Big Bad Daddies: A MFM Romance

by J. L. Beck

  I'm so busy having my mini pity party that Wyatt's arm around my shoulders, gently pulling me to his side, to give me an awkward hug startles me. The hug is made even more awkward by me jerking away from him like he is trying to steal the virtue that I no longer have. Jumping up, I hold out a hand to keep him away, "Please don't. If you're nice to me I'm going to lose it, and I don't want to spend the day crying."

  Wyatt nods, "Alright, I won't be nice to you." He gives me a lopsided grin, and I can't help but smile back. I don't know why, but he has this irritating way of getting past my walls and I don't know how to stop him. Then, he surprises me by holding out his hand. "Come with me?"

  "Come with you where?" I ask warily, not sure where he's going with this.

  He just shakes his head. When I don't immediately take his hand, he lets out an exasperated breath. "C'mon Peyton, let me help you forget. Just for a little while." The option to forget the shitty way this weekend has gone is too tempting to pass up so I take his hand, the knot in my stomach loosens slightly.

  Wyatt leads me over to a rusty pickup truck full of dents. I know it makes me a snob, but I can't stop myself from saying, "You want me to ride in that?" The truck looks like it may have been gray in another life, but now it's mostly brown due to the amount of rust taking it over. The spots that aren't rusty are dented, the truck is damn near falling apart and I'm fairly certain it won't make it out of the library parking lot before it dies completely. This is the type of truck that should've been junked years ago instead of being the main transportation for someone.

  Expecting him to be offended, I brace myself for his anger, but it doesn't come. Instead, he chuckles before opening the passenger door and bowing deeply, gesturing for me to get inside. "Your chariot awaits my lady," Wyatt says with a grin.

  "Can't we just take my car?" I really, really don't want to ride in his rust bucket. I have a nice, practically brand new car. "I'll still let you drive, promise." I can't believe I'm going along with his crazy plan. I probably should get my head examined.

  Wyatt doesn't say anything; he just looks at me with one eyebrow raised before gesturing once again towards the open passenger door on his truck. We're now in a stalemate. He evidently doesn't want to ride in my car, and I don't want to ride in his truck. Finally, he rolls his eyes, grabs my waist, and plops me down in the seat, buckling the seatbelt before I can get back out. Then, he slams the door shut, causing flakes of rust to land all over my pants before running around to the driver's side and climbing in beside me.

  "Do you trust me?" he asks with a grin.

  I snort, "Not even close." I don't trust anyone. It's easier that way. If I don't trust you, I can't be disappointed by you. At least, that's my hope.

  Wyatt doesn't let my answer faze him. If anything, his smile widens before he says, "Don't worry, you will."

  Crossing my arms over my chest, I turn away from him and look out the window. I have no idea where he's taking me, and now that I'm actually here, in his truck, I'm a little nervous. Other than the fact that he knows my roommate, I know next to nothing about this guy. I know he makes me uncomfortable, but he doesn't bother me like most people do.

  After a few unsuccessful attempts to engage me in conversation, Wyatt finally gives up and turns the truck radio on. I'm shocked when music actually comes out of the thing, and then immediately ashamed of my thoughts. Wyatt's being nice enough to take me out, to try to get my mind off everything, and I'm badmouthing his truck, even if it's just in my head. Wow, maybe I am more like my mother than I thought. And with that depressing revelation, I decide not to dwell on all the bad stuff that's happened, choosing instead to focus on the music Wyatt listens to. As a music major, the songs people listen to fascinate me. You can tell a lot about a person by the type of music they listen to. That's not me trying to stereotype either; it's just the way it is.

  The first song that plays in Wyatt's truck is Springsteen by Eric Church, followed by a band I don't know. Closing my eyes, I lose myself in the music. Music was always a way for me to escape my parents. I could put on a set of headphones and tune out the hateful things my mother said. I could escape to another place for a little while.

  Zoning out to the music makes the twenty-minute drive to wherever it is Wyatt is taking me pass quickly. "We're here," he says quietly as his breath fans across my cheek. His lips are so close to my ear that when he moves his mouth they actually touch my ear. It's like an electric shock, and I whirl around to face him. The only problem is that he really is right next to my ear, so when I spin around, I knock my forehead into his nose and see stars. Wyatt's word of choice is very colorful as he jerks back out of the line of fire.

  "Sorry!" I yelp, my face flaming in embarrassment. I can't believe I just did that. I'm so socially awkward.

  Rubbing his nose, Wyatt replies with a laugh, "No worries. You aren't the first girl to beat me up."

  I hide my face in my hands, and attempt to ignore him. Not that he'll let that happen, but it's a nice idea. I hear his door open and shut before mine opens. A gust of cold air rushes into the warm interior of the truck causing me to shiver. Wyatt takes my hands away from my face and when he pulls me out of the car, he bends over so that I'm forced to look at him.

  "Hey, Peyton, seriously it's okay. It doesn't even hurt anymore." His voice is gentle; he's trying to reassure me that he isn't mad. This guy makes it really hard to hate him in fact it's almost impossible.

  But, I'm nothing if not persistent. "I wasn't worried, you have a pretty hard head so I figured it wouldn't bother you for long. Now, what are we doing here?"

  Turning me so that I'm standing directly in front of him, facing the building, I see a slew of go-karts and an outdoor track. Go-kart racing? That's what we're doing? I've never been in a go-kart, let alone raced one. This could definitely end badly.

  "We are going to act like kids today. All the grown up shit can wait til tomorrow. Today is going to be all about fun. And, I'll get to kick your ass. That's always a plus since it's such a pretty ass." One side of his mouth tips up in a grin and his eyes have a devilish sparkle in them, that lets me know he's enjoying this entirely too much.

  Even though I've never raced a go-kart in my life, I'm not about to let him think he's going to beat me. "Oh, you're on Mister..." Crap. I don't know his last name! How did I not hear someone say it?

  Wyatt leans down to my ear once again, although not quite as close as the last time, "Parker. My last name is Parker."

  Turning, I grin at him, but it's not a friendly grin. It's a grin that shows all my teeth, letting him know that he doesn't intimidate me in the least. "You're on Mr. Parker. Lead the way."

  Wyatt keeps his hand on the small of my back while we walk inside and doesn't remove it until after we've gone to the counter to pay. While we're waiting for our turn on the go-karts, he starts telling me how to operate one.

  "The trick with go-karts is to not jerk the wheel. Just be smooth and keep from putting the kart in a bind. In other words, hold your line fairly straight, turn as little as possible but still make the turn as close as possible to the inside."

  He's completely serious when he says this but all I can do is gape at him. Those instructions made no sense whatsoever to me, but since I'm pretending like I know exactly what's going on, I nod my head and tell him, "I've got this. Are you ready to get your ass handed to you pretty boy?"

  Wyatt steps back, "Pretty boy? I'm no pretty boy babe. If you only knew how untrue that nickname is."

  "Untrue? You are a pretty boy. Look at you Wyatt, It's Sunday, you're wearing a button-up collared shirt and nice jeans. I'm wearing yoga pants and a sweatshirt. I bet your mom still picks out your clothes doesn't she?"

  Lifting an eyebrow, he leans closer to me and says, "Peyton, no one picks out my clothes but me. However, if you'd like to apply for the position, I'll gladly let you play dress up with me."

  Oh he knows how to push my buttons. Placing my hands on his very solid chest, I push him back. I'm no
t stupid; I know he let me push him back. He's so much taller, and so muscular, I know he could have easily stayed all up in my space but he moves back until we're no longer touching.

  "You're an asshole, ya know that?" Gah, just when I think that maybe I should take Scarlett's advice, he shows his true colors and I remember why I don't want to like him.

  He has a huge smirk on his face when he replies, "Whatever. C'mon pretty girl. Let's put your money where your mouth is."

  Ugh. I just want to slap that smirk off his face. "Money? Who said we were playing for money?"

  "It's just an expression, Peyton. We aren't playing for money." I start to relax, but his next words make me tense right back up, "We're playing for information."

  "Information? What kind of information?" My voice actually squeaks at the end of the sentence. Maybe this wasn't such a good idea. What kind of information could he possibly be interested in?

  Wyatt grins, but it's not exactly friendly. It's more the smile a predator has right before it goes in for the kill, "Whomever wins gets to ask a question. The loser has to answer. You can't take a pass, there are no dares, just honest answers."

  I'm now backed into a corner. I acted like I could beat him at these races, but I've never so much as sat down in a go-kart, let alone tried to drive one. If I back out now though, he'll think I'm a coward and I'll never live it down. Raising my chin, I agree to his terms and his smile widens. Shit. I'm so screwed.

  It's finally our turn, and to make this even harder for me, we aren't the only ones racing. There are a total of eight cars, and I'm trying to remember all the nonsensical directions Wyatt gave me earlier. The employee shows Wyatt to his go-kart before coming back to direct me to the one right next to him. Wiping my clammy hands on my pants, I gingerly get into the contraption and am even more terrified than before. There isn't much protection in this itty-bitty thing. Hopefully they don't go very fast or I'm going to get hurt. But, Wyatt wouldn't bring me to something that could hurt me, right? Oh wait, I'm the dumbass who told him that I could steer one of these things. It really doesn't look that hard, and it can't be that much different than driving a car.

  Once all eight cars are full and everyone is strapped in, the announcer tells us how we have to wait for the lights to turn green, just like in a Nascar race. Nascar? Really? We're comparing this to Nascar?!? I'm going to die.

  Everyone starts their engine and Wyatt looks over at me, that self-satisfied smile on his face. The light turns from red to yellow, and my hands tighten on the steering wheel. It seems like a lifetime before the light changes to green, even though I know it's really only been like a second, and we're off!

  The other racers immediately start jockeying for positions, as everyone knocks me into everything. One guy knocks into me so hard he spins me right into the wall. The race seems never-ending, and when we finally stop, I'm one of the first people out of my kart. I stomp right over to Wyatt and shove him as he gets out of his. His foot catches and he almost loses his balance, which would have been extremely satisfying, but he manages to right himself before he goes down.

  "What the hell, Peyton?" he says, getting right up in my face. The big jerk doesn't scare me at all.

  "Don't what the hell me. What the hell yourself!" I snarl. "You didn't tell me that everyone was going to try to kill me once we got out there! Why would you bring me here? Are you trying to cause bodily harm?" I'm so pissed off I'm damn near vibrating and Wyatt looks like he's torn between laughing or having his way with me. Swear to God, if he laughs I am going to junk punch him. It's a given. It will happen.

  After studying me for a minute, Wyatt obviously decides to keep the laughter in, even though he has a small grin on his face. I'm even more upset now because the grin on his face makes me want to return it, but I'm so far beyond pissed. Or, at least I'm supposed to be.

  Wyatt continues to look at me, saying nothing which makes me so mad I actually stomp my foot. That's the point where he loses it. "Did you just stomp your foot? What's next, laying on your belly throwing a full out temper tantrum?" he says between laughs.

  "Augh!" I scream. He makes me so freaking mad! Poking him in the chest I tell him, "You've had your fun. Now, take me home!" Turning on my heel, I head for the exit walking as fast as I can. It still only takes him a few strides to reach me because the bastard's legs are so long.

  "Hey, Peyton, wait." I ignore him, and he grabs my arm pulling me around to face him and forcing me to stop.

  I glare at him, not saying a word and finally he sighs, running a hand through his messy brown hair. "I'm sorry," he says. "You said you knew what you were doing, so I didn't realize I had to tell you that's how it was going to be. I was just trying to give you pointers before we started to help you out and you acted like you understood. If I'd known you'd never been in a go-kart, I would've waited until that group went and asked Brian to let us go around alone."

  My shoulders slump. He's right, I did tell him that I knew what I was doing, so why would he tell me what to expect. If anything, this information makes me even angrier. I'm just not sure if I'm angry at him or myself. Now I have to apologize for acting like a spoiled brat. Wonderful.

  Squaring my shoulders, I meet his gaze, "You're right. I should have told you that this was my first time in a go-kart. I'm sorry."

  He doesn't say anything at first, still processing everything I've said. Finally, he nods before one side of his mouth tips up and he says, "Well, now I guess you have to answer a question for me."

  We head over to the concession area and Wyatt orders two drinks and some nachos before meeting me at the table. Sitting across from me, he hands me one of the sodas and places the nachos in the middle between us.

  "So, what's your question?" I ask him tentatively.

  At first he doesn't say anything. He just grabs a nacho, dipping it in the cheese before shoving the whole thing in his mouth. Gross!

  "Hmm," he murmurs, "What exactly is your problem with me?"

  Well that's direct. "I don't have a problem with you Wyatt."

  Instead of responding, he glares at me. It takes everything I have not to squirm from the look in his eyes. When he finally speaks, his voice is cold. "What happened to you have to answer? Truth, Peyton."

  Taking a minute to think about my answer, I finally sigh before telling him, "I don't have a problem with you. I just don't trust easily. I grew up in a family where I was the "oops" baby, the unwanted child and I could never do anything right. You already know some of this. My mom is pushy and she can get nasty. Sometimes I think she lives to make me miserable. You barely know me, but you seem determined to get under my skin and I can't figure out your agenda. Basically you make me nervous. Not all of us had perfect childhoods."

  "Perfect childhoods?" Wyatt scoffs. "You think I had a perfect childhood?" I nod, and he shakes his head. "Peyton, you have no idea. My childhood was as far from perfect as it could get. I'm from a very small town, less than 5,000 people. I have no idea who my dad is; I have no idea who my little sister's dad is. My mom is known around town as being the town whore basically. I grew up in a tiny, two bedroom single wide trailer and half the time my clothes didn't even fit right." He stops to take a breath, and the look on his face makes my chest squeeze. Telling me this is obviously painful and I don't know what to say to make it better for him.

  I start to speak, but he shakes his head, "Please just let me finish." Wyatt takes a deep breath and continues, "The only thing I ever wanted was to get as far away from that town as I could. I worked my ass off to get a scholarship for school, and I work in addition to classes and basketball. Yes, I dress nicer than Clay and Emmett, but trust me, if you grew up wearing other people's hand me downs, you'd take damn good care of the things you were able to buy yourself. Now, I need to get you back to your car because I do have to work tonight."

  Clearing my throat in an attempt to dislodge the lump that formed after hearing his story, I ask, "Where do you work?"

  Standing to grab our tras
h, he says, "I'm a bartender at that bar we were at Friday. The blonde that I was dancing with got me the job because her brother owns the place. SB is friends with Emmett's girl, and last year they set us up on New Year's Eve. She has a thing for another guy though, has for a while, so nothing ever happened between us. Now we're just good friends."

  Oh. Well, that explains them talking and dancing the other night. And, makes me feel like an even bigger bitch for throwing a fit and leaving because of it. I have so much to think about now, and all my pre-conceived notions about Wyatt have gone out the window.

  Wyatt holds out his hand for me to take, "Ready?"

  "Sure." I say, taking his hand.

  He keeps hold of my hand all the way out to his truck, releasing it only when he opens the door and helps me in. Once he drops it, I miss the feel of his warm skin on mine. I'm doing everything I can to keep him at arms length but I don't know how long I can keep him there.

  Come on Peyton!' Scarlett's voice is extremely loud coming through my door. It's entirely too early on a Saturday morning for her to be banging on my door. Even Kat groans before putting her pillow over her head in an attempt to drown her out. Maybe if I ignore her she'll go away.

  Of course, my luck continues to suck because Scarlett and then Annabelle bang on my door for another five minutes before other people on the floor start yelling for it to stop. Shit! I'm going to have to open the door to avoid retaliation from the other people on this floor. Jumping up, I swing open the door and grab Scarlett's hand to pull her into my room.

  "What the hell Scar?" My voice is beyond irritated at having to get up so early, but after this, I'm never going to fall back to sleep so I might as well see what she wants.