7. WYATT
CHAPTER 7
WYATT
“I’ve always loved the way you touch me.”
All night, I thought about Larissa and her sensual confession while I devoured her lips.
That hot fucking kiss turned me into a totally different person.
And God, the heady sounds she made while she kissed me back—they were breathy and full of lust. They practically sang on repeat in my head as I stared at the ceiling until the sun peeked through my blinds.
I couldn’t stop myself from thinking about all the things I would’ve done to her in that linen closet had we not been caught.
I’m just relieved it wasn’t my father who walked in on us. The fucking field day he would’ve had. If he were to find out about it, he’d tear into me like a bear with a fish.
“I think you’ve poured enough, honey.”
“Huh?” I turn toward my mother’s voice, taking the steaming pot of coffee with me and spilling it all over the counter. I leave a trail of brown liquid from my overflowing mug all the way to the sink. “Shoot.”
She smiles softly and retrieves a rag. “Let me help.”
“Thank you.” I grip the edge of the counter and slump against it, the smell of coffee wrapping itself around my senses.
Another spilled drink on my favorite golf shoes.
Once I wipe away the spots from the tips of my shoes, I find my mother still standing next to me, staring.
“Care to share what’s troubling you so early this morning?” She lifts a brow.
“Golf.”
“That’s usually what’s on your mind.” Her laugh is breezy. The sound is so easy and natural, with an air of joy in it so unlike my father’s boisterous laugh. Compared to hers, his laugh sounds forced and ingenuine.
I busy myself with a sip of coffee off the top of my mug, careful not to spill more, and I’m painfully aware of her curious gaze on my every move.
“You didn’t have fun yesterday.” It’s more of a statement than a question. “Your father promised he’d press pause on the drill sergeant in him, but he didn’t uphold his end of the bargain, did he?”
I keep my gaze averted as I bring my mug to the other side of the island and take a seat on the stool.
“That just means I don’t have to accompany him to the hospital’s fundraiser next week.” She shrugs, seemingly unaffected by this betrayal. Then again, she’s always hated the fundraisers he drags her to. According to her, most of those in attendance just aren’t her kind of people, and she can only take so much “doctor talk.”
So, she’s the winner in this.
My parents are so different from each other, yet they’ve managed to stay married for the last thirty years. It’s as inspiring as it is confusing.
“I’m sorry, honey,” she says and sits next to me.
“Nothing to apologize for.” I toy with the handle on my cup. “It was fun enough.”
“You’re not happy.”
“Of course not. My game was pathetic yesterday.” I tilt my head to the side and deadpan, “But I guess the ice-cream sundae bar afterward was just peachy.”
“Sounds delicious,” she chirps. “But I’m not talking about yesterday. You’re not happy in your life.”
“What do you mean? I’m fine.” My voice cracks on the blatant lie, making me cringe.
“You’ve been moping ever since you got your tour card.”
“You’ve seen me once since then. How do you know I’ve been moping?”
“We’ve talked on the phone, haven’t we? Even when I can’t see your face, I know a mopey moose when I hear one.”
This earns a small smile from me. Mopey moose is her favorite phrase, along with Tardy Turtle and Petty Penguin .
“You saw Larissa yesterday.” Again, it’s not a question, and it dawns on me—she knew I’d see her, and she purposely didn’t give me a heads-up. Larissa is the reason for this loaded inquisition so early this morning.
I angle my head to face Mom, my tongue heavy as I ask, “Why didn’t you tell me she works there?”
“She works at a few places. I wasn’t sure she’d be at the club this weekend.”
“What do you mean?”
“I don’t guess you two got the chance to catch up, huh?” She tsks, and I don’t miss the disappointment flashing in her eyes. “She’s taking a year away from fashion and exploring different jobs in the meantime.”
“It doesn’t make any sense.”
“You should ask her about it.”
I scoff. “Even if I did, she wouldn’t tell me.”
“And why’s that?”
I dip my head to shield myself from any more of her disappointment. She always hated that I broke up with Larissa in the first place. She’s not going to want to hear about how rudely I talked to her yesterday.
Did I seriously accuse her of trying to sabotage me with a glass of sweet tea?
“It’s over between us, Mom. It’s been over for a while, and that’s not going to change. We’re nothing to each other now,” I drone on like a robot.
I lick my lips, and instead of the coffee I’m drinking, I swear I still taste her.
My heart clamored against my rib cage like never before while I held her. No golf trophy has ever given me such an adrenaline rush—such a high.
I was with her for only a few minutes, but that’s all it took to feel like myself again. The me I used to be, anyway. The version I’d forgotten about until I held her in my arms again.
Mom places her hand on my arm. “If it’s so over, then why don’t I believe you?”
It definitely didn’t feel over yesterday.
A clap slices through the thick silence, and my father saunters into the kitchen, freshly shaved and smiling. “I had a dream last night of today’s leaderboard. Guess who was at the top?”
I muster a grin of my own, but it’s nothing compared to his enthusiasm this morning. This is not the same guy who drove us home last night.
Mom squeezes my shoulder and rises from her seat. “You boys are always at the top of my leaderboard,” she says with a wink.
And as we eat breakfast, the kitchen filled with the smell of bacon, cinnamon rolls, and more coffee, it’s not the leaderboard I ponder.
It’s Larissa and how ready I am to see her again, no matter how pissed she might be at me.