And…
He laughed.
I confessed to my crush, and helaughed.
Granted, it wasn’t in aha ha, everyone point at Blake Logan and laugh at how pathetic she isway. There was no cruelty in his tone. It was more of a nervous laugh, yet it was a hot, sharp knife to the heart. To add insult to injury, he ruffled my hair as he rose from the couch.
He ruffled.
My hair.
And then? The final stab to my mangled, bloody, shredded-to-ribbons heart?
“Probably best to get over that, kid,” he said.
Kid.
Part of me died from embarrassment that night. I never brought it up again. Neither did Wyatt.
And now here we are. I’m eighteen, certainly not a kid anymore. And certainly not imagining the heat in his gaze.
I hastily sip my wine and watch Gigi and Ryder finish out their billiards battle. Wyatt doesn’t say a single word to me. He spendsmost of the game mocking Ryder.
“Eight ball, corner pocket,” Ryder says.
“Well, that’s ambitious of you, Bill,” Wyatt remarks.
“Confident,” Ryder returns, then executes the shot to perfection. He lifts his head to smirk at Wyatt. “Anything else to add, Bill?”
“Bill?” I echo blankly, and Wyatt’s head finally shifts toward me.
Gigi answers for the boys. “BIL as in brother-in-law. It’s their nickname for each other. They think they’re being cute.”
Ryder racks the balls, and we play another game, this time girls against boys. I blow nearly every shot, because it turns out it’s hard to shoot pool when a tall, sexy, intense musician is hyperfixated on you.
Hours later, the house is dead silent, everyone asleep but me. I lie on my bed in the guest room, my restless thoughts drifting back to Wyatt and Isaac and men in general. Whenever I close my eyes, I see Wyatt’s deep green eyes tracking me like I’m the only person in the house.
Eventually, I give up on sleep and go downstairs to the kitchen, not bothering to look decent. I’m barefoot and in my underwear and an oversize sweater that barely covers my upper thighs.
I’ve just finished pouring a glass of water at the fridge when I hear his voice.
“Can’t sleep?”
I jump, nearly dropping my glass. Water sloshes over the rim and spills onto my knuckles. “Jesus. You scared me.”
I turn to find him standing in the shadows, leaning against the doorframe. A bottle of beer dangles from his fingers, and his hair is even messier than it was two hours ago. He’s definitely feeling the alcohol, his gaze more than a little hazy. He looks…dangerous. Tired, drunk, and beautiful.
“Sorry,” he says, then takes a swig of beer.
“You can’t sleep either?” I sip my water, watching him. “Is yourmind also racing?”
Wyatt shrugs. “I never sleep.”
“Vampire?”
“Obviously.”
With a hint of a smile, he steps into the kitchen, his face illuminated by only the strip of lights running beneath the cabinets. Then he tips his head back and drinks more beer.
