Chapter 23 #2
I glance at her sideways. “That doesn’t exactly fill me with confidence.”
She nudges my arm with her elbow. “Just try and keep an open mind, okay? Not all movies need explosions and Bruce Willis.”
I look down at her with a smirk. “That sounds like a dig at Die Hard.”
She laughs before taking a sip of her wine. “Maybe, but I bet you’ll be crying by the end.”
My eyes widen. “Crying? I don’t think I’ve ever cried at a movie.”
She leans in a little, just enough for her shoulder to brush mine. “We’ll have to see, won’t we?”
I glance at her, catching the way her eyes flicker toward me before quickly darting back to the screen. There’s a faint blush creeping into her cheeks again, and something about that hesitation makes my chest tighten.
She wants to flirt. She just doesn’t know if she should.
By the time we’re halfway through the movie, the room’s gone quiet, lit only by the soft blue glow of the TV. At some point, Ivy’s moved even closer until her leg is pressed against mine. My arm is stretched out behind her on the back of the sofa, close enough to touch her if I moved just a little.
But I don’t. I leave the space untouched.
“Still with me?” she asks, tilting her head to look up at me.
“Barely,” I say with a grin. “It’s severely lacking in car chases.”
She laughs. “You’re impossible.”
“I didn’t say I hated it,” I tease. “It’s… not bad.”
“Knew you’d love it,” she says, dropping her head onto my shoulder.
“Don’t get carried away.” I chuckle.
I might not be loving the movie, but I’m loving being here with her like this.
After a few minutes, her voice breaks through the quiet again.
“Do you think we’ll ever have to pretend to be together again?” she asks quietly, like she’s not entirely sure if she’s allowed to ask.
My heart stutters, and I look down at her, my eyes catching on her lips in the dim light.
“I don’t know,” I say after a second. “Maybe. If Cleo wants me to show up at something where I’d normally bring someone, I guess it could happen.” I pause. “Why?”
She’s quiet for a moment, as if thinking of the right thing to say, her finger tracing the rim of her now empty wine glass. Eventually, she speaks.
“That night we had dinner. It was fun… and crazy, but I think we pulled it off.”
Her tone is casual, but there’s a flicker, something in her expression that doesn’t match her words. It’s gone in a heartbeat, and I might’ve missed it if I wasn’t looking so closely. But lately, I always am.
I glance down at her. “I didn’t think it was crazy.”
She looks up at me, her smile faltering a little.
I drag my hand through my hair, suddenly aware of how close she is. “I liked it,” I say simply. “Being with you. Even if it was just pretend.”
She’s silent for a beat before she says, “You always say things like that so seriously.”
“Because I mean them, Ivy,” I say, watching her carefully.
Her fingers tap the side of her empty glass. “Well, good… I’m glad you had fun, Brookes.” Her voice is playful, but there’s a faint hesitation underneath, like she’s trying to figure out exactly what I meant, all while steering us away from a place she’s not ready to go.
I don’t push her. I let my words hang, the air between us charged with everything we’re not saying.
And even if she brushes it off, I know she felt it too.
When the credits start to roll, she’s still curled against me, and at some point, without even realizing, I’d started tracing slow, absent-minded circles on the bare skin of her arm. Neither of us moves. The room is quiet. The kind of quiet that feels too full. Then she exhales slowly.
“I should probably head home,” she says. “I’ll order an Uber.”
She starts to sit up, and my hand slips away from her arm.
“I’ll take you,” I say. “I’ve only had one beer.”
She glances over at me. “You’re sure?”
I nod. “Yeah. I’m sure.”
“Okay. Thanks.”
I shut off the TV as she slides her shoes back on, then trails after me into the kitchen, carrying her empty wine glass.
“I don’t think I thanked your parents for dinner,” she says, setting the glass on the counter. “Will you tell them for me?”
“Of course.”
We’re both quiet during the short drive to Ivy’s. When I pull into her driveway, she hesitates for a moment before turning slightly toward me in her seat.
“I had a really good time tonight,” she says.
I smile. “Me too, Ivy.”
Her hand moves toward the door handle, and I reach for my seatbelt. “I’ll walk you to the door.”
She looks at me, surprised. “You don’t have to.”
“I want to,” I say simply, already climbing out.
We meet at the front of the car and walk together up the porch steps. She unlocks the door and pushes it open but doesn’t go inside just yet.
“You’re heading to Phoenix tomorrow, right?” she asks.
“Yeah. Training sessions at the stadium.”
She nods, her voice quieter. “I’ll see you when you’re back, then. I’ll keep you posted about the garage situation on that house.”
“Sounds good. Thanks.”
A silence settles between us, thick with the weight of everything unsaid. I hold her gaze, my chest tight with the ache to kiss her, to just tell her what this is for me. But instead, I step in and press a soft kiss to her cheek.
“Night, Ivy.”
“Night, Wyatt.”
She steps inside, her eyes on mine until the very last second. The door closes with a click, and a moment later, I hear the lock slide into place. I let out a long breath and head back down the steps.
“Fuck,” I mutter, standing beside the car but making no move to get in. My eyes shift to her house again, my heart hammering.
Why can’t I just say it? Tell her what she means to me? I know she felt something tonight. I’m not imagining that. No one else has ever gotten under my skin like she does.
But the words stay stuck in my throat, and instead of going to her, I slip behind the wheel and drive off, even though leaving is the last thing I want.