Never Wanted More (Nashville Nights #0.5)

by Stacey Mosteller

  He chuckles, and reaches in to grab my bag before I can and starts up the stairs to his apartment. He leaves me to follow behind him. When we walk in, I'm struck by how clean the place is. The other night it was a wreck. Even though they were having a party, I figured that a house with three guys wouldn't be very clean on a non-party day, but everything is picked up. There isn't even any porn lying out in plain sight. Having spent time around Clay, I figured there would be, just to mess with me.

  Wyatt takes my bag straight to his room, ignoring my immediate protest. "Hey! What are you doing?"

  "I told you that if you stayed here you'd be sleeping in my room," he says from the other side of the door. I stop at the threshold and my jaw drops. Like the rest of the apartment, Wyatt's obviously cleaned his room. No uniform on the floor, the Lego pieces for what he's been building are no longer all over the desk, the bed is fully made and it smells like a flower shop. Oh no. We haven't been in the room for thirty seconds and my nose is already itching. Then, my eyes start watering and I begin sneezing.

  Wyatt looks at me in alarm and I shake my head before covering my mouth and nose with my hand and walking quickly out of his room. He follows behind me before disappearing briefly behind another door. When he returns carrying a box of tissues, I realize the room he went into must've been the bathroom. We didn't really get that far into a tour the first time I was here, so I have no idea where the bathroom is. Handing me the box of tissues, he gestures towards the couch that's now back in the middle of the living room instead of up against the wall. We both sit and I find that trying to wipe watery eyes and a runny nose in front of a hot guy is one of the most embarrassing things ever.

  Once I've gotten everything back under control Wyatt clears his throat, "Um, what just happened? You weren't allergic to my room the other night."

  "Yeah, well the other night your room didn't smell like a flower shop. I can't handle really strong perfume smells, and whatever you've got going on in there is really strong." I come off once again as an ungrateful hag, and when Wyatt's face falls, I immediately feel bad. I don't get the chance to apologize because he speaks first.

  "Shit! I got a bunch of different air fresheners to make sure it didn't smell bad for you." He looks like I've kicked his puppy, and once again, the walls I keep around me crack. He really had no way of knowing that I have an allergy, and I just made him feel like shit. I really am awful.

  I can't help but grab his hand, and as soon as I do his eyes fly up to meet mine. Smiling shyly, I tell him, "That was really sweet Wyatt. If I'd known you were going to do that, I'd have warned you. It's not all scents; it's just really strong ones. I appreciate you trying to make sure I'm comfortable, but we probably need to air the room out somehow or I'm never going to be able to go back in."

  Wyatt rubs the back of his neck before grinning sheepishly at me. He really is adorable, especially right now because he's embarrassed and blushing. He shoots up off the couch and sprints into his room. When he comes back a few minutes later he tells me, "I opened the windows and turned on my fan. I hope that helps." After I assure him that it will, he suggests we go grab something to eat while we're waiting and we head out to a local burger place for an early dinner.

  He takes me to Ruby's, a cute little place decked out like an old 50's diner. It has Formica tables and red vinyl booths. There are so many different groups of people here, families, couples, groups of friends, and a few are here alone. The place is busy, but Wyatt quickly finds a small two-seater table for us. A waitress in a red shirt that says "Ruby's" comes over almost instantly to grab our drink orders, and after looking over the menu I end up getting the same thing as Wyatt, a cheeseburger with tater tots. Unlike him though, I get mine with ketchup only, instead of the really gross combo of mustard and chili he orders on his.

  Grinning when he sees the look on my face, Wyatt remarks, "You never know, you might like it if you try it."

  "No, I'm good." I tell him, shaking my head.

  We don't have to wait long for our food, and when the waitress sets our plates down, my stomach rumbles. I didn't realize how hungry I was until just now. While we eat, Wyatt tells me about his sister and how she wants to be a famous singer. He tells me that she has a really good voice, and just auditioned for the lead in her school play. She's much younger than he is, only fifteen and a sophomore. When I look at him quizzically, he tells me that she started early because of her birthday, so she'll only be seventeen when she graduates. He's confident she'll get the solo, and I can tell he's both a proud big brother, and extremely close to her. Wyatt explains that growing up he always felt more like her father than her brother. Neither of them ever met their fathers, and he admits that he never met Willow's dad either.

  "My mom never brought guys around because she said she didn't want me to get attached to someone who was going to turn around and leave. Why she was okay with sleeping with them is something I'll never understand." When he lifts his head, his smile is rueful.

  Instead of responding right away, I take another bite of food, thinking about how I want to phrase it. "Maybe she was hoping that if she slept with them, they'd decide to stick around. Like, if she slept with them, they'd care more."

  He stares at me, and I fidget. Hopefully he doesn't realize that like his mom, I slept with a guy in the hopes that he'd stick around. I've only slept with one guy, my high school boyfriend Brad. I wasn't ready to take that step, but I was afraid that if I didn't, he'd break up with me. It wasn't much of a stretch since he'd threatened it more than once, but I didn't want to be the prude, the girl who wouldn't put out, even for her boyfriend, so, I did. And it was awful! Even now, I wish I'd waited for someone I really cared about. I knew that if we broke up, my mom would never let me hear the end of it. Brad's parents were influential, his family full of city councilmen, a state representative and a congressman. Mom was convinced Brad had a bright political future, and that he was the type of guy I should be with. I finally broke up with him after graduation, and it was the worst summer of my life. She was pissed, he didn't understand the word no, I just wanted to get away from him.

  My emotions must show on my face, because Wyatt studies me silently before tipping the corners of his mouth up in a small grin. "Let's not talk about my mom and her sex life anymore. That shit's just gross." He shudders violently, making me laugh and we continue our dinner but staying away from any heavy topics.

  Chapter 15

  We got back to his apartment around two hours later, because after we ate Wyatt insisted on checking out a sporting goods store and then grabbing a movie for us to watch when we got back. That was an interesting argument. He was all for watching a chick flick, but I shot that idea down quick. I already have a hard time resisting him, so adding a romantic love story to that? Yeah, it would be over. I wouldn't be "sleeping" alone in his bed. He suggested horror, which I declined for close to the same reason. Scary movies in a new place means nightmares, and is almost as big a guarantee that I won't be alone in his bed as the chick flick - even if it's for a different reason. Once we decide on an action movie, he finally lets me drive back to the apartment and he checks the bedroom first thing.

  "I think we're good now, it definitely doesn't smell as strong in there now." He's very proud of himself and I have to smile at him.

  Once we get comfortable on the couch and start watching the movie, I start to think about where he's going to sleep. "Hey Wyatt?"

  "Yeah?" He turns to look at me curiously, not sure what I'm getting ready to ask.

  Biting my lower lip, I think carefully about how I want this conversation to go. "Is this the couch you're planning to sleep on this week?"

  "Yes," he says, drawing the word out for a few beats.

  There's no way. He's over six feet tall! This couch is just over five and a half. I would barely fit on it, so I know he couldn't possibly be comfortable sleeping on it. I tell him that, and he just rolls his eyes, "I'm sleeping on the couch Pey. End of discussion."

  Th
e way he says it immediately gets my back up. "What do you mean end of discussion?" I screech. "We haven't even started to discuss it."

  "You're right," he says with a nod. "And we're not going to either."

  Oh, he drives me insane! "Wyatt, don't be stupid. Me sleeping on the couch would make so much more sense."

  "No way Peyton. My mom would kill me if I made a guest, especially a female guest, sleep on the couch. Sorry, you're stuck in my bed." He doesn't sound sorry at all, and I turn more fully to face him. He changes the way he's sitting too and we're almost nose-to-nose.

  It's sweet that he's worried about what his mom would think, but let's be honest. She isn't here, and she'll never know. Hell, I'll likely never meet her, so unless he says something, she'll be none the wiser. We continue to stare at each other, and the room is almost completely dark. The only light in the room is coming from a combination of the TV screen and a streetlight that's right outside the sliding glass doors leading to the patio. The flickers from the screen alternately lighten his face and darken it, which causes his expression to appear and disappear. It's mesmerizing. The first time it flickers, we're glaring at each other, but the second, he's no longer staring into my eyes. Instead, he's staring intently at my mouth, making me squirm inside. I lick my lips and his gaze follows the path my tongue takes, groaning as he squeezes his eyes shut.

  Leaning forward, he barely grazes my lips with his and I gasp. Pulling back, he opens his eyes before saying, "I promised that I wasn't trying to fuck you by asking you to stay here." Cupping my cheek with a gentle hand, he leans down, kissing first one corner of my mouth then the other before pulling back once more.

  "Peyton," he murmurs.

  My breath quickens and I can barely manage a "Huh?"

  "Maybe we should say goodnight." He sounds remorseful, and it takes me a minute to catch his meaning. Closing his eyes, he drops his hand from my cheek before scooting further away from me.

  "Yeah, you're probably right," I say, my voice small. I know he's trying to keep his promise from the other night, and the hurt I feel isn't fair to him, but I can't help but feel rejected. Looking away from him I stand quickly and walk as fast as I can to his room. I don't make but a few steps before he's spinning me around to face him.

  "Dammit Peyton, I can't read you at all. One minute you despise me, and the next you're looking at me like I ripped your heart out! I don't know what the hell you want from me!" He's practically shouting at me, and I flinch. He sees it, even though it's small, and his shoulders slump. "Sorry, that didn't come out right." The hand that isn't gripping my arm runs through his hair and he looks torn.

  In an attempt to make him feel better, I tell him, "It's okay. I get it, really I do."

  Wyatt's eyes narrow, "I really don't think you do. This -" he gestures between us, "is the most god damn confusing thing I've ever been a part of. I want you Peyton. I want nothing more than to take you into my room and lay you down on my bed. And sometimes, I think you want the same thing. I told you the other night that I wasn't asking you here to have sex, and I meant it. I still mean it. That's not why I asked you to stay. I asked you to stay here this week so that I'd know you were safe. I also asked you to stay so you wouldn't be able to run from me, from this thing between us. I care about you, more than I want to sometimes. You're a total pain in the ass 90% of the time, but the other 10% you're so genuine that I keep coming back for more. I keep coming back for that little bit of the real you that you try so hard to hide. That Peyton, the one who's real, I want to get to know you so damn bad and I keep hoping if we spend enough time together, you'll stop acting like a bitch and be her."

  Holy shit. I feel like I can't breathe. No one's ever said anything like that to me before. Not even Scarlett and she knows me better than anyone. At least, I thought she did. My chest feels tight, and my eyes are burning, but it has nothing to do with allergies. Without even saying goodnight, I whirl around and flat out run into his room, locking the door behind me. He must've been right behind me, because I barely twist the lock before he tries to turn the knob.

  "Fuck! Peyton, unlock the door." I say nothing, backing up until the back of my knees hit the bed and they buckle forcing me to sit. I'm shaking, gripping the comforter in each hand and trying to will the tears not to fall while Wyatt continues to beg me to unlock the door for what feels like an hour, but is probably only five or ten minutes before he finally stops. I begin to relax, only to startle when he shouts an expletive and punches the wall beside his door.

  Silently, I get ready for bed putting on a tank top and a pair of shorts that are so small they look more like panties. Picking up my phone to charge it, I realize it's been on silent and is already flooding with text messages.

  Please open the door

  I'm sorry.

  Peyton, please talk to me

  Shit. I know I'm an asshole, please open the door.

  Dammit Peyton, we need to talk. You need to let me explain.

  I don't need to do a damn thing. Any progress we've made towards being friends is shot to hell now. First thing in the morning, I'm heading back to the dorms.

  Will you please give me a second chance?

  Second chance? At this point, it's more like tenth chance.

  Fine. If you won't open the door, and you won't talk to me, I'll just text you.

  My eyes roll heavenward. Obviously.... the multitude of texts show that already.

  I know you're pissed at me. Stop rolling your eyes. I'm an asshole and I deserve the silent treatment. I really am sorry for what I said. That doesn't make it untrue, I just wish I hadn't said it quite so bluntly.

  I like you Pey. I don't know why, especially when you make it known that you're not interested in me at all. You're lying to yourself though. You have to be. There's no way I'd be this drawn to you if you felt nothing in return.

  You're probably making plans to run back to your room in the morning, but I'm asking you to please stay. Let me at least attempt to make it up to you. I know you're upset, and it kills me that I put that look on your face.

  Jesus Christ Peyton, you've made me grow a fucking vagina. When Emmett and Clay get back, they're sure as shit taking my man card if they see these texts. I'm kicking my own ass for the things I said to you, but I hope you'll stick around to kick it too.

  I can't help but grin at this one. He's making a complete fool out of himself trying to apologize. And he's right; I have been planning how I'll leave without running into him. But, I can't deny that he feels bad for it, even if he does say that everything he said was true. Deciding to think about it in the morning, I pull the comforter down on his bed and crawl in. The faint scent of his cologne still lingers on the clean sheets, and I inhale deeply trying to commit the smell to memory. My last thought before succumbing to a fitful sleep is that at least he gave me permission to kick his ass. How can I leave without at least doing that?

  Chapter 16

  I feel like I haven't slept a wink after spending the night tossing and turning. Every time I close my eyes I see Wyatt looking at me and saying things that tore my heart out. It's even more confusing now, because after laying here all night thinking about it, I also want to throw myself into his arms for the things he said. His words were harsh, but parts of what he said was really, really sweet too. Yes, Wyatt was angry, but he also admitted that I'm not the only one that feels this, whatever this is.

  I can't stay in bed any longer, especially not a bed that still smells faintly of him. No matter how much I don't want to go out there and face him, at some point I have to leave this room. Hopefully it's early enough that he's still asleep and I can just grab something to drink and come back in here to hide. Opening the bedroom door, I know instantly that hiding won't be an option because Wyatt's sitting on the couch, elbows on his knees, his head in his hands and his hair looks like he's been raking his fingers through it all night. His shoulders are slumped, and it's obvious he's as miserable as I am.

  I shut the door behind me and h
is head jerks up at the sound. My heart squeezes at the sadness in his eyes. They widen as they scan my body, and I suddenly feel self-conscious. I'm wearing nothing but a tight white tank top and a pair of tiny form-fitting shorts that barely cover my ass. When his gaze moves back to mine, he quickly stands and rushes over, leaving me no choice but to back up against the door before he comes to tower over me. What is it with this guy and backing me up to things? I'm expecting his hands on my hips, or either side of my face, but instead he places them on either side of my head. Wyatt's arms are stretched straight out which keeps us from touching. He's still too close for comfort so I lower my head, staring at his chest instead of meeting his stare. He's only wearing a well-worn pale blue t-shirt and a pair of sleep pants that hang low on his hips and I can just see the "V" that girls always talk about.

  "Peyton," Wyatt murmurs, and I reluctantly look up at him. He frowns, studying me closely, before he finally lets out a shaky breath and drops his forehead to mine, closing his eyes.

  "I'm sorry," we both start and then pause to let the other go first. Wyatt smiles at me tenderly, making me feel self-conscious. He needs to know the issues I'm having with him really don't have anything to do with him at all. They are about things in my past, things with my mom, the rest of my family, and even Brad. He's basically paying for the sins of others. Yeah, I know it's not fair to him, but it's often an unintentional reaction on my part. I'm so ashamed of the way I push him away, but something within me drives me to. I can't hold his intense look so I turn my head away and close my eyes.