Chapter 13
Chapter Thirteen
Jealous? - Grace
Iwatch as Asher approaches our table, a friendly smile spread across his face, and I smile back as I give him a wave.
“Are you friends with Ryan?” Wyatt asks.
I shrug. “We were lab partners in chemistry last year,” I say, taking a sip of my iced coffee. “And we were friendly when we ran into each other at parties.”
I study Asher. With his jet-black hair and pale gray eyes, there’s no denying he’s good-looking.
He’s tall—Asher towered over me in chem lab, and I’d say he’s at least six-five.
I remember during one of our labs he explained to me how he redshirted last year for football—opting not to play so he still has four years of eligibility—and now he’s the starting quarterback for the Golden Sharks.
With his looks and starting quarterback position? He’s the most pursued guy on campus.
Asher reaches our table. “Hey, Walshie, how are you?” he asks, flashing me a smile. “Did you have a good summer?”
Before I can answer, Wyatt stretches, leaning back in his chair.
Then, to my surprise, his arm slips around the back of my chair, brushing against the tops of my shoulders.
“Ryan, what’s up?” he says, his fingertips now dancing along my left shoulder and causing goose bumps to spread across my skin.
“Hi, Asher,” I say, trying hard to focus on him while Wyatt is touching me. “I had a good summer. How about you?”
“Not bad. Lots of offseason work,” he says, zeroing in on Wyatt’s hand.
As soon as Asher’s gaze lands there, Wyatt moves his fingertips to the back of my neck, stroking it gently. Heat sears through me as his fingertips skim the nape of my neck. I have to remember to talk to Asher, and to be honest, it’s really hard when Wyatt is touching me like this.
But am I enjoying what he’s doing? YES.
“Are you ready for the first football game?” I ask Asher, regaining focus.
“I am. Nice opening at home,” he says.
“We’ll be there,” Wyatt says. “Right, babe?”
Suddenly something hits me. I know Wyatt is putting on a show for Asher, but this seems a bit extra. The hand sensually skimming the back of my neck. The way he emphasized the word “we’ll.” And he called me babe.
Wait.
Wait just a second.
I feel my breath catch in my throat. Is Wyatt jealous of Asher?
My heart flips, and suddenly I feel lightheaded. Like I’m playing a round of Twister after drinking a couple of hard seltzers.
I did that last year at a party once when I was feeling wild. It didn’t end well. I got tangled up with a sweaty frat boy with bad cologne. I remember I wanted to throw up, either from the booze or from having my leg stuck to the sticky stomach of an over-cologned frat boy.
Probably both.
Suddenly I get a flash of playing Twister with Wyatt, and heat shoots through me. Then I feel Asher watching me and I remember he’s there. Crap.
“Yes, we’ll be there,” I say, having no idea if this is real or not at this point.
Asher stares at me for a moment, then clears his throat. “Great. Well, I can see you guys are studying so I’ll let you get to it. See you around.”
“Later, Ryan,” Wyatt says, nodding his head at him.
Asher retreats, but Wyatt’s hand lingers on my neck. “Gracie, are you okay?” he asks.
I blink. “Hm?”
“Your skin feels hot,” Wyatt says, gently rubbing the nape of my neck again.
OH MY GOD, HE FEELS ME BLUSHING.
“I do feel a bit warm out here,” I lie.
“Do you want to move inside?”
No. But I do want to know if you were jealous of Asher, I think.
GRACE ELIZABETH WALSH, STOP BEING A FREAKING LUNATIC.
I return to reality. Wyatt is NOT jealous. I’m getting in over my head and scripting this plot like it’s a romance novel.
Hm. Mom might be impressed with that, actually.
Wyatt did everything he was supposed to do to let Asher know, in no uncertain terms, that I’m with him. I got a momentary case of the stupids thinking it could be anything else.
The idea of Wyatt—“no relationships ever” Wyatt—being remotely jealous is ridiculous. And I need to get these feelings in check right now.
“No, I’ll be okay, I promise,” I say, reaching for my iced coffee and taking a big sip.
Wyatt’s large hand drops from my neck. I instantly feel cold when his touch is gone.
“Well, if you want to go inside at any time, let me know,” he says, shifting his attention back to his laptop.
“Thank you,” I say, touched once again by how acutely aware Wyatt is of me and how I’m feeling.
I shift my eyes back to my article and try to work, but it’s hopeless.
All I can think of is how Wyatt is so good at being my fake boyfriend, so good I thought he might be jealous of Asher Ryan.
Embarrassment courses through me again, and I’m glad Wyatt is busy reading his business stuff and not studying me, trying to figure out what is in my head.
Because I’d be mortified if he knew what I was thinking right now.
“He’s into you.”
I blink. I look over at Wyatt, who hasn’t even lifted his gaze from his laptop screen. “I mean, you probably know that,” he says, picking up his iced latte and sipping it.
“Asher?” I ask. “No, we were chem buddies.”
A smirk begins to play at the corners of his lips. “I think he wants to be a different kind of buddy.”
Now I’m blushing. Furiously. “You’re wrong. We spent a whole semester next to each other. If he wanted to ask me out, he would have.”
“I know I’m telling you something you already know, but guys can be dumb,” he says.
I giggle. “But he’s on the football team. Even as a redshirt, everyone knew he would be a star. He could have anyone.”
“Why wouldn’t he want you?”
My neck and face are burning again. “I don’t know. I mean, there are girls who are more fun than me.”
Now Wyatt’s mouth drops open. “Gracie, what the fuck are you talking about?” he asks, his voice incredulous.
“I’ve got a crazy schedule with swimming. Morning practice, afternoon practice, one night a week at the gym so I can do acrobatics. Th—”
“You train in a gym just for that?” he interrupts.
My heart thumps again. I love how Wyatt always wants to know more about what I do.
“Yes. I learn a lot of my acrobatics wearing a harness and soaring over mats in the air,” I say.
“Can I come to a practice?”
“What?”
His smile turns sheepish, and my heart begins to melt. “I’d like to see you do it,” he says simply. “I can’t go to any meets while I’m your boyfriend, but I can go watch you in a gym.”
I remember what I thought earlier. Take what I can from this experience, because you’ll never have it again with Wyatt.
“Okay. I’m going next week if you want to come.”
“Done. Now back to my question. How can you say you’re not fun?”
I bite the inside of my cheek. “Well, I have all that going on. I take school seriously, so I study a lot. I don’t drink much, so for some people, that immediately puts me in the ‘not fun’ division.”
“If anyone thinks you’re not fun because you don’t drink, they’re an asshole,” Wyatt declares.
“Thank you for saying that.”
“I’m not just saying that. I had fun dancing with you on Friday night, and I wasn’t drinking, either. So if that makes you not fun, I’m right up there with you on the leaderboard of the ‘not fun’ division. But Asher? Into you.”
I shake my head. “I disagree.”
“Trust me, guys know.”
I’m taken aback by this. I thought Asher was being nice. When we saw each other at parties, he always chatted me up, but then I’d move on with my friends … Oh. The realization finally hits me.
“I had no idea. Wow. Asher Ryan is into me.”
Wyatt is silent for a moment. “Does that matter?”
“What? What do you mean by that?”
He leans back casually in his chair again, stretching his arms overhead as if he doesn’t have a care in the world. Part of his T-shirt lifts up, and I get a flash of those ripped abdominals and remind myself not to stare. I quickly grab my iced coffee as a distraction and take a drink.
“That the hottest guy on campus is into you.”
“Why would it change anything?” I ask. “I’m not into him.”
“No?”
“No.”
A silence falls between us. Then I see it. There’s a hint of a satisfied smile playing at his lips.
Wyatt likes that I’m not into Asher.
“He’s a nice enough guy, but that’s all I see him as,” I say.
“Smart move. There’s a bunch of things wrong with him anyway.”
I burst out laughing. “Like what?”
Wyatt grins. “He plays football, for one. We both know hockey is the superior sport.”
I can’t stop smiling. “What else?”
Wyatt appears to be thinking.
“You can’t come up with anything else!” I accuse.
“Yes, I can. I just need a minute.”
We both laugh, until eventually we focus on our laptops again.
Well, at least Wyatt does. I sit still, staring at my blinking cursor, thinking about the similarities between Asher and Wyatt.
They’re both smart and nice and elite-level athletes. But there’s one big difference that Asher can never overcome.
He can’t be Wyatt Jacobs.
Panic bubbles up inside of me. In this moment, I know without a doubt, I’m in trouble. I could develop feelings for Wyatt during this month. Real big ones.
And for the first time in my life, I might be at risk of having my heart utterly and completely broken by the end of it.