17. Sally
CHAPTER 17
Sally
LIES, LIES, LIES
His kiss tastes like us.
I’m on his mouth and he’s on mine, and the taste is lewd and earthy and incredibly intimate. Coupled with the sound of his heartbeat racing in my ears, it’s overwhelming.
I start to shake.
Really, I’ve been shaking since Wyatt told me about his tattoo—the one I’ve never seen before.
“I had to keep you with me, I guess. In my own way.”
The Jack and Coke is more than a tattoo. It’s a confession. One that’s so sweet, that’s such a big deal for someone as locked up as Wyatt, that I can’t help but feel like he really does want me in a way I never thought he would.
He’s opening up bit by bit, and I never want him to stop.
I imagine that’s why I surrendered to the wildness in me just now, to the burning curiosity that I’d never dare show anyone else. His bravery made me want to be brave. And instead of being grossed out or turned off, Wyatt came in my mouth.
He was so into it—so into me —that he couldn’t control himself .
He was also really into the fact that I wanted to tie him up. I enjoyed it so much, so I figured he might too.
And now he’s kissing me deeply, gently, smoothing the callous pad of his thumb over the corner of my lips to clean me up.
He’s kissing me like we didn’t just engage in various levels of obscenity.
He’s kissing me like he cares .
This kiss—it tastes like love.
My pulse seizes, my knees going weak as the longing in my center takes on a sharp edge. Could this be love?
Could the tattoo, the honesty, the possessiveness, and the really great oral sex add up to Wyatt being in love with me the way I’m in love with him?
My heart turns over. Separately, those facts don’t mean a lot. Well, the tattoo kinda does, but Wyatt has a lot of tattoos. Those facts taken together, though—I mean, is Sawyer right? Wyatt does have that sunrise tattoo on his forearm. Could that also be a nod to the nickname he has for me?
It has to be. In my gut, I know he got that ink for me.
Holy shit, does Wyatt want more too? But he said this was just sex. Could he have been lying through his teeth the way I was in that moment?
I don’t know, but I kiss him back anyway. What else can I do? I could kiss this man for hours, for days, and still not get my fill.
I already know it’s going to make leaving Texas suck that much more. Today has been perfect. The kind of day I’d dream about while I was stuck inside studying, or doing rounds at the animal hospital at Ithaca University. All day, I’ve had this gut-deep feeling that I’m exactly where I should be.
I loved having coffee with Wyatt. I loved riding with him. I loved working cattle together and being with his brothers.
Wyatt nips at the corner of my mouth, arcing his thumb across my cheek. I’m learning kissing chemistry is real, it’s rare, and Wyatt and I have it in spades. It’s the best stress relief. Best way to spend a Saturday afternoon. And a Friday night. And hopefully some part of Sunday too.
Jesus, I already want to see him again, and I haven’t even left yet.
I want to stay. Spend the rest of the afternoon and evening with him. If we were still just friends—only friends—I would stay.
Then again, if we were just friends, I probably wouldn’t have come over to Lucky River Ranch today in the first place. My never-ending to-do list would’ve definitely won out over having coffee with Wyatt on his front porch.
The fact that we became more than friends is why I’m here at all. It’s terrifying to think about what we’re risking. But also a thrill to ponder what I’m gaining by putting myself out there like this. I feel like I’m actually living instead of working, or preparing, or organizing, or answering emails, or doing any of the one million tedious tasks that typically fill my days.
I don’t know what Wyatt and I would do for the rest of the afternoon and evening. Hang at his place maybe? Shower together, watch TV, have lots of mind-blowing sex?
All I know is I want to be with him.
Wyatt breaks the kiss to wrap his arms around me. “Aw, Sunshine, you’re still shakin’.”
Are you in love with me, Wyatt Rivers?
But then what? If his answer to that question was yes, where would that leave us? I’m not sure I’m ready to face the obstacles that’d lie ahead.
Let’s be real, I’m not even ready to face his answer. He said this was just sex . Leave it to me to make a mountain out of a molehill.
So I paste on a smile and say, “I’m a little cold, yeah. ”
His brow creases as he runs his big hands up my arms. “Let’s get you dressed then. Here, take my jacket.”
“I’m okay.”
“You’re not okay. You’re freezing. Take the damn jacket, Sally.”
He pulls up his pants, then helps me tug my shirt over my head and guides my arms into my jacket. Then he wraps me in his jacket, the nubby sherpa lining cozy and warm.
It smells like him. Like sandalwood and bonfires and dryer sheets. The yearning in my center takes on a sharp edge.
What kind of detergent does he use? And why does it bother me that I don’t know that about him? I thought I knew everything about Wyatt.
Then again, I’m not his girlfriend. I’ve been to his place, but I’ve never had an excuse to be in his laundry room.
I’m down bad if I’m interested in knowing what Wyatt’s laundry room looks like. He moved into the old farmhouse on Lucky River Ranch, the one that was built over a hundred years ago by Mollie’s great-grandfather. It’s been renovated, but if I had to guess, it probably doesn’t even have a laundry room; the machines are likely tucked into a closet or kept in the basement.
I need to get a life.
I need to ask Wyatt if he wants to get naked at his place, now. But I don’t. Today really has been perfect. I don’t want to ruin it by asking for more.
I’m still shaking when we finish getting dressed.
Wyatt frowns. “Talk to me. What’s goin’ on?”
Pressure builds inside my chest and behind my eyes. Now would be a perfect time to ask my best friend to take me home with him. But I can’t.
We can’t.
“That was great, Wy.”
“Of course it was great. Tell me why you’re still shaking. ”
“I’ll be fine. Really. That was just…the orgasm, Wyatt. Wow.”
He smiles. “No shit. I can’t feel my fuckin’ legs right now.”
“Want me to feel them for you?”
He bursts out laughing. “Anytime.”
I meet his eyes. They bounce between mine as a beat of heated silence blooms between us.
Ask me to stay.
For a split second, I actually think he’s going to do it. His expression softens, and I swear I can see the same longing that I feel written all over his face.
But then he clears his throat, shoving his hands in his pockets. “I’m not lettin’ you leave until you promise me you’re all right.”
I’m so crushed, I can’t breathe. Still, I manage to keep my smile from wavering. “Seriously, Wyatt, I’m great. Thank you.”
“Stop thankin’ me. You give as good as you get, Sunshine.” He flashes me a wide white smile. “I mean that in the perverted sense.”
“Everything you say is a euphemism.”
His smile broadens. I smile back, and this time, it’s a real smile because I love the fact that he and I share so many inside jokes.
We smile at each other like that for one beat. Two.
“Let me walk you to your car.” Wyatt’s voice sounds different. It’s deeper. Coarser.
I shake my head. “I should run. Lots to catch up on.”
Wyatt nods. “Yeah. Me too.”
Another beat of silence.
My chest burns from where the rope bit into my skin. It’ll probably leave a mark.
Wyatt keeps marking me. Is that another sign that his feelings for me run deep ?
“See ya.” I turn and bolt for the door. “Please tell Ella I had the best time hanging out with her today.”
“Okay.”
Reaching for the latch, I glance over my shoulder. Wyatt is looking at me, his eyes narrowed. His smile is gone. A pair of indents has appeared between his eyes, like he’s confused. Or hurt.
I’m doing the right thing. This is what he wants. This is what I said I wanted.
Only I want more, and I don’t know what to do about that.
I burst into tears the moment I’m in my truck. Starting the ignition, I turn on the heat and lean my head against the steering wheel.
I drive back home in a daze. Luckily, I manage to get ahold of myself as I get closer to the house; I don’t want to tip Mom and Dad off that something happened. Mostly because I don’t feel like talking about it. And Dad is so laser-focused on me being laser-focused on my job. He gives me my freedom, but I doubt he’d approve of me being tied up by Wyatt instead of listening to that podcast or reading those journals.
The smell of Mom’s white chicken chili hits me the minute I step through the door. No doubt she has a pot of it bubbling away on the stove.
My heart clenches. One good thing about coming home tonight: I won’t miss dinner. I know Mom made the chili especially for me. Topped with sour cream, cubed avocado, tortilla strips, and some shredded cheese, her white chicken chili might be my favorite meal of all time.
“Hey, honey.” Mom looks up from the book she’s reading on the living room sofa. “How was your day?”
I’m getting scary good at pasting on these smiles. “It was great.” Looking down, I toe out of my boots. “Smells delicious, Mom. ”
“I was hoping you’d be home in time for dinner. How’s Wyatt?”
Did I tell Mom I was hanging out with Wyatt today? Pretty sure all I said this morning was that I had some errands to run.
“I was with Wyatt last night.”
“I know. And you were with him again today.”
My stomach dips. I glance into the house. Dad is nowhere in sight. I didn’t see his truck out front, but there’s a good chance that just means he put it in the garage.
I pull my brows together. Keep my voice low when I ask, “How’d you know?”
“I just do.” She nods at me. “And you’re wearing his jacket.”
“Oh. Yeah.” I look down at it. “I was…chilly. He let me borrow it.”
“Awfully kind of him.”
I swallow. “Yeah.”
Her smile fades a little. “You okay, honey?”
Grabbing the nearby banister, I nod. “Just tired. Holler when dinner’s ready?”
“Of course.” A pause. “You know I’m always here if you need to talk, right?”
My eyes film over. Part of me wants to confide in Mom. Another part is afraid she’ll think the same thing Dad would. That a fling with a guy from Hartsville is fine, but anything more than that is a bad idea. I’ve spent my whole life in pursuit of the job I now have in hand. Mom and Dad sacrificed so much to help me make that particular dream come true, and I can’t let them down now that we’re so close to the finish line.
Mom loves Wyatt like a son. So does Dad. But even if they do love him like family, would they love him for me?
I can’t stop thinking about that fucking tattoo .
“I appreciate that, Mom. Thank you.”
Then I bolt upstairs, my legs feeling like lead weights as I move.