall.
I dart out of the way, panic flying up my throat as Clay’s back collides with the picture he was admiring.
The frame slides off the wall and clatters down the staircase, stopping halfway.
Wyatt doesn’t pay it any attention. He’s busy restraining Clay by the collar, his forearm pressed on the guy’s throat.
Speaking in a cold, deadly voice I’ve never heard from him, he says, “It’s time for you to get the hell out of my house.”
When Clay struggles against the hold, Wyatt jams his arm deeper into his windpipe.
“I’m sorry, what was that? You were agreeing with me that it’s time for you to go?”
Clay’s eyes start watering as he gasps for air.
“Wyatt,” I murmur, and he releases Clay in a heartbeat, as if controlled by that one soft syllable.
The other guy coughs, clutching his throat. “You’re a fucking psycho, dude.”
Macho man that he is, Clay elbows Wyatt as he stomps toward the stairs. Then he doubles down on douchery by kicking the fallen photograph and sending it skittering. The frame hadn’t broken during the initial fall. Now it does, shattering to pieces at the bottom of the staircase.
I press my lips together, then glance at Wyatt. “Let me talk to Annaliese. You stay up here and calm down.”
Jaw tight, he stalks toward the bedrooms.
Downstairs, I find the three guys loitering near the back doors while Annaliese gathers the empty bottles from the table.
“You don’t have to do that,” I tell her.
At the sound of my voice, she abandons the bottles. “Clay said Wyatt attacked him?” she exclaims.
“No. Wyatt was defending me,” I say stiffly, shooting a glare in Clay’s direction. He glares back, unrepentant.
Her eyes widen. “Defending you?” Now she turns to glare at him. “What the hell did you do, Clayton?”
“Nothing,” says the surly-faced guy. “Just didn’t realize we were hanging out with a cocktease.”
“Cocktease?” Annaliese roars. “Don’t make me smack you upside the head!”
I hide a smile. “It’s fine,” I assure the angry woman. “Just a little misunderstanding. Clay thought we were vibing, but we weren’t.” I flick my eyes at him. “Right, Clay?”
After a beat, he mutters, “Right.”
The other two boys wear apologetic expressions as they say goodbye to me. Kuri thanks me for a great day, which, honestly, it sort of was before Clay decided to ruin it with his creepiness.
Annaliese waits until the three guys are outside before turning to me with a sigh. “I’m sorry about Clay. He gets a bit aggro when he’s drunk.”
“Clearly.”
“I hope he didn’t go too far.”
“No. Just went in for a kiss. Wyatt probably overreacted.”
Her lips twitch.
“What?” I say.
“He didn’t overreact, Logan. He was marking his territory.”
My forehead creases. “Who? Wyatt?”
“Oh yeah. That boy has it bad.”
A laugh pops out of my mouth. “Trust me, he doesn’t.”
“Trust me,” she mimics. “He was sneaking looks at you all day. Very unplatonic looks, I might add. He’s into you. But sure, keep denying it. Anyway.” Annaliese flashes an earnest smile. “I loved chilling with you today. Next time we’ll go out just you and me, yeah? The boys are leaving on Monday.”
“Sounds good.”
I lock up after her and watch as the small group heads down to the pier, where their boat is docked. Annaliese only had one drink this entire day, so I trust her to get the three drunks home safely.
Even though it’s one a.m. and it could probably wait till morning, I finish gathering the empties and put them in the bin under the sink because I’m a little neurotic when it comes to cleaning.
Then I notice the table looks sticky, and so does the counter, and…
Fine, I might be a little more than a little neurotic.
I spend the next fifteen minutes sweeping up the broken picture frame and wiping down every surface on the main floor before finally trudging up the stairs.
Getting to the yellow room requires passing the blue room, and I hesitate in front of Wyatt’s door. Then I knock.
“Yeah,” he says. It’s not exactly a come in, but it’s not a go away.
I open the door and peek in. He’s standing at the dormer window, his gaze fixed on the lake, but he turns around when I enter.
“You okay?” he asks.
“I’m fine. He didn’t do anything.”
“He touched you without your permission.”
“And you took care of it. Although choking him was a bit extreme.”
That gets me a crooked smile. “I wasn’t choking him. He could’ve gotten out of that hold if he really tried.”
I toy with the edge of my braid, and those heavy-lidded eyes fixate on me now. Following the small motions of my hand as I twist the braid. Unlike Annaliese, I did have more than one drink. At least three LMDs. And I feel it in my blood, in the way my body heats under Wyatt’s thorough scrutiny.
“Can I do something?” His voice is soft and seductive.
My pulse races. “Do what?”
He slowly closes the distance between us, his bare chest gleaming in the darkness. I don’t know why he doesn’t have the light on. The moonlight is the only thing illuminating the bedroom, casting shadows over his chiseled features.
He’s into you.
I suddenly hear Annaliese’s voice in my head, insisting that Wyatt has it bad for me. But if he does, he would just make a move. Wyatt’s not shy. He doesn’t play coy. I’ve seen him flash that careless smile dozens of times to get a woman into bed.
When he reaches for my braid, his fingers brush mine, and an electric shock travels through me.
“Can I just…undo this?”
The braid, I realize. He means my braid. It’s suddenly hard to breathe. I manage to swallow. “Sure?”
Oh God. Maybe this is the move.
Is he making a move?
Time stands still. I don’t know what’s happening, and the not knowing only adds to the thrill.
To the danger. I’m standing in Wyatt Graham’s bedroom while his long fingers pull the elastic off and begin to untwine my plaited hair.
When those fingers thread through my hair, tugging lightly, a shiver skitters down my spine.
I can breathe again, but it’s shallow. Strained.
The spot between my legs tingles wildly.
This is turning me on. He’s not even doing anything sexual, and I’m turned on.
He remains focused on my face, but I don’t know if he’s actually seeing me. It’s that faraway gleam Wyatt gets sometimes, like he’s caught a glimpse of something godly and mysterious that we mere mortals can never tap into.
Finally, my hair is loose. He captures the long strands in his fist and gently moves it aside so it’s cascading over one shoulder.
The silence stretches between us like a live wire.
He stares at my mouth now. I wonder if he’s thinking the same thing I am. That all it would take is an inch, maybe two, and there’d be no more pretending this is just friendship.
“Wyatt…”
The sound of his name doesn’t pull him out of the trance. I don’t think he’s drunk, and I only saw him smoke half a joint much earlier in the day. As he steps closer and exhales slightly, all I smell is the mint of his toothpaste and the scent of his shampoo.
My lips feel dry, so I lick them. The quick motion captures his attention. My heart takes off in a wild gallop when he rubs his thumb over my bottom lip before curling his hand around my jaw. He’s so much taller that I have to peek up at him.
I don’t know what he’s seeing, but he whispers, “Fucking beautiful.”
Our eyes lock. His rough fingertips stroke my cheek.
And then he jerks and releases me.
“Sorry,” he mumbles as my skin weeps from the loss of his touch. “I just… Your hair gave me an idea for a song.”
“My hair?” I echo weakly.
Wyatt visibly swallows. “You never know when inspiration will strike.” He clears his throat. “You going to bed now?”
“Yeah. I guess.”
He grabs his notebook from the desk. “Cool. I’m gonna write on the dock for a while.”
“Don’t forget to set the alarm when you come back in,” I say.
He nods, and then he’s gone.