Themischievous tone to his voice softened the truth. “Yes, exactly.”
“Whatdoes your sister do?”
“She’sa teacher,” I sighed. “A kindergarten teacher.”
Helaughed again. “Gross.”
Ishot him an appreciative smile. “Thank you!” Wyatt put his hand on the small ofmy back to lead me around a corner and kept it there. The warmth of his handsunk into my skin and spread through my body, wrapping around my bones,infusing my blood, sinking into deep, secret metaphysical places of me.
God,I was in trouble with this man. Clearing my throat, I added more to my caseagainst Claire. “But it gets worse. She also lives five minutes away from myparents. She stayed home while I fled to the big, bad city. Something myparents have never forgiven me for.”
“What?!”he exclaimed, his voice sliding over the word until it reached a high pitch.
I smiled.“It’s their life goal to get me to move back home. And until I do, Claire willremain the golden child.”
“Where’shome?”
“Hamilton.It’s about two hours west. Past Greensboro.”
“Smalltown?” he asked, clearly having never heard of it before.
“Very,”I confirmed. “About a thousand people. My parents were born, raised, and planto die there. They’d like Claire, Cameron and I to do the same. But that townis toxic. I… I can’t do it.” I fixed my attention on my shoes, but the groundblurred in front of me, obscured by my watery vision. “Plus,” I added brightly.“They have like one greasy diner and a Pizza Hut—not a lot of careeropportunities for a classically trained chef.”
“Youwouldn’t leave Durham, would you?”
“Oh,no. Never. I was kidding.”
Athoughtful silence stretched between us, but it didn’t bother me. It wasn’tawkward. It was weirdly comfortable.
Finally,Wyatt said, “Your parents give you a hard time about that?”
“Everysingle day. All they want is for me to move home, marry my high schoolsweetheart, and give them thirteen grandchildren. No big deal.”
Hislaugh was a low rumble. “No big deal. Is that what Claire’s doing?”
Shakingmy head, I felt a twinge of pity for my sister and her tragic dating life. Shehad the absolute worst taste in men. “No, she’s still single. But for somereason my parents are less worried about her. Maybe because she’s a whole tenmonths younger than me. Or maybe because the dating pool in Hamilton isshallow? I have no idea. But for some reason they’re convinced I’m going toturn into an old maid and die alone.” I laughed, but it lacked the humor I’dhoped to use to soften the truth. “Although, going by current standards, theymight be right about that. They know I keep insane hours. And that I haven’tbeen on a serious date in like two years.” I paused, giving them the benefit ofthe doubt and letting my affection for them override my sarcasm. “I thinkthey’re just worried about how hard I work.”
“Theydon’t get it then,” Wyatt said softly… thoughtfully. “How important this is forus.”
Iinhaled a deep, even breath, appreciating his support in a way I didn’t realizeI needed until he’d given it to me. “I didn’t even notice at first, you know? Ijust wanted it so bad… wanted to make it, wanted to make a name for myself,wanted to move forward in my career. It’s like, I’m waking up to how completelyenslaved I am to this thing.”
“Itfeels good though, doesn’t it?”
Asmile stretched across my face. “Yes. In the best way.”
Hegrinned back. “We’re an industry of masochists.”
Westopped under the shade behind a stand, the cool air pulling goose bumps frommy arms. Or maybe it was the hot look in Wyatt’s dark eyes. It was hard to say.“Sadistic, right?”
Leaningforward, he tried to tuck a wayward strand of hair behind my ear. It didn’tstay. It was still too short. “At least we have each other.”
“Atleast,” I whispered.
Ourbodies moved together at the same time, our mouths crashing together in a gaspof breath and touch of lips and taste of tongue. He didn’t waste time pushingme gently back against the stand wall, his hands holding on to my waist,tugging our bodies together in a collision of heat and need.
Hismouth moved over mine, hungry and inviting, encouraging me to move back, tasteback… seduce back. I tilted my head, so he could delve his tongue deeper intomy mouth, pulling a sound from the back of my throat that was almost guttural.
God,how could he taste so good? Like mouthwash and a hint of coffee. And Wyatt—ataste I was getting too quickly addicted to.
