So much for the I Hate Wyatt Nash Club.
Lola was right. I needed to be careful. If I wasn’t, Wyatt’s charms would easily disarm me.
This was only day one of our partnership. How was I ever going to endure two weeks of the feelings that were now crowding my chest? I could already see the outline of a love song forming in my head. I tried to shake it away, but it wouldn’t budge.
I was so screwed.
Chapter Sixteen
Wyatt
I was up with the sun the next morning, not at all surprised by the rush of anticipation that had me showered, dressed and ready to head out the door more than an hour early. I hadn’t been able to get Layne’s song out of my head all night.
But that wasn’t a bad thing. It was a great song. I’d laid in bed tossing my baseball while letting the words trip through my mind. Sometime around four in the morning I gave up my fight for sleep and got up, plucking one of my acoustic guitars off the wall. I strummed the familiar melody of Layne’s song, tweaking little parts here and there.
My leg bounced with excitement when I found a rhythm that spoke to me. I wished I had Layne’s number. I wanted desperately to call her and play the tune, knowing she was possibly the only other person on the planet that would be as excited as I was over the genius sound I’d just compiled for us.
I’d been so stoked to share it with her that I’d searched for her online. I was hoping to find her on social media so I could send her the new track I’d recorded on my phone, but no luck. Layne had to be the only girl at Northwood not blasting her life online for all to see. I even searched through old posts on the school’s gossip site, the Trojan Tattler, to see if I could find her there. But I came up empty.
I’d seen Lola’s name a number of times, and way too many posts about me and my apparent appeal among the female student body, but it was like Layne didn’t even exist.
Honestly, it made me even more desperate to get inside that pretty little head of hers.
Not getting her number was an oversight I planned to remedy today. I did a quick search online for her address and headed downstairs.
“You’re up and at ‘em early,” my mother said from the breakfast bar.
“Yep, I’m giving Layne a ride to school.”
Her eyebrows rose and she set her newspaper down. “So, you’ve agreed to help her after all?”
“Oh, er, yeah. Do I need to fill out some forms or something?”
My mother did her best to hide her shock. “Nope, I’ll take care of everything,” she replied, beaming.
I scowled at her. “I’m not doing this for you.”
She gave me a smirk that looked much like my own. “I didn’t say you were.”
“You didn’t have to. Your know-it-all grin does the job for you.”
She took a sip of coffee to hide her smile. “I don’t care why you’re doing it. I’m just happy you found something to be excited about.”
“Who says I’m excited?”
My mother glanced at the wall clock, then picked up her newspaper again. “No one, darling. Have a nice day.”
I rolled my eyes, but even my mother’s playful patronizing couldn’t dampen my spirits. It was true, I was excited.
As I drove toward town, I realized I hadn’t felt a spark like this since I left New York. Sure, baseball was fun, and I was good at it, but I was never going to go pro. Maybe college ball if I hadn’t messed up my ankle, but not now.
It had devastated me at first, but I was adjusting to my new reality. Besides, it was music that had always owned my heart. Unfortunately, thanks to my father’s prevalent position in the industry, I childishly refuted it—until now.
I didn’t know why I was making an exception for Layne. Maybe it was because without baseball I was just bored. Whatever the reason, I decided not to overanalyze things too much. I rather liked the weightless feeling in my chest. It probably wouldn’t last, but that was even more reason to enjoy it while I could.
When the coffee shop came into view, my GPS app told me to turn, but I decided to make a last-minute detour. No sense showing up emptyhanded if I didn’t have to.
I pulled up in front of a white two-story duplex. A small yard with drab-looking grass led up to a weathered porch with two doors. I frowned and double checked the address I’d looked up on my phone. It didn’t mention whether Layne lived in unit A or B.
Well, I guess I had a fifty-fifty chance.
I left Scarlet’s warm interior and faced the blustery late March morning head on. At least the two coffee cups warmed my hands. I decided to go for door A. There was a yellow porch swing on that side and I could picture Layne sitting there in the summer with her guitar and songbook.
I rang the doorbell and a thundering of footsteps and voices followed.
“I’ll get it!”
“Robby, wait for me.”
The door sprung open and I was met with the chocolate-covered face of a blue-eyed little boy. “Hello,” he greeted.
“Hi,” I said. “Is, er, Layne here?”
The little boy gave me an impish grin then turned around, leaving me standing in the open doorway as he ran back into the house, his sing-songy voice trailing behind him. “Layyy-ne! Your boyyy-friend is here!”
Layne’s face popped out of the room where the little boy had disappeared. Her mouth fell open and she dropped the red dishtowel she’d been holding.
“Morning,” I said, still standing in the doorway.
Layne’s mouth clamped shut and she marched toward me. “Wyatt, what are you doing here?”
“Good morning to you, too,” I teased, but Layne didn’t seem to be in the mood for my humor.
Instead of inviting me in, she put a hand on my chest and pushed me back onto the porch, pulling the door half shut behind her.
“What are you doing here?” she asked again, wrapping her arms around herself against the chill.
“I figured I’d give you a ride to school.”
“School doesn’t start for another hour,” she argued.
“Right, but I didn’t know what time you caught the bus and I didn’t want to miss you.”
She cocked her head, frowning as though she sensed an ulterior motive.
I huffed a dry laugh. “You’re really not a morning person, are you?”
“I like mornings just fine. I just don’t like surprises.”
“Ah, I think what you mean to say is, ‘oh Wyatt how thoughtful of you to offer me a ride to school. Please won’t you come in’?”
She scowled at me. “I don’t need your pity.”
“I didn’t say you did. Now are you going to invite me in, or not? It’s freezing out here.”
Layne sighed and finally stepped back inside, opening the door to let me in. She appraised my thin leather jacket with wary eyes. “Why don’t guys ever wear proper jackets?”
I shrugged. “Why don’t women ever wear practical shoes? The world is full of mysteries.”
“I wear practical shoes,” she muttered looking down at her red Converse.
Just then the little boy burst back into the foyer, even more chocolate covering his face. “Layyy-ne has a boyyy-friend!”
“Robby!” Layne snapped. “Go finish your breakfast.”
Robby retreated, his laughter following him.
“I didn’t know you had a brother,” I said.
“I don’t. He’s my neighbor. I babysit him.”
“I’m not a baby,” Robby called, poking his head back in the hall.
Layne sighed. “You’re certainly acting like one,” she called back. “Come on,” she said to me. “If I don’t supervise him, he’ll eat a whole bottle of chocolate syrup.”
I followed Layne through the living room into the kitchen, where Robby was perched on a barstool, reaching for something on the counter.
“Robby!” Layne warned. “No more hot chocolate.”
“But I only had one cup,” he whined.
She ruffled his hair and scooped him o
ff the stool. “Yeah and you’re wearing half of it. Sit down and I’ll make bananas and waffles.”
“Yuck!” Robby yelled, sticking out his tongue. “No bananas.”
“I have to agree with Robby,” I said. “Bananas are the worst.”
Robby giggled. “You talk funny.”
I wagged my eyebrows at him. “I think you talk funny.” I realized I was still holding both cups of coffee and held one out to Layne once she put Robby down. “I brought you a coffee.”
“Layne hates coffee,” Robby replied, taking a seat at the counter.
I met Layne’s eyes with curiosity. “Really?”
“She only drinks tea.” Robby said, proudly. “Right, Layne?”
I watched her cheeks pink, suddenly wondering what her coffee shop diversion had really been about last night. “That’s alright,” I said, giving Robby a wink. “More for me.”
Chapter Seventeen
Layne
I could feel Wyatt’s eyes following me as I moved about my tiny kitchen preparing Robby’s breakfast. Wyatt’s gaze was flustering enough in a normal setting, but in my house . . . it was downright debilitating.
I was completely distracted as I glanced around my kitchen, trying to see it through Wyatt’s eyes. The pile of dishes in the sink, past due bills clipped to the refrigerator next to Robby’s colorful artwork, the hideous grade school portraits of me lining the cluttered shelves next to the table, marks on the doorjamb charting my unimpressive height. It was like the place had been designed to humiliate me.
I hissed as I dropped a glass in the sink, nearly cutting myself in the process.
Wyatt was there in an instant. “You okay?” he asked, inspecting my hand.
“Fine.”
“Good. I’ll take over,” he said, placing his hands on my hips and pulling me away from the sink. I watched him collect the broken pieces of the glass and toss them in the trash can by the fridge. Then, he completely shocked me by returning to the sink, rolling up his sleeves and starting on the dishes.
“Oh, no, you don’t have to do that,” I said, trying to pry the dingy dish sponge from his hands, my fingers tangling with his in the soapy water.
“Nonsense. You’re the songwriter. We’ve got to protect these beauties,” Wyatt replied, his eyes dancing with insinuations that made my heart race as he squeezed my fingers.
The waffles popped out of the toaster, snapping me back to reality. I quickly untangled myself from Wyatt, dried my hands and started preparing Robby’s breakfast.
“I want clown waffles!” Robby yelled when I put his buttered waffles in front of him.
I inhaled slowly begging for patience. “You’re killing me, Robby. Can’t you just eat plain waffles today?”
“Clown waffles! Clown waffles! Clown waffles!”
“Okay! Okay!” I groaned, rummaging around in the fridge for the can of whipped cream.
“Do you want clown waffles, too?” Robby asked Wyatt.
I wanted to shut my head in the fridge door!
Wyatt probably had a butler that brought him posh breakfasts like fresh baked croissants with smoked salmon and smashed avocado, or whatever it was rich people ate in the morning. He most definitely didn’t eat clown waffles.
But to my surprise, Wyatt said yes.
I pulled my head out of the fridge to make sure I’d heard him right. He’d finished loading the dishwasher and was sitting next to Robby now, the two of them conversing about clown waffles.
“You’ve really never had one?” Robby asked.
“Never, but now I feel I must try one.”
“They’re the best!” Robby replied. “Wanna know a secret?”
Wyatt’s eyes sparkled. “Always.”
“Layne makes the best clown waffles in the world,” Robby whispered.
Wyatt’s glinting green eyes caught mine and his lips twitched into a smirk. “I bet she does.”
I returned to the counter with my waffle supplies, reminding myself to breathe, as Wyatt sidled up next to me. “Need any help?” he asked, the warmth of his breath dangerously close to my ear.
“Nope. I’ve got it.”
“Me first!” Robby exclaimed.
“Alright, buddy. But remember your manners,” I instructed.
“Me first, please,” Robby amended.
I quickly arranged the bananas, chocolate syrup, sprinkles and whipped cream, passing two plates of hideously sugary waffles across the counter to Wyatt and Robby.
Robby dug in, but Wyatt’s face was priceless. “How does one eat a clown waffle?” he asked.
“Quickly,” I suggested, looking at the time. “You’ve gotta catch the bus in fifteen minutes, Robby.”
Fifteen minutes later we were standing out front, waving to Robby as he boarded his elementary school bus.
Wyatt, stretched his arms above his head, revealing his sexy abs. I quickly looked down as we walked back toward my house.
“I’m beyond full,” Wyatt groaned. “How does he do it?”
I laughed. “Robby is a bottomless pit.”
Wyatt’s hands moved to his waist. “That was the most decadent breakfast I’ve ever eaten. I want that kid’s metabolism.”
“Don’t we all?” I joked, starting to feel my nerves prickling again now that I was alone with Wyatt. As he followed me back up the steps to my house, I turned to face him. “You can wait in your car. I’ll only be a minute.”
Wyatt paused mid step, his eyes searching mine, the morning sunlight making them glitter like gems. “You didn’t eat any breakfast,” he said.
“I’m not a big breakfast person.”
Wyatt narrowed his eyes. “I’ll figure you out yet, Penny Layne.”
I sighed with relief when he finally turned off his simmering gaze and retreated to Scarlet. I slipped inside my house, closing my front door, sagging against it while I took a moment to catch my breath.
Having Wyatt show up here this morning had completely caught me off guard. It was the equivalent of being tossed off a high dive. All morning I’d felt like I’d been in an endless freefall as Wyatt casually took up space in my kitchen, completely upending my world.
With my dating experience, I was basically still learning to swim. I had no business near the high dive. And Wyatt Nash was most definitely a high dive.
But still, something about him made me curious. The way my heart raced when he was near, how he looked at me like he could see past all my defenses, his smirks promising to rock my world if I’d only let him.
Wyatt made me want to face my fears and dip my toe in the deep end. Yet I had a feeling that wasn’t an option. With Wyatt, it would be sink or swim. One look into the fathomless pools of his deep emerald eyes and I already knew he could swallow me whole.
I did my best to shake off the unsettling breathlessness having Wyatt in my home had left me with. Lola was right. I needed to be careful. That meant staying in the kiddie pool where I belonged—focusing on music, not boys with alluring accents.
Yet somehow, I found myself in my bathroom trading my glasses for the contacts I rarely wore. I ran a brush through my hair and stared at my reflection. I didn’t know why I was even trying. I looked the same as always—unremarkable. Thankfully, my music wasn’t.
Speaking of music, the words to a song started to take shape in my mind as I grabbed my bag and locked up my house.
Drowning never sounded appealing,
until I looked in your eyes.
Chapter Eighteen
Wyatt
We pulled into the school parking lot and Layne’s hand shot to the door handle, but after her silent treatment during our drive, I’d been expecting her to bolt. That wasn’t happening. I grabbed her belt loop and pulled her back. “Hold up.”
She looked at me wide-eyed. It was almost comical how much she resembled a deer in headlights. A very cute deer. Bambi came to mind as she blinked those gorgeous chocolate eyes at me, like I was the big bad wolf about to devour her. “I see you didn’t wear y
our glasses today.”
“How observant of you.”
“I’m sensing you’re upset about something,” I said.
Layne sighed dramatically and shut the car door, crossing her arms as she glared at me. “You can’t just show up unannounced at my house, Wyatt.”
“Give me your number and I won’t have to,” I challenged, handing her my phone.
She looked at it, hesitating for a moment before giving in. She swiped it from my hand and put in her contact info. When she handed my phone back, I grinned and snapped a photo of her.
“Hey!” she protested.
“What? I need a photo to put with your name.”
She scowled at me. “Do you have that many girls’ numbers in your phone?”
I laughed. “What makes you think I have a lot of girls’ numbers?”
“You do have a bit of a reputation.”
I arched an eyebrow. “Do I?”
She rolled her eyes. “Why do you think there’s an I Hate Wyatt Nash Club?”
That shocked a laugh from me. “Penny Layne, is that jealousy I detect?”
She reached for the door handle again and I caught her elbow.
“Okay, okay, enough teasing,” I said. “I’m sorry I stopped by unannounced, but I had a reason.”
“What’s that?”
“This,” I said, texting her the music files I’d recorded last night.
Her phone dinged and she looked at the messages. “What’s this?”
“I had a few ideas I thought we could try when we rehearse after school today.”
Layne’s face scrunched up in confusion. “For my song?”
“Yeah. Just take a listen and if you like anything, we can try it out at rehearsal.”
“Oh,” her eyebrows rose. “Um, okay.”
She looked impressed by my initiative and it made me smile. I loved how easy she was to read. If more girls were like her maybe I wouldn’t have a reputation. “So,” I said, “Are we good?”
“Yeah.”
Kissing The Hero (The Dangers of Dating a Diva Book 2) Page 7
