Chapter 47
Chapter Forty-Seven
WYATT
“This is your pilot speaking; we are beginning our descent into Milwaukee. The weather is a sunny seventy-five degrees, and winds are coming from due north.” This flight isn’t very long, but it’s always an express plane, which means it’s tiny and there’s no room for my legs, even in first class.
I lean over to Nash. “Why do all pilots sound like they’re talking with the microphone in their mouth?”
Her smile is weak. “I don’t know. I just know I’m ready to get off this metal death trap.”
“You’ve been asleep since we took off.” She was snoring lightly on my shoulder until this thing started shaking like a leaf in a storm. Even though the sky is a perfect blue, the landing into Milwaukee can sometimes be bumpy because of the strong winds over the lake.
“No one could sleep through this.” The plane takes another dip as we round out over Lake Michigan to line up the landing, and my belly sinks along with it.
Nash’s hand grabs tight to the armrest between us.
It’s been a week since we added sex to our deal, and we haven’t been able to keep our hands off each other.
No surface is sacred. The big couch in my living room, the standing shower in my bathroom, the granite kitchen island.
All Nash has to do is glance in my direction and I’m hard for her.
Then every night this week we found ourselves cuddled up in my bed.
If this is what we could be like as a real couple…
The plane rattles again and Nash sucks in a stressful breath.
I pry her hands off the armrest and tuck our intertwined hands onto my lap. She eyes me from her window seat, which she always has to have so she can watch the clouds go by. “What are you doing?” she asks.
“Supporting my girlfriend in her time of need.” When she keeps side-eyeing me, I ask “What? Is that a crime?”
Pink tinges her cheeks. Success.
As the plane makes its final descent, hitting that last horrible bump when it touches its wheels to the ground, I squeeze Nash’s hand every time she flinches.
I hope it takes the sting of the drop in her stomach away.
Focusing my attention on taking care of her is helping keep my mind away from seeing my family.
I love them, and we’re super close, but they still don’t know why I left Green Bay.
I haven’t told them because I don’t think they’d understand.
Ideally, I won’t have to have that conversation this weekend either.
I think coming home with Nash on my arm will be enough excitement—and distraction—for us all.
It’s a quick sweep through the airport to baggage claim since there’s only one terminal.
Tough to get lost. After grabbing our luggage, we head over to the rental car area.
It’s about an hour drive from here to Poblocki.
My family practically begs me to let them pick me up every time, but I insist on getting a rental so they don’t waste two-plus hours of their day.
I step up to the rental car desk. “Name?” the check-in lady asks.
“Vandergriff.”
“Okay, great. I see you right here. Can I get your driver’s license and the card on file?” I hand it over, and we do the paperwork song and dance. Finally, we’re done, and she says, “You’ll be C32.”
I take my license back along with the completed paperwork and turn to guide Nash toward the only door that goes to all the rental cars.
We hustle through the garage looking for our car, Nash easily keeping up with my hurried pace despite being loaded down with her luggage. I would love to carry it all for her, but I had to pack heavy for this trip since I’m in the wedding.
We both come to a complete stop when we see the car waiting for us.
“What the fuck?” I look at Nash. “I ordered a standard SUV for us.”
“It’s not that small,” she grimaces.
I approach the lime green Kia Soul sitting in our assigned spot. So I do the only logical thing and stand next to it so she can see just how tiny it is. “Not that small? Look at it!”
Nash, ever practical, rounds the car, opens the trunk, and starts putting her stuff inside. “It just has to get us from the airport to your parents’ house and back. We’re going to spend two hours in it over the course of the whole weekend.”
I grumble under my breath about how you’re supposed to get what you paid for as I load my stuff in the trunk. Nash puts her hand on my bicep. “It’s fine, Wyatt.”
My head drops forward, fully abashed. “You’re right.
I have my farm truck at the house, we can drive that if we need to.
” I turn back toward her, wrapping my arms around her waist and pulling her to me.
I still can’t get over the knowledge that if we’d been more upfront with each other, we could have been having sex every time she came home to visit.
I plan on making up for lost time before the weekend is over and our deal is done.
“I’m sorry. I’m just nervous. My whole family is going to be here, and this is the first wedding I’ve ever been in. I don’t know what to expect.”
She kisses my cheek, which is heated from lugging bags across the warm parking lot. “This is going to be fun. I’m excited to be back in Wisconsin with you. Just like old times,” she says with a wink.
Except, I don’t want it to be like old times.
Old times included staring at her longingly over a fried turkey the Thanksgiving she didn’t have time to go home.
I spent the whole day dodging pointed questions about the status of our relationship from my mom.
The old times were watching her get hit on by half my teammates any time she came to a football after party.
Her dancing in the disgusting living room, floor sticky with beer.
Me leaning against the counter in the open kitchen where I could see her, but not be too close.
I want this to be a new time. I want her to sit on my lap when we have a campfire by the lake to ward off the chill that blows off Lake Michigan even in the summer.
I want to slow dance with her after my brother’s nuptials.
I want to be the recipient of her overly touchy drunk affection.
She starts to pull away, but I hold her in place by catching her chin.
“I can’t wait to show you off to my family.
” We should get on the road, but I want so badly to kiss her.
It’s like I have to have that token of her affection on Wisconsin soil to make sure this really happened, and that I didn’t just imagine it in Texas.
“Yeah, your fake girlfriend. Very impressive.” Her tone is bone dry.
Welp. That certainly kills the moment. I take a step back, into my own space again.
When I look back, there’s something in her eyes, a hollowness. She blinks, and in a flash it’s gone. “We’d better get going; your mom is probably already out on the front steps waiting for us.”
We cram ourselves into the little Kia, pull out of the airport and onto the highway headed north.
Everything is going to be fine. I just have to be in a wedding, not upset my family by telling them why I left Green Bay even though everyone is going to want to talk about the Butcher’s drafting Jason Amara and what that means—oh, and also avoid falling any more in love with Nash to ensure I don’t break her heart.
Easy-peasy.