by Jenn Hype
He opens his mouth to speak but immediately closes it, like he isn’t sure what he wants to say. Uncertainty flashes in his eyes, but it’s gone as soon as he blinks. He drops my wrist and clears his throat, tugging at the collar of his shirt. Crap. He’s being adorable again. Big, masculine, muscly men should not be allowed to be adorable. It’s just not fair.
“So um, where do you want me to hang these?” He asks as he walks over and picks up one of the paintings.
“Um, I was thinking that wall over there,” I say, pointing to the wall behind my sofa. “Or wherever you think, I’m flexible. I mean, it doesn’t matter to me,” I throw in quickly, trying to sound nonchalant about it, but my voice is high and shaky.
Too anxious to wait for Wyatt’s response, I just reach for the door handle and yell “be right back,” over my shoulder.
“Go away,” Keegan says from the other side of the door when I knock.
“It’s me, Key,” I respond impatiently.
“I know who it is, I have a peephole, dumbass. You’re supposed to be next door on your date with Wyatt, so go away.”
“Keegan! Seriously!” The door swings open and Keegan glares at me.
“Better be good, B.” I push past her and roll my eyes, heading straight for her kitchen and pulling open the drawer where I know she keeps her corkscrews. I grab the first one I see then close the drawer a little too roughly. I put the corkscrew and wine bottle down and grip the edge of the counter to brace myself before leaning over and taking a deep breath.
“He brought wine!” Keegan shouts and I can see her bouncing up and down out of the corner of my eye.
“Keep your voice down, he’s right next door. These walls are thin. And so what?” Why does my voice sound all breathy, like I had to jog a few miles to get to Keegan’s instead of walking all of ten steps to get from my door to hers?
“It’s totally a date.”
“It’s not a date,” I argue, picking the corkscrew and bottle back up and making my way to her door.
“He brought wine, Brailey.”
“Yes, I’m aware. I have to get back.” My patience wanes when she blocks the doorway, crossing her arms defiantly and narrowing her eyes at me.
“Why would he bring wine when he’s just coming over to hang up some paintings and crap? And don’t try to pretend like you don’t want it to be a date.”
“I don’t know, my ability to remember if I have experience with this sort of thing is kind of lacking, you know that. I think you’re just reading into it.” Maybe if I keep shrugging like none of this is a big deal I might actually start to believe it. Whatever it takes to keep from hyperventilating, which I’ve been fighting not to do for hours now.
“I call bullshit,” Keegan say with the flick of her wrist. “Oh my God! Is this the wine he brought!?” She yanks the bottle out of my hand and I lift my hands to my ears to check and see if they are bleeding. “Shit, Brailey. This is nice wine. You are in so deep,” she taunts as she hands the bottle back to me.
I roll my eyes and gently push Keegan out of the way and step into the hall. “Reading into it, Key!” I call over my shoulder.
“You keep telling yourself that, sweetie!” Keegan yells back, and I glare at her before walking back into my apartment. I managed to calm my nerves a fraction while I was at Keegan’s, but when I walk back into my apartment, any semblance of composure I gained in my time away just flies right out the dang window.
The leather jacket Wyatt wore is tossed casually over the arm of my sofa. He’s too busy holding the large painting up to the wall like he’s trying to determine if it’s the right place to hang it to notice that I’ve returned, so I take the opportunity to try and memorize the gloriousness of his finely sculpted body.
With his arms outstretched, his tight fitting t-shirt is lifted just enough to give me a sensational peek of his well-defined torso. The canvas he’s holding, a replica of Monet’s Water Lilies, looks about as impressive as a finger-painting by a kindergartner in comparison to the exquisite work of art that is Wyatt’s arms and shoulders.
Every muscle from his wrists to his shoulders are flexing and twitching beneath the weight of the oversized painting, not from strain, but just from being put to use. My tongue slides across my lips slowly, imagining what it would be like to trace each line of those muscles, taking my time tasting the salty sweetness of his skin.
My thighs instinctively press together tightly, trying to ease the pulsing between my legs. I swear, I’m so on edge, that just clenching almost pushes me right over that cliff. Giving the door a more forceful shove than I intended, the door slams shut loudly. Wyatt – always so composed – turns and gives me a warm smile, not at all startled by my booming entrance.
“So, I’ve never used one of these. You mind opening the bottle while I get started on dinner?” I ask with a shaky voice as he props the painting back up against the wall. When his back is turned I make my way into the kitchen, feeling all hot and bothered once again. How the hell does he affect me like this?
“No problem,” his husky voice says from right behind me, making me jump for the fiftieth time since meeting him.
“Dammit, Wyatt! You’re like a freaking ninja. Quit sneaking up on me.” Wyatt doesn’t laugh at my lame joke. He just looks all intense and angry. “Uh, you got something against ninjas?” He quirks an eyebrow at me, so I do the same. “I was just teasing. Why do you seem angry all of a sudden?”
“Why are you so jumpy? Are you afraid of me?” Maybe it’s his question, or maybe it’s just the sudden vulnerability and uncertainty in his voice, but I’m completely shocked.
“What? No! Of course not! I don’t know, I’m just...ugh.”
What do I say here? Dammit, where’s Keegan when I need her. I could make up an excuse, but I’m not so good with the lying. If I take much longer to decide what to say, it’s just going to make it even weirder, and something about the tender way he’s looking at me has me wanting to just fess up to the truth. Every second in this man’s presence so far has been painfully humiliating. What’s one more embarrassing moment to toss on the pile?
“You make me nervous, okay!?”
Okay, that didn’t come out how it was supposed to. Shouting and throwing my arms up in the air while looking and sounding extremely frustrated wasn’t really what I was going for. Oh well, gotta go with it now. An apology for my outburst is on the tip of my tongue, but his expression - or lack thereof - has my mouth clamped shut. If my confession affected him in any way, he’s hiding it well, because he’s just staring right through me with a blank expression.
I’m not sure where he just went, but he can stay there. Him being distracted just gives me time to steer the conversation to a safer subject. Before he snaps out of his trance, I pull open a drawer and pull out a knife and point it at him. Making a face at him that I hope comes across as menacing when I say seriously, “Now I’ve got a sharp object in my hand, so unless you want one of us to lose a finger, do not sneak up on me. Capisce?”
Wyatt gives me a mock salute and chuckles as he turns to open the bottle of wine. I pull out the cutting board and pull the carrots I cleaned before he arrived from the colander in the sink and start chopping away.
This time I sense Wyatt approach me slowly from behind and my body reactively stills. He doesn’t say anything, but he’s close enough that I can smell a hint of cologne and feel heat emanating from his body to mine.
“What are we having?” Wyatt reaches an arm around my body and snags a carrot, grazing my arm with his as he pulls back to pop it into his mouth. I take a deep breath and turn to face him, but he’s so close that my hip rubs against his torso and when I’m fully facing him, I’m practically caged in between him and the counter. Again.
So far tonight I’ve realized Wyatt has several habits that make me uncomfortable: sneaking up on me, caging me in against the counter, and whispering in my ear in a voice that makes me want to turn my head and bite his neck.
The fact t
hat he knows the effect he’s having on me irritates me enough to snap me out of my lust filled haze. My efforts to push past him are useless, because he easily stops me by pulling his arms closer together on either side of me - those same arms that I was envisioning licking like a lollipop just minutes ago. The large knife I was using is still in my hand so I point it at him again, and to my relief - and disappointment - he puts his hands up in surrender and moves out of my way. I can feel his eyes on me while I sit the knife down to open the fridge and pull out more of the ingredients I need for the dish I’m making.
The cool air hits my face when I lean down, and I close my eyes for a second, pretending to be looking for something while he can’t see me. After giving myself a few seconds to enjoy the cold air on my overheated skin, I reach for the butter and pull back quickly, causing me to bump against Wyatt’s hard body. He snuck up behind me when I came over to the fridge and I didn’t even notice.
“Wyatt! I told you to quit sneaking up on me!” Wyatt just chuckles behind me and I try to turn so I can punch him or slap him or...something, but his hands had automatically moved to my hips when I bumped into him a second ago. Instead of holding me in place or letting go altogether, he loosens his grip, so his palms graze my stomach like a caress, and when I’m finally face to face with him it puts our bodies flush together. A very impressive erection is pressing into me just under my bellybutton, but instead of being embarrassed, I have to fight the urge to grip his shirt and pull him even closer.
“Sorry,” he whispers, making a shiver trickle down my spine, and something in me just snaps. I might not have any knowledge of my experience with guys, but I know his constantly whispering in my ear isn’t something people do when they are just being friendly. He’s intentionally trying to get a response from me, and it’s starting to feel like he’s toying with me to feed his own ego. I mean yeah, he’s obviously aroused right now, but to keep flirting but never making an actual move just makes the whole thing frustrating.
I spin out of his hold and put several feet between us, narrowing my eyes and pointing at him.
“You. Enough with the funny business. For the rest of the night you stay on your side of the kitchen. Touch me again and you’ll lose a finger for sure, only it won’t be an accident.” Wyatt’s eyes widen in surprise, and knowing I can throw him off his game a little boosts my confidence.
That is, until he tilts his head back and barks out a laugh. Asshole. Grabbing a handful of the carrots I just carefully chopped, I toss them at his head, nailing him with a few before he has time to duck.
Of all the things I never could have predicted happening tonight, a food fight would be at the top of the list. But that is most certainly what happened after I threw a bunch of carrots at Wyatt.
An hour later, we’re both laying on our backs in the middle of my floor, panting and winded from laughing, with dinner spread out all over my apartment. Wyatt has lettuce in his hair and I giggle when he can’t find it, so I lean on to my side, reaching over and pull it out for him. The movement puts my face inches from his and my smile falters when I see him staring intently at my mouth.
Being propped up on an elbow, hovering slightly above him and rolled halfway on my side, my body instantly relaxes into his when he reaches up and rubs his thumb across my cheek.
My eyes stay locked on his while he pulls his hand away from my face and puts his thumb in his mouth, licking off the chocolate syrup that was meant for dessert. I have to bite my lip to keep from moaning, wanting so badly to yank his thumb away and replace it with my tongue. When he reaches his hand to my face again, I jerk back before he can touch me and jump to my feet. If I don’t put some space between us then I know I’m going to end up doing something dumb, like ripping my dress off and straddling him.
“Well um, I guess I won’t be making dinner,” I state, pointing out the obvious, while smoothing my dress down nervously. My eyes dart nervously around the room searching for nothing in particular, just trying to avoid looking at Wyatt. It dawns on me that he didn’t bring his toolbox with him like he was supposed to, and I realize Keegan was right. This really is a date, but instead of being happy about that, I’m actually a little nauseous.
My eyes track Wyatt’s movements in my periphery as he walks in my direction. I can’t be near him right now and not do something stupid, so I back up - because he’s seriously done sneaking up on me - and use my kitchen island as a barrier. My phone dings and I lunge for it, more than thankful for a distraction.
I don’t lunge fast enough, though. The phone is on Wyatt’s side of the island, and he snatches it up right as I reach for it, and without asking permission, he reads whatever is on the screen. Whatever it is, he doesn’t like it, based on how his eyes narrow and his brow furrows.
“Quit screwing with my phone, buddy. Off limits.” I’m teasing, but apparently I didn’t do a very good job of conveying that, because if anything, Wyatt looks even more agitated.
“Who is Mark,” he asks angrily as he shoves my phone into my hand. There is nothing about him that is okay right now, not to me. The way he says Mark’s name like it’s a dirty word, the venom in his voice and the way all his muscles are taut, like he’s ready to pounce on someone. The whole thing reeks of jealous boyfriend behavior, and if this is how he reacts to a guys’ name when we aren’t even technically dating - because let’s face it, if he didn’t call it a date, then it’s not really a date - then he and I have no possible future together. Non-date over.
“I think it’s time for you to go,” I say firmly. Wyatt doesn’t respond. He just walks to the couch and grabs his coat, pausing when he reaches my door. “See you around,” he mutters without even looking back, and I just stare at the door trying to figure out what in the hell just happened.
Chapter Seven
Wyatt
I have to fight the urge to break shit when I make it back to my apartment. I let things get out of hand back there and I have no one to blame but myself. I knew what I was doing when I invited myself over. Hell, I even bought an expensive bottle of wine to bring! It wasn’t until I was standing in her apartment that I realized I hadn’t even brought the damn tools to hang up the paintings. Luckily she didn’t notice, because I didn’t have a good excuse to give her. Not a truthful one, anyway.
I’m not sure what it is about her, but I’ve never been so out of sorts around a woman. It’s like she makes me lose my damn mind, and after only a few minutes in her presence I forget why I’m here to begin with.
I can’t keep letting this happen. I have to focus, stay on task. I have a job to do, and it doesn’t include a naked Brailey lying underneath me and screaming out my name, no matter how badly I might want it.
That text message sobered me up quickly, thank fuck. I didn’t mean to turn into an asshole all of a sudden, but I was so damn angry. Angry at myself for acting like a hormone crazed teenager instead of the grown ass man that I am. I should have better control over myself than that.
Having her hate me is going to make this more difficult, but it will still be easier than having to deal with her looking at me like she wants me to tear her clothes off and ravage her - which she does. I’m not arrogant, she just doesn’t hide it well. At all. And every time I see her eyes glaze over and her lips slightly part while she stares at my mouth...shit!
I’ve just got to get it together. I pull out my phone and call Garrett, who is currently sitting in an unmarked van on the curb outside the building. I tell him I failed tonight, and tell him to meet me outside in a few to come up with a new plan.
~
“Oh my gosh, who is that with Wyatt?” My hand is in the air, hailing a cab, when I look back over my shoulder and see Wyatt walking out of the building and up to a tall blonde man who could easily be mistaken for a real life Ken doll.
“How in the hell would I know?” Yep. I’m being a bitch. If only a damn cab would respond to my frantic waving and pull over to whisk me away from Wyatt and the uncomfortableness now wedged b
etween us.
I waited for a few minutes after Wyatt walked out of my apartment, a little too stunned and confused to move at first, but as soon as I snapped out of it, my butt was planted in front of Keegan’s door. Much to my dismay and extreme frustration, Keegan used this opportunity to be the one time she ever in her life didn’t offer up an opinion. She just grabbed my hand and pulled me into her bedroom, ripped an outfit out of her closet and threw it at me, and told me we were going dancing.
Dancing and daiquiris sounded like the perfect plan for getting Wyatt out of my head for a while. I’ve never had a daiquiri but it’s the only drink off the top of my head that starts with D and I’m in the mood to be cute - even if it’s only in my head. Or at least I was feeling like stepping out of my comfort zone and letting loose. Why does it feel like Wyatt is freaking everywhere all the time? Is it that impossible for me to catch a break?
I see my fast getaway looking more and more less likely with each step Wyatt and the eager-faced Ken doll make towards us. Oh, the urge to look heavenward and let loose a few expletives or tear my hair out is strong, but somehow I manage to keep my hands at my side and dial my screaming back several notches so that it only comes out as a low growl.
“Hey guys, this is my friend Garrett. Garrett, this is Keegan and Brailey,” Wyatt introduces us, sounding a hell of a lot more bored and annoyed than is necessary. The jerk doesn’t even bother looking at me, even as he says my name. To be fair, he didn’t really acknowledge Keegan either, but not the point. He’s the one that turned into a crazy person out of nowhere like some kind of Jekyll and Hyde impersonation. One minute we’re laughing and having a really awesome time, and the next minute he’s so pissed off that I’m seriously worried he’s going to turn green and bust out of his clothes like the incredible Hulk.
