9. Wyatt
CHAPTER 9
Wyatt
CALL MY BLUFF
I feel like I’m floating as I jog around the hood of my truck in an attempt to open Sally’s door before she does it herself.
Not only does she look stupid gorgeous in her dress and heels, but she also gave me space to talk.
She allowed me to open up just the tiniest bit. Granted, it was only to basically say I didn’t want to open up at all when she asked about Mom. But it still happened. And instead of filling me with terror or regret, sharing even that small piece of myself with Sally felt liberating. I feel physically lighter.
She didn’t judge. She didn’t run. In fact, she clearly wanted to know more. While I’m not prepared to give her more, there’s comfort in knowing she’ll stick around to hear it.
Maybe it really is about baby steps.
Also, Sally lit up like a goddamn firecracker when I held her hand.
That’s all it took. A single touch, one gesture, and you’d think I had given her a fistful of diamonds for how happy she looked.
My palm still pulses with the memory of how warm and soft her hand felt in mine. I didn’t miss the spark of heat that danced across her eyes as she twined our fingers. Even through the windshield, I can see how pink her cheeks still are.
If she looks like this, happy and bewildered and alive, after holding hands for all of five minutes, how fucking beautiful would she be after I laid her down? After I hooked her leg over my shoulder and spread her wide and made her shout my name?
My dick twitches. I silently curse. These trousers are a lot more tailored than I’m used to, which means sporting even a half chub runs the risk of public humiliation.
I pull open Sally’s door at the same time she pushes.
“What’d I say about me taking the lead?”
Wrapping her coat around her, Sally shivers. That a good shiver or a bad one?
“I told you, it’s been a while. Give me a second to remember how this date thing works, all right?”
I’m not all right.
It’s not all right that she literally can’t remember the last time she was taken on a proper date. Has anyone ever treated Sally Powell the way she deserves?
How do I not know the answer to that question?
It suddenly hits me—the enormity of all that I missed out on in her life while she was gone and I was wallowing in grief. Yet another example of how me pretending not to give a fuck about anyone or anything bit me in the ass. I never asked about her love or sex life. Frankly, I didn’t want to know because I was so in love with her. Hearing about the guys she’d met, the parties she’d gone to, would kill me. I mentally filled in the blanks and tried not to think too hard about it.
Now I realize I should’ve asked, if only so I could look out for her. Remind her that she could—and should—ask for so much more than what some drunk-ass frat boy with a sense of entitlement as big as his trust fund gave her.
But it ain’t my place to make that choice for her, is it ?
Choose me. Goddamn, Sunshine, I’m dying for you to choose me.
Some sick, twisted part of me is a little relieved that no one’s measured up yet. That I’m the only one who can make her feel at ease in her own skin.
I’m more pleased than I should be when I hold out my hand and she takes it, leaning into me as she climbs out of the truck, careful not to trip on her heels.
“You good?” I wrap my palm around hers, my blood stirring with familiar heat.
She gives me a tight smile. “I’m good.”
“Remember, tug on your ear?—”
“If it’s too much.” Her eyes glint in the darkness when they meet mine. “I don’t think you have to worry. My current drought is so epic that I don’t think too much exists for me right now.”
I nearly bite off my tongue. “I feel like I should be worried if that’s the case.”
“You worried I’m gonna climb you like a tree?” She twines our fingers again and smirks. “Remember, Wy, just tug on your ear if it’s too much.”
What would she do if I bent down right now and threw her over my shoulder? Put her back in the truck, ripped off that dress, fucked her like the world was ending?
“You got some mouth on you, sugar.”
“I’m not as sweet as I look, handsome.”
“I kinda like handsome . Blond Bear Cowboy might be better?—”
“Who’s ever called you Blond Bear Cowboy?” Sally laughs, and my heart turns over.
“No one yet.”
“I’ll bet another fifty no one ever will.”
“You callin’ my bluff?”
She leans in, teasing. So close that I can smell the Crest toothpaste on her breath. “Sure am, handsome. Hope you brought cash.”
We’ve both used the same kind of toothpaste ever since I puked my guts out in ninth grade during fifth-period study hall—classic case of the Jack Daniel’s flu—and Sally came to the rescue with a tube of Crest. I liked the way it tasted, so I asked Mom to buy me some. Been using it ever since.
Sally shivers again, and this time, I know it’s because of the cold. How long have we been standing out here? A minute? An hour?
I give her hand a gentle tug. “Let’s go. Feels better inside.”
“That’s a euphemism, isn’t it?”
“Everything that comes outta my mouth is a euphemism. Best get used to it.”
The annual Hartsville potluck and silent auction is already in full swing when we step through the barn doors. Sally gasps with delight as we take in the rustic barn of every wedding planner’s dream. Fairy lights are strewn across the roof, and the wooden support beams are wrapped in brightly colored fall foliage. Candles glint from the dozens of round tables that fill the space, each one draped in a dark red tablecloth and set with china. The smells of mulled cider and smoked pork fill the air.
Waylon Jennings plays over the speakers, and Tallulah is behind the nearby bar. I overhear her agreeing to do body shots with some patrons if enough money is raised tonight.
Can’t help but smile. This is Hartsville in a nutshell—a little bit classy, a lot country.
Guess you could describe Sally and me that way, too, if we were a real couple. Which we’re not, obviously. But we’re on theme without even trying.
Why do I get the feeling Mom is sending me another message? I’m not sure there is a heaven, but if there is, I hope she’s too busy having a damn good time up there to keep up with me .
The idea that she’s looking out for me from above makes me feel all warm and fuzzy, though.
There’s a makeshift coat rack to our right. I drop Sally’s hand and slip my fingers into the collar of her jacket, skimming her nape. “Let me take this.”
“Oh. Yeah. Sure.”
She unbuttons the front and rolls back her shoulders, allowing me to remove the jacket. It’s heavier than it looks, some kind of thick black wool. Makes sense she’d have a serious jacket for those serious New York winters. Why anyone would want to live in that frozen wasteland, I don’t know. I get why Sally doesn’t want to go back there.
“So you can listen,” I say, poking a plastic hanger into the sleeves of her jacket and hanging it on the rack.
She cuts me a withering look before turning her attention to her dress. She smooths it over her hips and thighs, giving it a gentle tug so that it puts her every curve on display.
My mouth goes dry. My best friend in a little black dress?—
It literally knocked the wind out of me earlier when I picked her up from her parents’ house. It’s fucking killer .
The dress is tight, hugging her body. She’s in incredible shape from her physically demanding job, and she’s got a great ass, luscious hips, and these cute little tits that’d make the perfect handful.
I notice her nipples are peaked to hard, visible points, poking through the thin fabric of the dress. Almost like I’m actually touching her instead of thinking about it.
I should not be thinking about it. If I keep thinking about it, I’m going to think about sucking on those nipples, nicking them with my teeth through the fabric so it ruined her dress and no one would ever get to see her in it again—because to see her in it is to want her in an indecent way. I’m gonna think about the way her head would fall back, how she’d fist her hand in my hair and roll her hips?—
Aw, shit, I’m gonna be hard in two seconds. I have to stop .
I wrap my real hand around her nape instead, giving it a squeeze. “A drink?”
“Fuck yes.”
I smirk. “Such a lady.”
“You were no gentleman until, well, tonight, I guess.”
“Hey. I contain multitudes .”
She grins up at me, our mouths inches apart. “Another way of saying you’re full of shit.”
“You’re too fuckin’ smart for your own good, you know that?” I give her nape another squeeze. I could be imagining it, but I think I see that hot glimmer move across her eyes again. “Cider?”
“Sure, since you’re driving.”
“Yes, ma’am, I am. You have as much fun as you want tonight, sugar.”
I look up just in time to see everyone within a twenty-foot radius suddenly avert their eyes from watching us. I see Duke and Wheeler together. She’s in town a lot these days, working with Mollie on their cowboy boot company, Bellamy Brooks. Sawyer is chatting up a pretty girl I don’t recognize. Goody is setting out dishes on the long food table.
Life in a small town: everyone is nosy as all get-out. Should piss me off. Embarrass me. Sally and I didn’t talk about how we’d handle the gossip that’s sure to circulate after tonight. Guess we could say we’re having a fun little fling before Sally goes off to New York for good?
Instead, the attention makes me smile. A not-so-small part of me likes people thinking Sally and I are together. She’s way outta my league, too smart and ambitious and successful for a ranch hand like me. She’s the kind of good girl who knows better than to mess with Wyatt Rivers.
Only she is messing with me, and I fucking love it.
Fucking love the way Goody, who also happens to be Tallulah’s wife, fights a grin as we pass her on our way to get drinks .
Fucking love the way Tallulah’s eyes go wide and her face splits into a big old smile when we belly up to the bar.
But the thing I love the most? The disgruntled look on Beck Wallace’s face when he spots us from across the room.
“Well, hey, y’all. This looks”—Tallulah’s eyes flick to the hand I have on Sally’s nape—“fun.”
Without prompting, Sally slips a hand underneath my arm, bending her elbow so that she cups the ball of my shoulder. The motion has her curling her body into mine so we’re hip to hip, her head tucked against my collarbone.
“The more fun we have, the more money we’ll raise,” Sally replies.
My skin ignites at the abundance of contact that is soft and yet somehow searing.
My heart though? That nearly explodes at Sally’s sudden burst of confidence. The easy, casual way she touches me is sexy as hell, and it makes me think she knows what she’s doing. She just needs to feel comfortable—desired—to do it.
That’s my job then: make Sally feel so comfortable, so irresistibly sexy, that she does what she wants. She ain’t clamming up or pulling back on my watch.
Not when I have so little time left to enjoy her company. Because even though this date is fake, the time I get to spend with Sally is real. And I love being around her more than I love pretty much anything else.
So I do what I do best. I pull her closer. Guide my thumb up the column of her neck, circling the spot underneath her ear. I hear her breath catch, feel her breasts press into my side.
Aw, yeah.
“I’ll take a cider. Spiked, please,” Sally breathes.
“And I’ll have a Shiner Bock if you don’t mind, Tallulah.” Digging a fifty out of my pocket with my free hand, I drop it into the tip jar. “Silent auction going well so far?”
Tallulah nods as she grabs a glass and turns to fill it with cider from a fancy decanter. “So far, so good. I know your poker game is a hot item. Goody said there were ten bids last time she checked.”
“Already?” I glance over my shoulder. “That’s a surprise.”
“Everyone wants to learn from the pro.” Sally gives my shoulder a squeeze. “No one bluffs better than you.”
“I don’t know, Sal. You’re giving me a run for my money.”
Her eyes twinkle at the inside joke. “I am, aren’t I?”
This is sick, right? Us joking about how great we are at pretending to be into each other?
Only I’m not pretending. Of course I’m good at this because I’ve been dreaming of touching Sally this way since I was eighteen.
What does it mean, then, that she’s good at it too?
We take our drinks to our table. I lucked out; only Sawyer and Duke were able to make it tonight. Sawyer let our younger brother know that Sally and I might seem a little cozier than usual. In true Duke fashion, he ribbed me nonstop today about my fake date with my best friend, but tonight, he’s too distracted by Wheeler to pay Sally and me much mind.
Dinner is over and the silent auction is just ending when there’s a tap on my shoulder. My stomach dips when I turn and see Beck Wallace standing there, a sheet of paper in his hand.
“I bought your poker lesson.” His eyes slip to Sally. “Any chance y’all want to play?”
“Tonight?” I drawl.
“Tonight, yeah. Figured why not since we’re all here. We just need a deck of cards, but something tells me you got a few of those in your truck.”
I watch Sally’s expression flutter with hope. She smiles, shoulders rising on a quick, shallow inhale.
What the fuck am I doing, helping her get this guy’s attention?
“I’ve actually never played poker.” She glances at me. “I’d love to learn. ”
“He never taught you?” Beck asks, clearly surprised.
“Wasn’t ever interested until now,” she replies, still looking at me.
Why the fuck did I agree to this again?
I don’t want Beck Wallace looking at Sally in her slinky dress and barely-there bra, much less touching her or taking her home.
At what point do I have to let her go?
At what point do I slip away and let them be alone?
Never.
At least, it ain’t gonna happen tonight. Maybe that makes me a selfish bastard, but I don’t care. I think seeing Sally leave with Beck might actually kill me.
I’ll give myself one night—and one night only—to pretend that this date is real. To pretend that this girl is mine and that she’s actually coming home with me. She’s sleeping in my bed. Saying my name.
God, how good I’d be at pleasing her. If only she knew.
This is some kind of step. A big step, a baby one, a step back, a step in the right direction—I don’t know.
All I know is, I want more Sally, and I ain’t sharing.
“What do you say, boys?” I glance at my brothers. “Y’all up for a game of chance?”
Sawyer knocks back his whiskey. “I don’t get out much, so, yeah, count me in.”
“I’d love to give you all my money, sure,” Duke deadpans.
Making sure Sally doesn’t need another drink, I head for my truck.