Chapter Seventeen
Kiss Me - Grace
His lips brush against mine, warm and soft.
Wyatt’s mouth hovers there for a moment.
I can feel his breath against my mouth and smell the scent of his cologne.
Without thinking, I move up and put my hands on his face, feeling the fresh-shaven skin underneath my palms. But the second I touch him, he quickly stands upright.
I drop my hands from his face, and Wyatt’s beautiful brown eyes stare down at me with an expression I can’t read.
My heart pounds as I realize what just happened between us.
Wyatt kissed me.
His lips part again to say something, his large dark eyes still locked on mine. I’m trembling all over from that simple kiss. It was gentle and sweet, and I can still feel the sensation of his lips lingering against my own.
And I want more of it. I want those lips to be on mine again. I feel dizzy. Hot. I’m wondering what it would be like to really be kissed by Wyatt—
He abruptly clears his throat, pushes down on the backward baseball hat on his head, and takes one of my hands in his, officially ending the moment. “Ready?” he asks, a smile suddenly appearing on his gorgeous face.
No. No, I’m not.
I manage a nod, and we head out the front door and down the steps. Wyatt keeps his hand wrapped around mine, and all I want to do is touch my lips with my fingertips. To feel where his lips had been just seconds earlier. When we reach his SUV, he opens the passenger door for me.
“Thank you,” I say.
“You’re welcome,” he says, helping me up and releasing my hand. He walks around to the driver’s side and slips behind the wheel. Silence falls between us as he starts the engine. I’m still trembling from that unexpected kiss, but I notice Wyatt doesn’t move his car.
“Wy?” I ask. “Are you okay?”
“We need to have some rules about kissing,” he says quickly, as if he blurted the thought right out of his head.
My heart is pounding against my ribs now. “Wh-what?”
He turns to face me. “Rules. I never want to do anything without your permission or that makes you uncomfortable, Gracie. I kind of dropped that on you, and I should have talked to you about it first. I’m sorry.”
I deflate. This is a clear reminder that Wyatt is playing a part, and that kiss was given to me by my fake boyfriend. The fact that he’s seeking this clarification once again reminds me of the kind of man he is, and all it does is make me want him even more than I already do.
But Wyatt isn’t interested in me that way, so I shove that thought out of my head and answer his question. “Yes, we should.”
“Are you okay with simple kisses like that?” Wyatt asks. “Like just a little kiss on the lips?”
To my surprise, my chest begins to grow tight. That’s the only kiss of Wyatt’s I’ll ever know, yet I will grab on to that experience and take it as many times as I can get before this charade is over.
“Yes,” I say. “That’s fine.”
“What about forehead kisses?”
Inside, I wince. He’s going to break me, and he doesn’t even know it. Forehead kisses are something I’ve longed for. It’s sweet, gentle, affectionate … and intimate in a loving way.
I’ve never had one.
“Yes, and a kiss on the nose is okay, too,” I offer.
“Knuckle kiss?”
“Yes.”
Because as long as I’m going to go through this torture, I might as well get all the kisses from Wyatt that I can.
He appears thoughtful. “That should be good enough.”
No, it’s not. I would love to truly kiss you, I think, studying his profile as he pulls away from the curb. But I only want that if Wyatt actually wanted to kiss me in the first place.
“I figured eating at the athletic hall would be a good way to show we’re together,” he says. “Confirming it for our target audience.”
“Rob?” I ask, confused. “I don’t think it’s necessary, he got that message loud and clear at the party.”
“No. Asher.”
WHAT? I blink in confusion. “Asher? Why Asher? He thinks we’re together.”
To my surprise, Wyatt’s jaw sets. “Grace. He pulled strings to get you as his football buddy. He wants you because someone else has you, and you deserve better than that. You deserve a guy who knew you were special and wanted you as soon as he got to know you. Period.”
His beautiful words send a shock through my system. I literally feel my stomach flip upside down in response.
You deserve a guy who knew you were special and wanted you as soon as he got to know you. Period.
If only Wyatt could feel that way about me. If only I could be the girl he would break his rule for and actually want to date.
“So we’re showing off for Asher,” I say.
“Yeah. We’re showing him that he can be the star quarterback, pull strings to get the general to match him up with you, and it doesn’t matter because you deserve better,” Wyatt says.
My heart is practically melting. “Wy?”
“Yeah?”
I ignore the nervous feeling sweeping over me and force myself to tell him what he deserves to hear. “When you do decide you want to be a boyfriend one day? You’re going to be a great one. And some girl is going to be really lucky to have you.”
Wyatt keeps his gaze straight ahead. Silence fills the space between us.
“Nah. I’m good at hockey and business classes. Not boyfriending,” he finally says.
“Well, speaking as your fake girlfriend? I disagree.”
He’s quiet again. I look out the window. We’re on campus now, near the football stadium and hockey arena, and getting closer to the Athletic Dining Hall.
“Gracie?”
I turn back and look at him. “Yes?”
“Thank you for saying that. For seeing that in me.”
“It’s true.”
His eyes briefly flick toward mine before shifting back to the road. I see the Athletic Dining Hall straight ahead, a state-of-the-art facility designed to meet the nutritional needs of athletes. As I think about it, a soft chuckle escapes me.
“Yesssssss?” Wyatt asks in a teasing tone.
“They built this dining hall for you. The hockey team, the football team, the basketball team. If Ocean Cove only had swimming, diving, and artistic swimming, this wouldn’t exist.”
To my surprise, Wyatt looks irritated by my words. “That’s bullshit. If Ocean Cove is going to have the teams, they should support all of them.”
“In an ideal world, yeah,” I say as he slides into a parking spot. “But we both know where the money goes. You get a state-of-the-art facility, and I get stained or missing ceiling tiles in my locker room.”
“What are you talking about?” Wyatt asks, wrinkling his nose.
I realize he has no idea what other sports facilities are like on campus. Wyatt is in a luxurious one, and he might just assume all sports have similar situations.
So I tell him my reality. About the missing tiles and the horrible water pressure in the showers.
There’s only a mini fridge in our room, with waters and sports drinks, and a box of protein bars sitting next to the ripped-up sofa.
As I go on, I see his hands tighten around the steering wheel, his grip making his knuckles white.
“This is bullshit,” Wyatt says when I’m finished speaking. “I had no idea the swimming facilities are like that.”
“Most people don’t. We’re kind of the forgotten sports, unless it’s an Olympic year and we have future Olympians on our teams. But that doesn’t mean they care about what our dressing room is like.”
“Well, it’s fucking wrong. There has to be something that can be done. OCU should be ashamed of themselves.” He turns off the engine. “I can’t stand the idea of you having anything less than what I have to play hockey. And I’m sorry I didn’t even know about this.”
I’m touched by his outrage, because I know it’s not lip service. Wyatt genuinely cares about the facilities I have. “The fact that you’re angry matters,” I say softly. “Thank you.”
“I want to do something about it,” he says.
“Buy a T-shirt next month,” I tease as we get out of the car.
“A T-shirt?”
Wyatt comes around to my side and takes my hand in his. Butterflies fill me the second our fingers are entwined. I smile up at him. “That’s one of our fundraisers. Artistic swimming T-shirts.”
“I hate that you even have to do this,” he says, his mouth drawing into a line. “I’ve never had to do a fundraiser here—unless it’s fundraising for another cause. But never for the team.”
“Well, you play in a popular men’s sport. And you bring in millions of dollars every season.”
“All you should have to worry about is swimming. Not funding it.”
A tingling feeling sweeps through me from his outrage. “I’m just lucky we have a program,” I say as we walk toward the dining hall. “With so much budget cutting going on at campuses, programs like artistic swimming are among the first to go.”
For a moment, a twinge of worry blankets me. I’ve seen programs at other universities dropped due to economics. I know if Ocean Cove faced budget cuts, artistic swimming would be first on the chopping block.
I picture the team disbanding. Not being able to swim every day with girls I adore. This sport brings me so much joy, I can’t imagine not doing it. Or working on a routine with Elle or—
Wyatt stops walking. “What’s wrong?”
I blink. “How did you know?”
He gives me a soft smile. “I’m a good fake boyfriend. Your mouth curved down.”
I silently curse Wyatt for making my crush on him grow like by a thousand. “I was thinking about how I’d feel if Ocean Cove cut the artistic swimming program,” I say.
“Why would you think that?” he asks. “Has anyone mentioned it?”
I shake my head. “No, but I know the economy is tough right now. I’ve seen the program cut at other universities. I know if Ocean Cove wanted to cut costs, our program is a very easy target.”
“Want my advice? As a hockey guy who knows nothing?”
“No.”
“No?” Wyatt repeats with surprise.
“I want my advice from a guy who knows a lot more than he gives himself credit for,” I say, reassuring Wyatt there’s so much more to him than what he does on a sheet of ice. “If you’ll talk to me from his perspective, then I’m all ears.”