Chapter 27
Chapter Twenty-Seven
WYATT
While I tried to get dressed after a head-clearing shower, I felt the need to come apologize for being such a dick after the show ended.
I hadn’t wanted to push her. I don’t want my feelings that have been there for years to influence anything for her.
I didn’t know if I’d be able to hold my tongue—or my distance—if she said something that tipped me over the edge.
A clearer-headed Wyatt reminded me that she doesn’t deserve the silent treatment for not speaking her mind.
Friends should be able to talk about anything.
So after I towel dry my hair, I wrap it back around my waist and walk the three steps it takes me to cross the landing to her room.
I came to apologize, but what I see nearly kills me.
The door is just barely cracked, and I can hear sheets ruffling like she’s awake.
“Nash?” I whispered.
And wait.
No response.
I put my hand to the door, hesitating. I don’t really want to wake her up if she’s already asleep.
“Wyatt.” My body goes ramrod straight. Every single muscle locked into place like I’m preparing to take a hit.
She’s awake, all right.
I clamp my hand over my mouth to keep myself quiet. I can’t stay here. I cannot get caught creeping like this. She wouldn’t want me to hear what she sounds like when she’s about to come. My sad badge of honor still says ‘fake boyfriend’, so I shouldn’t bear witness to what’s happening in her room.
I take my hand off the door like it’s hot to the touch. I can feel my vision go narrow. I bite down on my lip to keep the whoosh of my breath from making any noise. I shut my eyes so that I don’t accidentally get a glimpse of something I can’t unsee…that I would never want to unsee.
But somehow, it’s worse with my eyes closed.
Without sight it’s like her moans are coming from right next to me instead of within the room mere feet away.
Like she could have been up against this door, underneath my weight, legs wrapped around my hips instead of in the bed where she’s oblivious to my presence.
With what feels like a swift kick to the teeth, I realize that I’m standing in the hall in nothing but a quickly tenting towel and I should absolutely not be here right now.
I back away from the door, tripping over my own two feet in my haste, the bath towel around me slowly losing its grip on my hips.
I right myself and hold it up with one hand as I stumble back to my room and close the door as quietly as I can.
Back in the safety of my room I should feel relief from each little gasp and moan I overheard, the very sounds I mentally stole to tuck away and have for myself when I didn’t earn them, but I don’t.
I can hear her cries echoing through my mind like the cheers of the crowd echo off the roof of the Hurricanes’ stadium.
It rolls through me, forcing a shiver down my spine.
I’ll never be able to sleep like this, so I go back in the bathroom and turn the shower back on. I put a new towel out since the one I just used is soaked, and with my tail between my legs, I step back into the shower.
I choke a little when I wrap my fist tight around myself.
I normally try to keep my mind from wandering to Nash when I have my cock in hand, but after tonight…
to hell with it, I let my mind wander. I let the leash go that I usually hold tight to.
Because she wanted me to be her fake boyfriend.
She picked out a new hat for me to wear.
She was the one who was about to ask me for something when the concert ended and all the lights came back on, breaking whatever trance we had been in.
I’m at war with myself. My gut tells me there’s something else between us outside of this fake relationship, but she never suggests anything that would make me know for sure.
So tonight, I backed away from her room, brought myself to my lonely shower, and indulged in replays of the sounds I just witnessed and the kisses from earlier tonight until I am spent.