“Drinking alone, are we?” I try to sound casual despite my thundering pulse.
“Just a nightcap.” He takes another sip, his gaze flicking down my legs and back up again, so blatant it triggers a ripple of heat up my neck.
I set my water glass on the counter, determined not to let him see me blush.
“Why’s your mind racing?” he asks.
“I don’t know,” I lie.
“You thinking about that guy? The football player who asked you to be his girlfriend?”
I hesitate. “Yeah.”
He moves closer, propping a hip against the counter. “You don’t want to say yes.”
“I… He’s really into me. And he’s sweet.”
“Sweet,” Wyatt echoes, like the word bores him. “That’s not an answer.”
I’m utterly aware of how close he’s standing. How his voice has dropped just enough to feel like it’s sliding under my skin.
“I don’t know if I want a relationship with Isaac,” I confess. “He’s not… I don’t know…serious, I guess. Everything’s kind of surface level with him.”
Wyatt’s mouth curves in an infuriating little smirk. “How’s the sex?”
My cheeks are burning. “It’s… We haven’t…” I’m flustered. Ugh. I never get flustered. I hate that Wyatt Graham brings out that side of me. “We haven’t slept together yet. But we’ve done other stuff.”
“Okay. How’s the other stuff?” He laughs suddenly. “You know what? Don’t bother answering. If you were satisfied with the football player, you wouldn’t have been eye-fucking me all night.”
My mouth drops open. “Excuse me?”
“What?” He grins, swallowing another swig. “Am I wrong?”
“I wasnotdoing that.”
“Yes. You were.” He licks a drop of beer off his bottom lip, raking that hot gaze over me. Slow and deliberate.
I hate how my heart races just from him looking at me like that. “You’rethe one who was staring at me all night.” I lift my chin in challenge. “Why?”
He goes quiet. I assume he’s not going to answer or that he’ll throw out a dismissive response, but he surprises me by saying, “I don’t know.”
My heart flips.
“But I can’t seem to stop,” he finishes, his voice dropping another octave.
He moves toward me, his hip trailing over the counter as he gets nearer.
I swallow, only to find that my throat is a desert.
“Blake,” he mutters.
“Hmm?” I tilt my face up to his, my pulse skittering.
His eyes lower to my mouth. The tension between us is palpable. I’m practically inhaling it. How is this happening? Since when does Wyatt Graham look at me like he wants to kiss me?
And since when does he reach out and cup my cheek?
And lower his head?
