“See, you really are an angel,” he teased. “Angel cream for the angel.”
I rolled my eyes at him. “Do your cheesy pickup lines actually work?”
“I don’t know, why don’t you let me know?” he replied, waggling his eyebrows.
“You are ridiculous.”
“I think you mean adorable,” he said, taking a bite of jelly donut. He moaned, closing his eyes in pure pleasure.
I instantly felt my cheeks heat and took a gulp of my tea to distract myself.
Wyatt demolished the donut then flipped the lid of the box closed to read the label. “Sweet Pea’s? Is this place in town?”
“Yeah, it’s in the back of that old antique store on Main Street.”
“Really? I’ve never noticed it.”
I shrugged. “A lot of people say that.”
“Well, they should advertise because these are amazing. How’d you find it?”
“I work there in the summers.”
Wyatt’s eyes sparkled with mischief. “Penny Layne, do you mean to tell me I can hang out with you and get free donuts all summer long?”
I laughed. “I guess.”
Wyatt slowly shook his head. “I’ve been doing this all wrong.”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean, I can’t believe I’ve been letting my parents ship me off to London when I could’ve been summering at your heavenly donut shop.”
I snorted and nearly inhaled powdered sugar. Only Wyatt could get away with calling working at Sweet Pea’s, ‘summering’.
Before I’d gotten to know him, I would’ve thought he was mocking me with a comment like that. But the more time I spent with him, the more obvious it was that he seemed as lost and lonely as I was, which was strange considering he had every opportunity I didn’t.
I’d always thought if my dad hadn’t deserted us my life would’ve been better. My mom wouldn’t have to work two jobs, I wouldn’t have to babysit and spend my summers working just to afford music lessons and thrift store clothes. I could be normal.
But Wyatt was normal—well, his lifestyle was well above normal—but he had everything I didn’t, and he still wasn’t happy.
He had two parents, but they never seemed to be around. And all the expensive things in his house didn’t seem to do much to help stave off his loneliness. Otherwise he wouldn’t be so keen on spending all his time with me.
I guess the grass isn’t always greener.
“So is your mom home today?” I asked.
“Why? Fancy snapping a photo of her in her beauty mask?” Wyatt teased.
“No,” though I still giggled at the memory.
Wyatt grinned. “I doubt she’ll let that happen again.” He chuckled. “I can still picture the horror on her face.”
“Well, I hope she’s not making herself scarce because of me.”
He waved off my concern. “She’s at my grandparents. We’ve got the place to ourselves.”
He said it without any innuendo, which stung. It shouldn’t have. We were strictly partners, but the fact that Wyatt was dropping his flirtatious ways with me still hurt my heart.
It had been fun to feel sparks for a change—even if I knew they’d never go anywhere.
I supposed I should be glad that this little fairytale was fizzling. It would be over in a week, and I’m sure Wyatt would find a new ‘project’ or two to distract him once he wasn’t saddled with me.
Chapter Thirty-Two
Wyatt
Layne’s mood seemed to sour as I watched her stare into her tea. I hated when she let her insecurities dim her sparkle. I still didn’t know what it was that vexed her. The girl was a vault. The only time I caught glimpses behind the curtain was when she shared her songbook. Her lyrics were hauntingly sad, yet strangely familiar.
I don’t know what it was about her that intrigued me so, but she drew me in like we were kindred spirits. It made me want to keep digging; but getting her to open up beyond casual friendship was proving impossible.
It was true my motives were slightly selfish, but I’d done a good job of hiding them for the most part. I’d even managed to convince myself that I only needed to know her better to do her songs justice. But the more time I spent with her, the more that felt like a lie.
Facing the truth had never been my strong suit, so I did what I always did. I pushed my feelings aside and tried not to focus on the storm clouds gathering in Layne’s beautiful brown eyes. I knew from experience it was no use trying to get people to let me in when they didn’t want to. I couldn’t get my own parents to, so I shouldn’t expect Layne to be any different.
Yet even as I told myself this, I still found myself trying with her. Despite my motives, one simple fact remained—when Layne was happy, I was happy.
When we were together, I did my best to chase away Layne’s sullen moods with my humor. I’d even cut back on my usual flirtatious ways since I’d noticed it often brought on bouts of her nerves and storminess. But today I hadn’t expected to have to work so hard. I’d thought she’d be excited. We were about to record her music.
Luckily, I had a trick up my sleeve that I was sure would brighten her day.
“So, Penny Layne, you ready to do this?”
“Ready as I’ll ever be, I guess.”
“Oh, come on, admit it, you’re a little excited,” I said, grabbing her slim shoulders. “Or, at least you will be once I show you where we’re recording.”
“I thought you said we were recording here?”
I gave her a mischievous smirk. “I did say that, didn’t I?”
“Wyatt,” she groaned, making me grin further. “I don’t like surprises.”
“Trust me, you’ll like this one,” I whispered into her ear, steering her out of the kitchen.
Somehow, I convinced Layne to let me blindfold her before I led her down the stairs to the basement, which my father had converted into a recording studio.
I may have been enjoying the way she clung to me a bit too much as we traversed the staircase. Her hands were locked around mine as I led her into the room, telling her to pick up her feet and step over imaginary things just to see if she’d do it.
She listened without pause every time. I was having a hard time holding my amusement in, my shoulders shaking as I tried not to laugh. I knew I should probably stop messing with her, but I couldn’t resist one more.
“Now lift your right foot,” I commanded. “You have to step over another wire.”
I watched her high step behind me and bit my lip to control my laughter. She looked ridiculously adorable.
“Okay, we’re almost there,” I said, moving her into the perfect spot for the big reveal. “No cheating,” I added, as I tugged her a step closer.
I placed her hands on my chest, enjoying the slight tremble that rippled through her as I reached for the blindfold. My eyes fell to her lips as they parted. I could just make out their heart-shaped silhouette in the darkness. A sudden ache to taste her lips again rocked me, nearly crushing my resolve. I reminded myself I wasn’t supposed to be reacting to Layne this way. We were strictly business.
I took a steadying breath and let my mouth find her ear. She shivered as my breath whispered softly against her skin. “Keep your eyes closed until I turn on the lights,” I murmured before letting the blindfold slip away.
I moved quickly to the wall where I’d be able to see her reaction and flipped on the lights.
“Open your eyes.”
Her brown eyes blinked open and her heart-shaped lips parted in awe as I knew they would. With wide eyes she took in the room before her gaze settled on me. She whispered my name in that breathless way of hers that made my knees weak.
“Wyatt?” she said, “What does your dad do, again?”
Chapter Thirty-Three
Layne
Laughter bubbled up in Wyatt, deep and husky, like it did whenever I truly shocked him. But I honestly couldn’t understand how he was surprised by my reaction considering w
here we were. I was staring at a full-blown music studio! In. His. House!
“Do you really not know who he is?” Wyatt asked.
“Does this look like the face of a girl in the know?” I whispered.
He cocked his head to the side, analyzing me like he occasionally did. He must’ve decided he believed me because he laughed again. “Well, if you don’t know by now, why spoil the mystery?”
I rolled my eyes and moved toward the nearest wall where framed photographs and platinum albums hung. My mouth dropped open again when I recognized one of my favorite bands.
“It’s Chris Martin, isn’t it?” I teased. “Chris Martin is your dad.”
Wyatt leaned back against the wall, smirking. “I wish.”
“I will figure it out,” I taunted, moving about the incredible space.
Three of the walls were brick, but I moved to the one that was painted brown, drawn by the three guitars that hung there. Each were highlighted by a light and open framing like they were more art installation than instrument. As I got closer, I saw why.
I read the gold plaques under each one, then looked up to see the signatures of each musician adorning the guitars—Tom Petty, Prince, Joan Jett.
“Please tell me you’re somehow related to Joan Jett,” I begged, eyeing the gorgeous white Gibson.
Wyatt pushed off the wall and walked over to me. “Huh, I wouldn’t have pegged you as a Joan Jett fan. Isn’t she a little before your time?”
“Are you kidding me? She’s timeless.”
Wyatt’s smirk deepened as I rattled off my favorite songs.
“I Love Rock ‘n Roll, Cherry Bomb, Crimson and Clover, I Hate Myself for Loving You, Dirty Deeds, Bad Reputation; she’s a legend.”
“You’re full of surprises, aren’t you, Penny Layne?” he teased, amusement lighting his eyes.
“I could say the same about you. Why didn’t you tell me you were hiding a recording studio in your dungeon?”
“Dungeon’s a bit harsh, don’t you think? Besides, I wasn’t hiding it. You just never asked.”
“Like I was supposed to know to ask. Oh, by the way, do you happen to have a recording studio at your house?”
“Where did you think we were going to record?”
“I don’t know. In a closet, like normal teenagers.”
His eyebrows drew together. “Is that where you record?”
“Yeah. Don’t knock it,” I said defensively. “The clothes cut down the echo.”
“Well, we have acoustic panels for that,” he remarked proudly.
I knocked my shoulder into his. “Show off.”
“Hey, it’s not my studio,” Wyatt remarked. “But it seems a waste not to use it.”
“You know how to use all of this?” I asked gesturing to the massive panel of dials and slides.
“Of course.”
I rolled my eyes again at Wyatt’s lack for understanding normalcy. “And your dad won’t mind?”
“He’d have to be here to mind,” Wyatt muttered.
“You’re really not going to tell me who he is?”
“Nope.”
“I’m not going to stop guessing.”
“I know.” He smirked. “Now, if you’re done fangirling, let’s get this show on the road.”
I followed him past the comfy leather sofas toward the soundboard. He switched on a few things and powered up a laptop while I grabbed my guitar case that he’d carried down. I noticed an old Rolling Stones cover in a frame with a cartoon sketch of three musicians and my eyes lit up as I read the caption. I darted into the sound booth where Wyatt was adjusting the microphones. “I’ve got it!” I exclaimed. “Crosby, Stills & Nash! Your dad is Nash!”
Wyatt doubled over with laughter. “How old do you think my father is?”
I frowned. I’d really thought I’d guessed it that time, but Wyatt was right. It was a lame guess. His dad probably wasn’t in his eighties. I pulled my guitar out of my case and looped the strap over my head, still mulling over options. “Will you tell me if I guess correctly?”
“Yes, but you’ll just be disappointed. It’s the one thing my father’s good at.”
“Is he really that bad?”
Wyatt cut his eyes at me, like the question was absurd. “Yes.”
I didn’t know why it was bothering me so much, but the need to figure out the riddle of Wyatt’s father was unquenchable. “You know I could just Google him, right?”
“I know. But you’ve proven you like a challenge.”
“Have I?”
“Well, you like me, don’t you?” he asked, giving me a heart-stopping smile.
I swallowed thickly, because yes, despite my best efforts, I was terrified that I truly did like Wyatt Nash. Way. Too. Much.
Chapter Thirty-Four
Wyatt
I’d been wrong about my surprise lifting Layne’s spirits. It seemed being in a proper studio had the opposite effect on her. She was more anxious than the first time I’d practiced with her. And she took every suggestion I made to heart.
Finally, I pressed pause and turned off the monitor. Layne’s shoulders sagged as she unstrapped her guitar and took a seat back on her stool. I moved across the room and took her hands in mine. She looked down, but I wasn’t having it. If I didn’t get to the bottom of this, we weren’t going to accomplish anything today and that wasn’t acceptable.
I’d promised Layne I’d be a good partner and I was going to do it, whether she liked it or not. I gently took her chin in my hand and tilted her face until she was looking at me.
“Penny for your thoughts?”
She rolled her watery eyes. “This isn’t a joke,” she muttered, pulling away from me.
“Am I treating it like one?” I argued.
“No, it’s just . . .”
“Just what?” I demanded. “Let me in Layne. I’m here to help you, but I can’t if you won’t let me in.”
“I’m trying, okay!”
“Well, try harder.”
“This isn’t easy for me, Wyatt.”
“I can see that, but I can’t help you if you won’t tell me what you’re struggling with.”
Her silence picked at my confidence. “Is it me?” I asked quietly.
“No!” Her eyes brimmed with tears. “No, Wyatt. It’s not you. It’s . . . I don’t know what my problem is,” she blurted out. “I think . . . I think maybe I’m just not cut out for this.”
I pulled her into my arms, because honestly, I didn’t know what else to do. The look on her face was breaking me. I wanted to do more than hold her, but when she sobbed into my chest, suddenly my needs disappeared. The only thing that mattered was her.
I was relieved I wasn’t the problem, but I was desperate to figure out what was so I could fix it. I stroked her silky hair, breathing in the soothing scent of her shampoo as she hiccupped against me, trying to collect herself. The selfish part of me hoped she’d never find the strength to leave my arms.
Holding her felt nice. We fit perfectly—her cheek on my chest, my chin on her head. I could’ve stayed like that forever, but like most great things, it didn’t last nearly long enough.
Layne pulled away, sniffling. “I’m sorry,” she murmured, her cheeks pink with embarrassment.
“Don’t be,” I said, smoothing her hair back from her face. I wanted to kiss her so badly my chest ached, but this wasn’t about me. I took a deep breath, restraining my urges as I took her hands and led her to one of the sofas outside the sound booth.
Once seated, I resisted wrapping my arms around her again. Her own arms were crossed tightly over her chest telling me she wanted space. Instead, I knocked my knee into hers and used one of my mother’s favorite lines. “So, what are you struggling with today?”
Layne’s eyes met mine and her face twisted into a mixture of humor and disbelief. “Are you kidding?” she squeaked. “I’m struggling with everything! The pressure, the fear, the what ifs.”
“What ifs?”
�
�Yes! What if no one likes my songs? What if we don’t get any votes? What if I’m not good enough?”
“There it is,” I said softly. “Now that you’ve admitted it, we can get somewhere.”
She rolled her eyes. “How? It’s not like we can know any of the answers. I just have to suck it up and stop being a coward.”
“You’re not a coward.”
“Oh really? I’m the one having the meltdown.”
“I assure you, it’s normal.”
She scowled at me.
“What? It is. I could tell you countless stories about musicians losing it on my father.”
“Countless?” she challenged.
I grinned, enjoying that I’d managed to distract her for a moment. I lowered my voice. “Let’s just say once you’ve seen someone put a guitar through a window, not much shocks you.”
Her eyes widened. “Who did that?”
“I could tell you, but then I’d have to kill you.”
She huffed a laugh and loosened her arms, dropping her hands into her lap. “I’m sorry, I’m such a wreck today.”
I took her hands. “Don’t apologize. Being nervous is normal.”
“Is it?”
“Of course. It just means you really want this. And that’s a good thing.”
“I do,” she whispered. “More than anything I’ve ever wanted in the world.” She looked down, chewing her lip. “I think . . . I think that’s why I’m so afraid.”
“You have nothing to be afraid of, Layne.”
“How do you know?”
“Because you’re incredibly talented. And you have me as your partner,” I added.
“But what if I’m not good enough?” she whispered.
“You are,” I assured her.
“But what if I’m not?”
“Then at least you know you gave it your all. What else can you ask for?”
She nodded, but still chewed on her lip with uncertainty.
“Look, if you’re searching for perfection, you’re always going to fall short. You just need to get in that booth, remember why you wrote those songs and play your heart out.”
Kissing The Hero (The Dangers of Dating a Diva Book 2) Page 12
