Total pages in book: 115
Estimated words: 112903 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 565(@200wpm)___ 452(@250wpm)___ 376(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 112903 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 565(@200wpm)___ 452(@250wpm)___ 376(@300wpm)
“Yep.” He reaches for his mom’s ring, which he still wears on a gold chain around his neck. “It’s how Mom taught us to read chapter books. She started reading Little House in the Big Woods out loud to me, then had me read it to her. You know, me trailing my finger underneath every line as I sounded out the words.” He mimics the motion. “She was so patient.”
“A true saint for putting up with you.”
“No shit.” He pauses, giving me the impression he has more to say. Then he sucks in a breath through his nose. “Anyway, back to you and the clueless douches you’ve dated who made you feel the opposite of relaxed.”
I eye him for a long minute. “We can talk about your mom if you want. I’m in no rush to go inside.”
“And here I thought you were in a rush to get laid.”
Chuckling, I reply, “You’re not wrong about that.”
“Lemme help you figure out what you want then.” He nods at my clasped hands, which are resting in my lap. “We’ll start with holding hands. You still good with that? If memory serves, we did a lot of it at The Rattler.”
“You’re real smooth at changing the subject, but don’t think I don’t notice when you do it.” I search his face. “You can fool a lot of people, but you can’t fool me, Wyatt Rivers.”
His eyes take on a liquid gleam. It reminds me of the look I saw in Pepper’s eyes before I operated on her—the sheer terror, the pain.
My heart squeezes. Wyatt will talk about his parents in passing, but the only time he’s shared the full force of his grief with me was that day right before his parents’ funeral. At first, I thought him avoiding the subject was a survival tactic, a way of pushing through those first few awful weeks. But then weeks turned to months, and months turned to years. The years turned into a decade, and Wyatt has never opened up again. Not once.
I know he’s still hurting. He hides it so well, no one would ever guess he’s in pain. I just wish I understood why exactly he’s so scared to share that pain with me, his best friend.
Wyatt clears his throat. “I’m not trying to fool you, Sally. It’s just—” His Adam’s apple dips. “It’s hard, you know? Talking about her without, yeah, totally falling apart. I don’t wanna fall apart. Not tonight, when you got so dressed up and look so beautiful. You want me to remind you how to have fun, remember?”
My eyes fill with tears, but I manage to blink them back. “Fall apart with me another time then?”
He laughs. “Maybe. I don’t—I won’t make promises I can’t keep, Sal. But maybe.”
“I’ll take maybe. Maybe is good.”
“Maybe you wanna let me hold your hand again?”
“Yes.” I nod. “I’m definitely still good with that.”
Wyatt reaches across the cab, the sleeve of his jacket pulling back to reveal the silver cuff links he’s wearing.
Jesus, he really went all out.
I literally start to sweat when Wyatt carefully but confidently slips his first two fingers into the crook between my thumb and forefinger. My blood jumps at the contact. He pulls my hands apart and clasps my left one in his right. He firms his grip so that our palms are flush. His skin is warm, and his calluses are so large that they scrape against my skin in a way that’s foreign and thrillingly, shockingly tender.
Wyatt maintains eye contact the whole time. I know he’s just making sure I’m okay, but—
He’s making sure I’m okay.
More than that, he’s making sure I actually like this.
It’s been so, so long since someone cared about me this way.
It makes me feel like I’m alive again, like I’m a full human being. One who deserves touch and fun and good sex and freedom and connection. With Wyatt’s hand on me, I’m not just a workhorse, a competent member of a team, a set of skills. I’m a soul. A body.
A being that exists only in the here and now.
My pulse beats a frantic, needy beat inside my skin. More. More. I could go for so much more of this.
“I see those wheels spinning,” Wyatt says. “For this, you gotta let your body do the talking. It’ll tell you what it wants.”
“I feel weird that you and I are discussing my body like this.”
“Sunshine, this whole fuckin’ thing is weird. Might as well embrace it.”
I furrow my brow, momentarily distracted from the pleasant, almost-silky feeling coursing through me. “Since when are you so on board with pretending to date me?”
He lifts a shoulder, the whisper of fabric just barely audible over the thump of my heartbeat. “You know I ain’t the type to do anything halfway. You want a fake boyfriend? Well then, I’m gonna be the best damn fake boyfriend you ever had, sugar.”