That is, if he actually was planning on kissing me.
I licked my lips, staring at his, willing myself not to back down from this bizarrely addicting game of chicken. I told myself I couldn’t lose. If I didn’t back down, I’d earn Wyatt’s respect—then maybe he’d stop messing with me. And the added bonus was I’d finally get my first kiss.
This may not be how I’d always imagined it, but I steeled my nerves, reminding myself this would make me a better songwriter.
Surprisingly, I found my voice. “Are you going to put your money where your mouth is?”
Wyatt’s lips quirked up into a half grin, mischief glinting in his eyes as he leaned in. “Do you want me to kiss you?”
“I mean, if it’ll make my song better.”
“So, it would be strictly research?”
“Yes.”
He smirked. “Well, in that case.” Wyatt bent his head, letting his lips brush lightly against mine.
I closed my eyes, bracing for impact, but the kiss was over as quickly as it started. I opened my eyes, blinking in surprise to see Wyatt’s grinning face still kissing-distance to mine.
“That’s it?” I asked.
“That was the kiss your lyrics described,” he teased. “A bit of a letdown, am I right?”
I was about to answer when his hands moved to my waist, pulling me closer. I gasped in surprise, my hands going to his chest.
Wyatt bent his head again. “This, is how a kiss should feel,” he murmured, a ghost of a smile on his wicked lips, right before they devoured mine.
That was the only way to describe what Wyatt’s lips did to mine.
His kiss made my head swim.
Wyatt’s full lips coaxed emotions from me with wild urgency. Each time our lips parted, fear sprouted wings in my chest as I longed to join with his again. I wanted to stay in his arms forever, letting our kisses unfurl into a promise of passion to come.
He was right. Each stroke of his tongue against mine was like an explosion of poetry in my soul. Lyrics danced in my head as the kiss deepened.
How had I been missing this my entire life? I wanted to shred every love song I’d ever written and start anew. Because before this moment I knew nothing.
A tiny voice in the back of my head warned me that this wasn’t real, but I ignored it, clinging even harder to Wyatt and the electricity he was filling me with. I might never get to experience this again, and I needed to commit every detail to memory.
The way I could feel his chest rise and fall with mine, the warmth of his skin as I slid my hand up the corded column of his neck to slip through his silken hair. Wyatt’s movements mimicked my own, making me fully embarrass myself when I moaned the moment his fingers knotted in my hair.
I felt Wyatt’s lips hitch into a grin against mine as my cheeks flamed and the spell was broken.
Wyatt pulled back letting his forehead rest against mine for a moment while we caught our collective breath. It was like our hearts and lungs were in a race and had made an agreement to cross the finish line together. I liked the feeling, but I couldn’t help wondering if my organs would ever return to a normal pace again. I wasn’t sure I wanted them to if it meant letting go of the tingling feeling coursing through me.
Wyatt recovered first, leaning back with a cocky smile. “So?” he asked.
I cleared my throat and nodded once. “You might be right about that line. I think we should revisit it.”
My comment shocked a deep laugh from him. “I had a feeling I might be able to help you see things my way.”
I pressed my lips into a firm line and picked up a pen, ignoring the fact that my face felt like it was growing hotter by the second. I drew a thick line through the old lyrics and scribbled new ones beneath it.
Your lips, your kiss, your lies.
Scorching, ravenous, your lips taste like sin.
I don’t care, let me in.
Wreck me, I won’t break.
You’d be surprised what I can take.
Wyatt nodded his approval. “You’re a good student.”
I laughed. “It was one kiss. Don’t go getting any ideas.”
“I don’t know, kissing tutor has a nice ring to it. I could get on board with such an arrangement,” he replied, adding a wink. “In the name of research, of course.”
I rolled my eyes, shoving down the butterflies that burst to life at the mere hint of another kiss. “Let’s try it again from the top.”
Chapter Twenty-Three
Wyatt
I was trying to act like I was unaffected by that kiss but was failing miserably. It was all I could think about as we finished rehearsing. I was sure Layne was onto me since she’d suggested we call it a night twice already. But for some reason I kept stalling.
I knew Layne had only let me kiss her in the name of furthering her music, but still, I didn’t want tonight to end.
Finally, Layne yawned and announced she couldn’t play a moment longer. Truthfully, my voice was starting to get hoarse, but I wasn’t letting that stop me.
“So, tell me about the next song,” I said as we packed up our things.
She hesitated, but then said, “It’s called Invisible.”
I raised an eyebrow, and she flushed. I threaded my fingers behind my head and leaned back in my chair enjoying the view. I was beginning to grow addicted to the way even the simplest of my gestures affected her. Could that kiss have meant more to her, too?
The thought made me brazen. “I think we’re a good match, Penny Layne.”
She stilled and blinked up at me. “What?”
“Don’t you?”
“Um, I guess musically we work surprisingly well.”
“Just musically?”
Layne turned pink, her mouth frozen in a slight O shape.
I smirked. “Noted. I guess I read that wrong. Strictly business partners,” I said, giving her a sarcastic salute.
“Oh, it’s just . . . I, um—”
“It’s okay, Penny Layne. I’m just teasing.”
So, I’d been wrong about the kiss. Oh well. It was still totally worth it.
“You know, your humor isn’t as charming as you think,” she replied.
“Also noted.” I laughed. “But I still think you’re good for me.”
“Why’s that?”
“You make me want to be someone I’m not.”
“And that’s a good thing?”
I nodded. “That’s a very good thing,” I said, crossing the room until I stood in front of her. “Especially since we’ll be spending a lot of time together. And don’t think you’re getting out of me driving you home tonight.”
“Oh, you don’t have to do that.”
“I know. But I want to.” I grinned. “See there you go making me want to be all heroic and chivalrous.”
She huffed a laugh. “Well, I guess it’s only fair.”
“What do you mean?”
“I know I’m your project for the time being. I guess you can be mine, too.”
I liked the sound of that a bit too much. “Oh yeah, and what’s the goal of these projects?”
“You’re going to help me win the songwriter’s scholarship and I’m going to help you learn how to be nice.”
I feigned shock. “Who says I’m not nice?”
“Have you already forgotten about the I Hate Wyatt Nash Club?”
“How could I?”
“You’re going to need my help if you hope to get it disbanded,” she teased.
I smirked and offered her my arm. “I’m game if you are.”
Layne laughed, her cheeks filling with that rosy glow I liked so much. But then she looped her arm through mine and let me lead her out into the brisk evening air.
The whole car ride back to her house we talked music, flipping through my music app arguing over who had better taste. At first, we’d agreed on quite a few artists, but when we delved deeper, I found there was a whole genre that I needed to expose her to.
“I can
’t believe you don’t listen to Mogli! Your sounds are really similar. I think you’d like her. You should come over. I have her album on vinyl.”
“Of course, you do.”
“What does that mean?”
“Nothing, it’s just so cliché.”
“Vinyl?” I was flabbergasted. “You realize saying vinyl is cliché, is cliché. Vinyl is king!”
“Vinyl is pretentious.”
“Have you ever listened to anything on vinyl?”
“No.”
“Hmm, I seem to remember there was something else you recently tried and changed your mind about. What was it? Let me think . . .”
Layne tried to fight her grin by punching me in the shoulder.
“Hey, no assaulting the driver.”
“No humiliating the passenger,” she tossed back.
“I’m not humiliating you. I’m merely reminding you that you shouldn’t judge things like kissing or vinyl without trying them first.”
She snorted.
I slowed to a stop at the light and glanced over at her. “Admit I’m right.”
She stubbornly shook her head.
I arched an eyebrow. “Do you need a refresher on kissing already? Because I’m happy to oblige.”
Her face flushed and she bit her lip, making my insides ignite. This girl was blowing up my game without even trying!
“Fine,” she admitted. “You were right about the kiss.”
“I know I was,” I challenged. “It rocked your world and so will vinyl.”
She laughed. “Fine, but not tonight. It’s already late and I have a ton of homework.”
“Alright, tomorrow then.”
“Fine.”
“It’s a date.”
“It’s not a date,” she warned. “It’s research.”
I winked. “You have your words, I have mine.”
Chapter Twenty-Four
Layne
I rolled out of bed the next morning, exhausted from a sleepless night. I couldn’t stop replaying Lola’s words in my head—'be careful, don’t get hurt.’
She’d been right to warn me about Wyatt. We’d been rehearsing together for two days and I’d already kissed him. Yes, it was an educational kiss to make me a better songwriter, but no matter how many times I told myself that, I couldn’t convince the butterflies Wyatt’s kiss had awoken to go back into hibernation.
I needed to find a way to get myself under control. I felt like I had ‘no longer a kiss virgin’ stamped on my stupid smiling face. I was supposed to video chat with Lola last night, but I was worried she’d take one look at me and know what I’d done, so I’d used homework as an excuse to avoid her.
Would she hate me forever when she found out I’d kissed her nemesis?
I was supposed to hate Wyatt Nash. Not kiss him!
How had things gotten out of control so quickly? I wondered if mono was running ramped through Northwood, because I certainly felt like I had some sort of kissing virus. How else could I explain how the space in my head that used to listen to reason and form rational thoughts now did only one thing—think of Wyatt’s lips!
I should cancel our date tonight. Not a date, I reminded myself.
I was sure Wyatt was just teasing me when he’d used that word. Like everything with him, the world was one big witty, sarcastic joke. There was no way he would ever go on a date with me. We were just hanging out at his house listening to music. That wasn’t a date, right?
Ugh! I was already talking myself out of canceling our non-date!
I needed to get a grip.
I quickly showered, dressed and yes, again chose contacts over glasses, before heading downstairs to get Robby ready for school.
I was scrutinizing my outfit while I stirred eggs at the stove when Robby’s voice snapped me back to reality. “Layyy-ne! Your boyyy-friend is here!”
“What?”
I hadn’t even heard the doorbell ring, but there was Wyatt, smiling as he walked into my house like a warm ray of sunshine. Today he had three paper cups in his hand. He handed one to Robby. “Hot chocolate for the sugar fiend.” Wyatt’s sparkling green eyes settled on me. “And one cup of Earl Grey for the lady.”
“That’s your favorite, right Layne?” Robby boasted.
I nodded, wondering how on earth Wyatt had picked my favorite tea out of the endless variety the coffee shop offered.
Wyatt took a sip of his coffee, his gaze never dropping mine. “You look like an Earl Grey girl,” he said.
“Really?”
He took a step closer and leaned in, his mouth grazing my ear as he spoke. “No, but I could taste it on your lips when we kissed.”
Heat shot through me so quickly I gasped.
Wyatt smirked, amused by how easily I was flustered. “Relax, it was a joke,” he teased. “For now,” he added with a wink.
Chapter Twenty-Five
Wyatt
I couldn’t help it. Teasing Layne was too easy. It was becoming my new favorite hobby. Well, besides being her kissing tutor. But I had a strong inkling that she’d revoked the position. Maybe teasing her about the tea had been too much.
Layne had barely said two words to me on the ride to school and she was so tense during rehearsal after school that we’d barely gotten through the new song.
Guilt stabbed me as I watched her agonize over the chords. This was my fault. I obviously needed to curb my sarcasm, or I was going to undo all the progress we’d made.
Yes, I’d prefer it if Layne was into a few more rounds of kissing, but I was a big boy, I could handle rejection. Plus, I’d meant what I said. She did make me want to be a better person. And the better version of me wanted to help her get that scholarship so she could continue her passion, because her music was beautiful. And the world could always use more beauty.
“Hey,” I said, touching her shoulder. “What do you say we cut out early today? I’m starving.”
She looked at me warily, like she was waiting for the joke.
“How do you feel about pizza?” I asked.
“That depends,” she said coyly.
“On what?”
“The toppings.”
“Are there bad toppings?”
She wrinkled her nose. “Um, yes! If you think pineapple belongs on pizza, we can’t be friends.”
I laughed. “I’ve never tried it.”
“Really? I’ve found something the worldly Wyatt Nash hasn’t experienced?”
“Ah, yes, you’ve discovered my shameful secret. I’ve not had fruit on pizza. The horror!”
She laughed. “Well, we can fix that tonight.”
“But you just said it’s the worst topping.”
“Yes, but this is what our project is all about; trying new things. It’s only fair that I get to make you try new things, too.”
“Yes, but I’ve only made you try amazing things.”
“Subjective.”
I resisted the urge to smirk at her adorableness. “How so?”
“Well, I could’ve hated kissing you.”
I scoffed. “Not possible.”
She rolled her eyes. “Were you born this cocky or is it something you can teach me?”
I laughed, loving that she was finally loosening up a bit. I enjoyed our banter much more this way. “Fine, I’ll try the ghastly fruit pizza.”
Of course, I would. I’d do anything to prolong another evening with her.
Whether she was acting nervous or playful, the result was the same. I couldn’t get enough of my Penny Layne.
As we pulled up to my house, I started to second-guess my decision to bring Layne home. I looked over at her, relieved her eyes were transfixed on the music app on my phone rather than where we were headed.
It seemed our competitive nature wasn’t limited to the practice room, as Layne busied herself searching for a song to top the last one I’d chosen. Which was impossible because no one trumped The Beatles. But it was cute she was trying.
I realized letting L
ayne take control of the music nullified my radio rule in Scarlet, but at the moment I’d much rather have her focused on my car than the massive gates we were driving through.
I hated how ostentatious my house was. Northwood was a small town, surrounded by lots of forest and farmland. The people who didn’t live in town or the small suburbs just outside it had modest farmhouses in the country.
But not us.
My father had bought a gothic mansion. The thing might as well have a moat!
It was built in 1800 and something by some reclusive railroad tycoon. The only thing the place had going for it was that it was set far back from the road so no one could see how grotesquely grandiose it was. I also appreciated that the dated interior had been completely modernized. My father even had a state-of-the-art recording studio added. Not that he was ever home to use it.
I knew it was ridiculous that I was speeding Layne past the gargoyle-topped turrets since in a moment I’d be inviting her into Dracula’s Castle, where there’d be no denying my family’s affluence. But I guess I’d always been someone who enjoyed delaying the inevitable—hence my aimlessness.
I glanced sideways at Layne again. She was chewing her lip with determination as she scrolled through song after song. Again, I found myself envious of her unwavering devotion. It must be comforting to know one’s purpose in life.
When I was younger, I might’ve thought music was my path as well, but as my father chose it over me time and time again, I began to hate his career, and everything that went with it.
Sure, being a bigshot in the music industry had afforded us every luxury in life, but what good was it when he was never around to enjoy it—to enjoy me?
I often wondered why my parents even had me. I’d spent more time with nannies than either of them. It’s why I’d stopped bringing people around. I hated making up excuses for why my parents were never home. I also hated that once people saw where I lived, what kind of money I came from . . . they stopped seeing me.
Kissing The Hero (The Dangers of Dating a Diva Book 2) Page 9
