Or maybe she'll be one in his.
That's the thing about popular girls and dangerous guys in denim. It's a game where it's a privilege to play. She's the queen of heartbreak, and he's the guy who can land his smirk on anygirl he chooses and take what he wants from them. And in the aftermath, they miss him but never regret him.
Yes, I know all about what Wyatt and my brothers do. It's not a secret what Chelsea or her friends do either. And that's what makes my attraction to Wyatt even more dangerous.
Something is brewing between us. It sparked in the barn, and all my thoughts of him over the last week are either making me delusional or he's suddenly noticed me.
And I don't know how to stop it, but I need to figure it out. Wyatt Houston isn't meant to be anything to me but another brother figure, and I need to remember that. Plus, the last thing I'm going to be to him is another girl like Chelsea.
I grab a bottle of water. After taking several sips, I turn and catch my breath.
Wyatt stands ten feet from me, not staring at me but inspecting me. His slow, deliberate gaze drags over my body, causing an explosion of tingles and heat to race down my spine. He doesn't smile or blink. He just studies me, as if I'm a secret mission and he's deciding how to best approach his objective.
A shiver racks me, and I inhale sharply.
He sees it, and his smirk hooks at one corner of his mouth, like he's tasting trouble and enjoying the flavor.
Another round of heat floods my cheeks. I glance behind me to see if Chelsea is there, but it's only people my parents' age.
I must be going crazy.
He steps toward me, and, of course, Chelsea magically appears. She throws herself in front of him, causing him to stop in histracks and grab her before she falls. His eyes break from mine to meet hers.
My gut dives, and my chest tightens. I push through the crowd, away from the party, and disappear into the darkness.
When I get to the pond, I sit on the huge tree trunk that's been there for as long as I can remember. I trace the heart with the E and C inside it, carved by my sister Evelyn when she was younger and met Clay, the man she married.
"What are you doing down here by yourself?" Wyatt's low, gritty voice scrapes across my skin, unraveling the ache I just contained.
I slowly look up.
His hat's tipped just enough to shadow the spark in his eyes.
My breathing stutters, and I can't come up with the words to respond.
Time stops. Music trickles through our silence, soaked in static and summer heat.
He finally sits next to me, takes off his hat, and puts it on his knee. His dizzying scent of leather and dirt mix with a touch of his sweat, seducing me deeper into the fantasies that'll never happen.
My heart kicks hard. Having him so near feels wild, reckless, and utterly exhilarating. But it's also scary.
It's Wyatt.
He leans closer, drawling, "Sugar, are you going to tell me why you're down here all by your lonesome?"
Sugar.
He's called other girls "sweetheart" or "darling," but he always eliminates those pet names when he's done with them.
Does him calling me "sugar" mean I'll be next?
Wyatt would never hurt me.
I bet those other girls thought that too.
My pulse throbs, hot and heavy, beneath my skin. I state, "I needed some air."
His lips twitch. He leans closer, teasing, "We're outside."
