12. LARISSA
CHAPTER 12
LARISSA
I scramble to pull my pants up as a shiver snakes down my spine. The chill of the night finally hits me without the heat of Wyatt’s body shielding me.
But when I realize what we’ve done to the cart, I freeze, stunned by the sheer force of our sexcapade.
Wyatt is surely going to flip—he hates when golf equipment is messed with. I can’t tell how much damage is done, but it definitely didn’t sound good.
Instead of cursing and regretting what we just did out here, though, Wyatt bursts into laughter. It’s a rambunctious sound that bellows from deep in his stomach—from deep in his soul, more accurately.
It rings into the night, and I can’t fight my own laughter.
After all, we did just fuck a golf cart right into a ditch. What else can we do but laugh?
I tip forward to hold on to my knees, and my sides ache. My hysteria only subsides when Wyatt’s quick inhale gives me pause.
It’s followed by a rushed confession that knocks the breath out of me.
“You were the only one I wanted to celebrate with when I got my tour card,” he says. “I hated that I couldn’t talk to you about it. You were the first person I looked for in the stands, even though I knew you weren’t there. I hated that you weren’t.”
My lips sink into a frown.
“I’m sorry for screwing things up between us so badly, Larissa. I shouldn’t have let golf or my dad or my stupid fears come between us. You’re so important to me, and I should’ve fought harder for us. I’m so fucking sorry.” His voice cracks on the final word, as does my heart.
He hurt me back then, but what I hadn’t realized until now was that he’s been hurting too.
He’s been in just as much pain as I have.
“I’ll do anything to have you back in my life.” Leaves crunch beneath him as he steps toward me, the unfastened buckle of his belt clinking with each movement. “ Anything .”
Joyful tears sting the backs of my eyes. I open my mouth, but more leaves crunch, along with… are those tires I hear?
From behind me, a spotlight flashes over Wyatt’s face, and my jaw drops.
“Oh my God,” I say and whip around to find a golf cart driving toward us.
“Are you two all right?” they call out as they approach.
Next to me, Wyatt rushes to zip his pants and right himself before they reach us.
“Peachy,” I squeak as the pair comes into view—Matilda and Danny.
“I thought you went home an hour ago, and I got worried when I saw your car was still in the parking lot.” My friend jumps out and hurries toward me. “What happened?”
“We went for a drive,” I lie and force a smile.
“A drive? All the way out here?” Danny asks.
“It’s my favorite spot,” Wyatt chimes in. “I haven’t been here in months, so I wanted to visit and show Larissa.”
“Now it’s my favorite spot too,” I chirp.
“I’ll bet it is.” Matilda snickers, and I don’t need light to reveal the wicked gleam in her eye—I know it’s there. She knows exactly what we were up to.
This could not be more humiliating!
Then again, it’s hard to truly care after the last hour I spent with Wyatt. Maybe it’s the fresh daze from orgasms I just experienced, or Wyatt’s apology and promise, but nothing can ruin this moment.
Wyatt must’ve sexed inspiration into me tonight.
We rescued the cart from the ditch and confirmed the damage was very minimal, which Wyatt offered to take care of himself. Then I completed the walk of shame back to my car and drove home in a stupor, but not before promising Wyatt that we’ll have lunch tomorrow. We have a lot to discuss without Matilda or any other audience to interrupt.
In my room, with the adrenaline of tonight still coursing through me, I scribble sketch after sketch onto my drawing pad, the edges of my hands smudged from my pencils.
I’m on a high I can’t quite explain, but it’s unmistakably thanks to Wyatt.
He drilled some sense into me—literally and figuratively.
I escape onto the page, launching myself into fantasies of a future where I can make my passions a reality, just like Wyatt has. I disappear into vibrant notions of a future where I find my signature style and I fight until it leads to success.
This concept has felt so out of reach for the last year, but tonight, it’s never felt more possible. I can totally do this, but more than that, I’m excited to do it.
I’d lost that excitement somewhere along the way, and Wyatt’s given it back to me.
A sudden knock on my window nearly hurls me from my chair. In my surprise, I bump my knee on the edge of the desk, and I cringe.
But the sting of it subsides when I find Wyatt at my window. Flashbacks of moments much like this one crash against one another in my mind. There are too many to individually sift through, and warm nostalgia of him sneaking into my bedroom washes over me.
Smiling, I hobble toward the window to open it and let him in. Not only did I give my knee a good slam, but my other foot fell asleep from sitting at my desk for so long.
“What are you doing?” I ask, standing aside to give him room.
He curls his body into a cannonball-like shape and sits on the windowsill. The way he’s matured over the years was obvious when I first saw him yesterday morning, but it’s even clearer to me now as he struggles to fit through the window.
It would be comical if I weren’t so busy practically drooling over the sinewy muscles of his forearms and the dark sweatpants slung low on his hips.
His hair is damp, presumably from a recent shower, and the strands glisten under the moonlight as he throws himself into my room. “We promised we’d see each other tomorrow, but I couldn’t wait that long.”
“I thought you were known for your patience,” I tease.
“On the course, maybe, but I’ve never had much of it when it comes to you.”
My chest vibrates with tiny flutters of joy.
His eyes flick toward my desk, and whatever he was about to say next visibly shifts. “What are you working on?”
“My future.” I sigh with contentment. “That feels good to say.”
“Can I take a look?” He points to my desk and walks toward it.
But I leap in front of him and shield him from my sketchbook. “Not yet. It’s top secret.”
“What if I kissed you? Could I see it then?” The corners of his lips curl upward into a mischievous, toe-curling grin.
“You could try.”
He wraps his arms around my waist and draws my lips into a slow, sensual kiss. Then he leans me back against my desk, and the second his mouth stops moving, I realize he’s attempting a peek at my sketches.
“You’re cheating!” I smack his shoulder and shove him away, giggling when I fail to make him budge.
This playful side of him is much like the Wyatt he was when we were together.
That’s not to say I don’t find the new, brooding Wyatt just as hot, but that’s exactly it—there’s something so dang sexy about coaxing this softer side out of such a grump.
I could easily get used to this.