Chapter 11 #2
“Sorry,” Wyatt says, quickly adjusting the sound. “Do you want to grab something to eat before we hit the beach? Get something to take with us?”
I reach up for the whistle dangling from my neck and trace my fingers over it, considering what I’m in the mood for.
“Oh, you’re deep thinking on it,” Wyatt says.
I turn and find him studying me. “You know, Wyatt? You’re going to make an excellent boyfriend when you decide you want to be one.”
The streetlight illuminates his profile and an embarrassed flush colors his cheeks. “What? Why?”
“Because you pay attention. A lot of guys don’t.”
“Have guys you’ve gone out with not paid attention?”
“Not really.”
“Then they’re a bunch of dicks.”
I giggle at that. “I appreciate your outrage.”
“I’m telling the truth. Now what do you want to eat? What were you so seriously debating a few seconds ago?”
“I was trying to remember if the OCU Athletic Dining Hall is still open. We could grab something like a smoothie there if it is.”
“You don’t normally eat in there, do you?” Wyatt asks, pulling his car out onto the street.
“Sometimes I did with the other swimmers last year. But I ate more at my dorm so I could be with Maddie.” Then I study him. “How did you know?”
“I eat there all the time, and I would have remembered you,” he says simply.
A million butterflies take flight in my stomach. I don’t know what migration pattern they’re on, but they’ve appeared out of the blue and I feel tingly all over.
“They close at nine,” Wyatt explains. “But you want a smoothie?”
“Yeah. Or an acai bowl,” I manage to reply, but I’m still wrapped up in his previous comment.
Wyatt would have noticed me.
“Okay. I’ll go along with it. Although brownies would be way more fun.”
I groan. “Brownies would be. But no, let’s get smoothies.”
“Where do you want me to go? I’m at your service tonight.”
I bite my lip. Wyatt really has been. First, by escorting me to the frat house and trying to make sure I was comfortable.
Then he danced with me, and I actually found myself having fun.
He put Rob in his place and made sure he wouldn’t bother me—or any other girl on this campus—again.
Now here he is, willing to take me wherever I want and go to one of the places I love most in the whole world.
I know I’m right. Wyatt will be an excellent boyfriend for some lucky girl in the future.
The fluttering stops with that thought, and I realize I shouldn’t be having butterflies at all when it comes to Wyatt Jacobs.
I name a smoothie shop a few blocks from campus and then look out the window, watching the large sorority and frat houses roll by as Wyatt drives.
And I do my best to focus on what acai bowl I want instead of the incredible guy sitting next to me.
***
I breathe in the salty ocean air as I step out of Wyatt’s Jeep.
The surf rolls against the shore, and the light of the full moon dances on the Pacific Ocean.
Big rocks catch the waves that crash against them, and the palm trees towering above us rustle in the breeze.
After stopping for our snacks—a peanut butter and chocolate smoothie for him, an acai bowl with bananas and coconut for me—Wyatt swung by his house to run in and grab some towels and a hoodie for himself.
Now we’ve reached the cove. Wyatt grabs the towels and shuts the back door. “Wanna lead the way?” he asks.
Since there’s nobody around us, he doesn’t reach for my hand.
I move ahead of him and begin walking down the steps that lead to the beach.
There are some people out enjoying the ocean at night, but not nearly as many as during the day.
As we reach the beach, I stop and take off my sneakers and socks, and Wyatt does the same.
“Do you want to sit or walk?” I ask.
“Let’s sit,” he says.
I scan the beach and see that my favorite rock to sit on is open, nice and close to the shore. “Let’s sit over here,” I say, pointing to it.
Wyatt nods and we walk across the sand, which feels cool underneath my feet.
We leave our shoes and towels next to the rock and climb up on it, sitting beside each other.
For a moment, all I do is breathe in the wonderful scent of the ocean, letting the salty air fill my lungs.
I exhale and look over at Wyatt, and my pulse quickens when I find he’s already staring at me.
“You look at home here,” he says.
I smile. “I am. Anywhere near the water is my happy place. It’s always been soothing to me.”
He quirks a brow. “Even when you’re upside down and holding your breath until your lungs nearly explode?”
I burst out laughing. “I’ve never had exploding lungs, but yes, even then, I love it.”
“I’ve lived my whole life in Arizona. Mountains and cactus and palm trees. But nothing beats being able to go to the ocean whenever you want,” he says, shifting his gaze out to the rolling surf.
“I know, it was a huge selling point for Ocean Cove for me,” I say, feeling the spray of water on my face. “I dream of having a house with an ocean view someday.”
“You think that far ahead?” Wyatt asks, and I feel him studying my profile.
I turn to meet his gaze. “Yes. Don’t you?”
He appears to consider this for a moment. “Yeah. No.”
I chuckle. “That’s a definitive answer.”
He grins sheepishly and rakes his hand through his windblown hair.
“I think about the future in hockey terms. Getting drafted, which means I could be living anywhere in the US or Canada. Signing a contract that will fulfill a dream. As far as school goes, making good grades and earning credits so I can get my degree later if I’m drafted. ”
“Your parents must be so proud of you for wanting to earn that degree,” I say.
“My dad isn’t,” Wyatt says with a snort. “He wishes I were in Canada playing hockey. He thinks I’m wasting my time with college and that I should do the bare minimum. You know, just enough where I can play.”
I’m taken aback by his answer. My parents are the opposite. They want all my focus on education and would love it if I quit artistic swimming tomorrow. I’m about to ask him what he means when he abruptly clears his throat.
“You said we need to learn about each other so we can pass as a couple,” he says, switching the topic. “I’ve never had a girlfriend, so you’ll have to lead on this.”
I bite my lip. Do I dare tell him I’ve never even hooked up before? That all I’ve had are a handful of dates? A few kissing sessions? That he’s way more experienced than I am? Would Wyatt think that was weird?
I feel heat in my cheeks. Yes, Grace, he would think that was totally weird since you are a SOPHOMORE in college.
I decide there are some things Wyatt doesn’t need to know about me.
“Okay. We met in class. Hit it off at the mixer. We came to the cove so we could hang out in private,” I say, repeating what has happened so far. I smile up at him. “You know, we could just have a conversation tonight like normal people on a date.”
“Ooh, uncharted territory for me,” Wyatt says, his mouth drawing up into a sexy, mischievous smile.
“I think you can be brave enough to do it,” I tease. “I believe in you so much, I’ll give you the first question. Trust me, I’ve had some really crappy dates, and I know you’ll ask better questions than some of those guys did.”
“You’ve given me my first question. What’s the crappiest date you’ve ever been on?” he asks, his eyes dancing at me.
For a second, I’m distracted by them. I always thought I liked blue eyes, but there’s something about his espresso brown eyes that is … beautiful.
I blink the thought away and focus on the question instead. “I’ve had some shitty dates, so this is hard to narrow down,” I say, thinking on the past.
“How could any guy be shitty to you?” Wyatt asks incredulously.
I giggle at that. “Oh, trust me. Lots have been. And I’m not even including Rob in that, because he was the shittiest of them all and I never even had a date with him.”
As soon as I say Rob’s name, Wyatt scowls. I can’t help but smile. It’s not only cute, but I’m honored it’s on my behalf.
“Here’s an example,” I say. “I met one guy for coffee at the union. Just a coffee date. He didn’t really initiate conversation.
I had to do all the work. It was obvious he wasn’t really listening to my answers, and about halfway through my iced latte, he pulls out his phone and starts snapping other girls in front of me. ”
Wyatt’s eyes widen. “What? In front of you?”
I begin to laugh. “Yes! Isn’t that awful? I mean, I knew within five minutes I wouldn’t be going out with him again, but I guess he didn’t feel like wasting any time.”
Wyatt laughs at that, too. “Tell me another one.”
And just like that, we fall into an easy conversation.
I share some more dates with Wyatt, and he laughs and gives his thoughts on how bad they were.
We even rank them in order from bad to worst of the worst, which makes us both laugh.
Then the conversation veers off into all kinds of topics.
I discover that Wyatt likes to binge TV, and often does it on flights or in hotel rooms when he’s traveling for hockey.
I like to savor mine episode by episode, which makes Wyatt tell me I have extreme willpower—or I’m freakishly weird.
We talk about our dedication to our sports.
What it’s like to be a student-athlete. He asks more about the sample articles I’m going to write for Cove Style, and it makes me think of McCall.
“Oh, that reminds me. I promised I would ask you, but if you don’t want to do it, please feel free to say no. McCall is trying to get on as a writer for the sports magazine. And if you were open to it, she would love to interview you.”
“Me?” Wyatt asks, giving me a surprised look. “Nah. She should go bigger. McCall should interview our captain, Luca Andretti. That would be a better interview. I can ask him if she wants.”
“Oh my God, I’m sure she’d love that! Thank you.”
“Sure, I’ll message him tonight, not a problem.”
We continue to talk, and he doesn’t seem bored. Or wishing that he were back at the frat house, a bar, or a party. Wyatt seems like he’s having fun with me, even though we’re doing nothing but sitting on a rock, watching the surf roll in and feeling the ocean spray across us as we talk.
“Favorite meal. Besides decapitated muffins,” he says.
“They are not decapitated!”
Wyatt gives me such a bombastic side-eye that I burst out laughing. “Okay, fine they’re decapitated,” I relent. “But I love a good muffin. Cookies. Oh! I freaking love Cadbury Mini Eggs. Like I can eat bags of them.”
“I don’t think I’ve ever had a mini egg.”
“What? That’s just … wrong!” I declare passionately. “I’m concerned for you. I’ll have to bring you some.”
He flashes me a lopsided grin. “I’m glad to see my fake girlfriend is a caring person.”
“I do care. Cadbury Mini Eggs spark joy, Wyatt!”
He studies me for a moment, almost in a serious, contemplative way. I turn my attention to the Pacific, getting goose bumps as I feel him staring at my profile.
“We should get together on Sunday,” he finally says.
I snap my attention back to him. “Yeah?”
He nods. “If I were really into a girl, I wouldn’t play games. I’d ask her to study or get a coffee or something pretty soon after I met her.”
For a split second, my heart deflates at the word “were.”
Then I rally. No, I’m glad he said it. It’s a good reminder that Wyatt is not into me but pretending to be. I mean, sure, we’re having fun right now and getting along oh so well, but at the end of the day, he didn’t choose to date me, did he?
“I can do that,” I say, smiling at him. “Where do you go to study?”
“We need to go where we can be seen,” Wyatt says. He thinks for a moment. “How about the terrace at the student union?”
The student union is a beautiful old building that’s the nerve center of campus. There’s a mini mart inside, along with various restaurants, lounges, meeting rooms, and even a bowling alley on the bottom floor. “That’s perfect. Around what time?”
Wyatt’s eyes dance at me again. “Can I message you? I’ll let you know when I’m up.”
I grin back at him. “Not sure what time you’ll be recovered from a Saturday night out?”
“Exactly. What about you? Are you going out tomorrow night?”
“I’m going out with some of the girls on the team. We’ll get dinner and coffee or something.”
He nods. Another big wave rolls in, and as I breathe in the air, I get the scent of Wyatt mixing with the ocean, that woodsy and citrus blend.
God, that smells so good.
“We should probably head out,” he says.
I bite my lip. I think I could spend hours talking to Wyatt like this. “Okay,” I say.
He moves off the rock first, and then to my surprise, holds out his hand to me. “I’ll help you down.”
The butterflies are back in my stomach. I put my hand in his, and he clasps it firmly, helping me down from the rock. Now I’m standing before him, very close, and there’s nothing between us except for the breeze from the ocean.
Wyatt is gazing down at me, his eyes searching mine. He finally releases my hand. “Lead the way, Gracie,” he says, motioning for me to start walking.
I instantly miss the feel of his hand on mine. His warmth and strength and calloused fingers. “Okay, Wy,” I say.
He laughs softly. “Is that going to be my nickname?”
“I think so. Or it will be until I get to know you better and think of something else.”
“I’m going to stick with calling you Gracie. For now. But I’m thinking Mini Egg might be a cute name for you.”
I snort laugh at that, and he does, too. We pick up our towels and shoes, and as I walk across the beach with Wyatt, I’m grateful I’m wearing his hoodie, so he can’t see how fast my heart is beating.
I think I’m going to enjoy the next thirty days with him. Even if I know none of it is real.
And it never will be.