11. Sally
CHAPTER 11
Sally
CHANGE MY MIND
I stare at the broad expanse of Wyatt’s retreating back, my chest twisting.
What the fuck just happened?
I think—I mean, I have to be imagining it, but I think I saw hurt in his eyes. Hurt and something that looked shockingly like longing.
My stomach takes a violent nosedive. None of this makes sense. We were having so much fun playing poker. Too much fun maybe? Is that why Wyatt refused to let me go with Beck?
Or did Wyatt feel it too—the very real pull between our bodies as he and I flirted, touched, teased? The insistent throb between my legs is evidence of just how turned on I am—was—from the way Wyatt did that thing he does so damn well: making me feel like I’m the only woman in the room.
Tonight, he made me feel like the only woman he wanted.
Playing along was so, so easy. I wasn’t worried about turning him off. I didn’t overthink every word that came out of my mouth. He just taught me how to play, literally and figuratively, and so I played, egged on by the easy, confident way he handled me .
With his hands on my body, his words in my ear, I felt like I could do no wrong. He made me feel that desired. That safe.
And because I felt safe and desired, I was free to just be . It was fun as hell.
An ache takes root in the pit of my stomach.
I’ve wanted Wyatt for as long as I can remember. That’s nothing new.
But the sharp-edged need I suddenly feel—coupled with the memory of his hands on my neck, my hips, the small of my back—that is new, and it makes me feel like I’m going to combust.
When I glance left, where Beck went, part of me thinks I should follow him. Wyatt is a grown man. He can handle himself. If he has something to say to me, he could’ve say it.
But the thought of leaving him alone right now—leaving whatever just happened unfinished, unexplained—gnaws at me.
I hang a right instead, stopping to grab my coat by the door. But stepping out into the chilly night air, I don’t put it on. The cold feels good on my overheated skin.
The parking lot is mostly empty. It’s later than I thought. Guess time flies when you’re pretending to date your best friend.
Wyatt’s truck gleams in the barn’s floodlights. The passenger door is flung open. A movement inside the cab catches my eye.
A beat later, Wyatt emerges from the truck. He’s still wearing his hat, and he has an unlit cigarette dangling from his lips.
That’s a red flag. I’ve smelled tobacco on him before—Wyatt’s the kind of guy who’ll never turn down a party cigarette—but he’s never smoked in front of me.
Anger, sudden and pressing, rises through my center. Ignoring the way the need inside me rises along with it, I make a beeline for him .
“Wyatt Benjamin Rivers, what the hell do you think you’re doing?”
He looks up, the floodlights catching on his eyes. In the darkness, they look liquid. Stepping closer—too close, but whatever—I see that his pupils are blown out.
His cigarette bobs when he replies, “Aren’t you supposed to be chasing Beck?”
“Shut up and tell me what’s wrong.”
“It’s been a nice night, Sal. I showed you how to let loose, right?” Tilting his head, he brings his hand to his mouth. His thumb is poised on the strike of a red Bic lighter. “Let’s not ruin it.”
“You’re ruining it by not talking to me.” I duck my head so our eyes meet again. “I’m worried about my friend, and I’m not leaving until I know what’s going on.”
“Friend.” He scoffs.
The lighter clicks, its flame throwing Wyatt’s handsome face into planes of shadow and light. I’m captivated by his strong, straight nose. The fullness of his lips and the coppery tint of his beard.
He’s beautiful.
But then he leans in to light his cigarette, and before I know what I’m doing I’m ripping it out of his mouth.
My fingers accidentally brush his lips, and a shock wave of heat bolts through me as I wobble on my knees. “What does that mean?”
His eyes search mine for a long beat. My pulse is frantic. At last his shoulders rise on a deep, resigned inhale, his hand falling away from his face.
“Means I don’t love pretending to date you.”
My heart falls. To my very great embarrassment, tears prick my eyes. “Oh. Okay. I, um, understand. Asking you to do that was”—I force out a threadbare laugh—“not okay. I’m sorry. But I thought—I mean, we were doing great in there. It really was fun?— ”
“That’s just it.” His eyes are pleading as they move between mine. “We crushed it. Beck definitely wants to take you home. How could he not? You were confident as all get out back there. You played poker like you had nothing to lose. Not to mention you’re a total knockout in that dress.” His gaze flicks down my body, a quick, hot perusal that draws my nipples to painfully sensitive points. “But I—Sally, if I’m being honest?—”
“Please. Please be honest.”
Because I love honest Wyatt. I love his playful side too. But the guy who isn’t afraid to be vulnerable? He’s the one who really captivates me.
He sighs again. Looks away, turning his head so I’m able to ogle the square, masculine line of his jaw. “I hate the idea of it—you going home with him. I got no right to say it, but it’s been eating at me all night, and I—trust me, I know what I agreed to. I want you to get what you need, Sally. But the thought of you goin’ to someone else to get it…” He keeps his head turned, but his eyes move to meet mine. “That don’t sit right with me.”
Everything inside me heaves. It’s like a bomb detonated inside my circulatory system, sending shock waves of debris through every inch of my body.
Silence, electric and alive, blooms between us. Did Wyatt just say what I think he did?
Is he actually opening up to me?
Because that’s one hell of a confession. And the raw, vulnerable look in his eyes—how he’s clearly terrified, but looking me in the eye anyway—it’s everything.
The fact that he’s letting his mask slip—that he’s not filling the silence with a joke or a line—is everything . Not to mention what he’s confessing.
Does he really want me the way I want him?
“Wy,” I say softly.
“Yeah.” His reply is equally soft. Equally scared. “I know you and me can’t happen, but that doesn’t mean I haven’t been thinking about it all night. Longer’n that, if I’m being honest.”
I have to be one hundred percent sure we’re talking about the same thing here. “Thinking about…”
“Don’t make me say it. You know, Sunshine. You know I wanna be your guy.”
My heart flies right out of my chest. Just sprouts wings and takes off, leaving me unable to breathe, to think, to process.
Is Wyatt as turned on by me as I am by him?
Is he asking me to hook up with him instead of Beck? Surely, that’s what Wyatt means when he says he wants to be my guy . He wants to be the person I go to whenever I have—ahem—needs.
I want to laugh at the absurdity of it. But there is nothing absurd about the frank lust in his eyes as he gives me a once-over.
Those eyes linger on my chest before moving to my face. “You’re cold. Put on your jacket.” He nods at my coat, which I have folded over my arm.
But I don’t want to put on my jacket.
As a matter of fact, I would very much like to take some clothes off . Not put more on.
This is stupid. You’re playing with fire. Be careful. Be careful.
Be smart .
Hooking up with your best friend of twenty years is definitely not a smart move. There’s a voice inside my head that says I’m conflating lust with love, which is exactly why I set my sights on a random cowboy in the first place. There’s no risk of getting hurt. Of having my heart broken because I don’t have enough time left in Hartsville to fall for anyone new.
But Wyatt? He’s a heartbreaker. And he’s not new. I’ve known him forever, and he is my favorite person on the planet. Which means crossing this line with him—becoming friends with benefits—has the potential to get messy.
It also has the potential to be exceptionally delicious. And if I’ve learned anything tonight, it’s that taking risks is worth it.
Let’s be real, I couldn’t keep my hands off this Wyatt—the honest one—if I tried.
Time for me to be honest. Guess Wyatt’s bravery is contagious.
“Put the jacket on, Sally,” Wyatt warns.
I blurt the words before I lose my nerve. “I forget how to kiss. Wait, scratch that. I know how to kiss, but I don’t know how to quiet my mind and just…get lost in the moment. Get lost in the kiss. I could use some practice.”
He goes still. “Are you serious?”
“I mean, I feel like I can get by.” A nervous chuckle. “But I wouldn’t say I enjoy it?—”
“Just getting by is depressing.” Wyatt’s jaw tics.
“Exactly.” I step forward on unsteady legs. Hold up the cigarette. “You can have this back. But I’m not gonna stick around to watch you smoke it.”
His nostrils flare as he looks from me to the cigarette and back again. I need to make sure he wants to cross this particular Rubicon too. Actions speak louder than words. And so far, all he’s given me are, well, admittedly very sweet, alarmingly sexy words. But still, they’re just words. He also hasn’t made a move.
“Take it.” I press it into his chest. “I’m sorry I said that about kissing. I’ve already asked you for too much.”
He grabs my wrist, my blood rioting at the firm, confident way his fingers grip me. “Don’t do that.”
“Don’t do what?”
“Assume that the answer’s no before you even ask the question. Ask the damn question, Sally. ”
My lips twitch, even as I wonder vaguely if I’m going to faint. “Assuming does make an ass out of you and me.”
“Ask.”
Now it’s my voice that shakes when I say, “Kiss me?”
“How do you like it?”
“I don’t know. How everyone likes it?”
He sucks in a sharp, short breath through his nose. “I ain’t asking you again, Sal. You gotta be specific, or you ain’t gonna get what you’re lookin’ for.”
I think for one panicked heartbeat, then another. Stay out of your head. Go all in. “I…want to feel something. I want to feel like time has stopped and I’m exactly where I’m supposed to be. Like I don’t want to be anywhere else, with anyone else, because the experience of the kiss is so freaking delicious. I want to fall into it. I just…yeah, I want to feel .”
“Ah. So you just want transcendence, then.” He uses the knuckle of his first finger to tip back the brim of his hat, the way he did inside.
The teasing gleam in his eye makes me feel slightly less shaky.
“Something like that, yeah.”
Since when did leaning into this man feel so natural? We don’t normally stand this close.
Then again, we don’t normally talk about kissing each other after a very flirty, touchy-feely game of Texas Hold’Em either.
Tonight is a night of firsts, that’s for damn sure. Which is kinda cool. I feel like I’m getting a shot at my firsts all over again in a way. First date. First time meeting the parents.
And now, first kiss.
“Lucky for you”— oh God, oh God, Wyatt is slipping a hand onto my face, using his palm to angle my mouth up toward his—“I’m tight with God, and I’ll have you saying his name often. Eventually though, I’d like you to say mine instead. ”
I love how this man seems to know when to make me laugh just when I need it.
My blood is rushing, and my head is spinning, and I’m so nervous that I feel like I’m literally going to burst. But there’s something about this touch—the gentle, easy caress of his palm against my skin—that is both calming and wildly, indecently arousing.
I laugh, and then he’s leaning in. The gorgeous, masculine slant of his neck is the last thing I see before he presses his lips to mine, his bottom lip positioned expertly between my own.