A picture of Wyatt fills my head. The way his breath felt against my cheek. The warmth that emanates from him. A vision of his hand replacing mine has my fingers moving again, this time sliding in and out of my noticeably damp folds. This is new. Exciting. Perhaps I’m on the right path now. I keep the image of Wyatt firmly in place as I speed up my movements. Something is building, and I try not to get too eager, lest it disappear. The intensity grows. My breath speeds up, and I almost stop for fear of triggering my asthma, but I resolutely push on.
“Yes!” I gasp when I feel my body begin to spasm, but then it’s over. I think. One small spasm, a mild sense of warmth, and now nothing. If anything, it’s uncomfortable to still be touching myself at this point, so I stop, pulling my hand free and letting out a frustrated groan.
Once again, my body has proven to me that I am simply not a sexual being.
Yet, as I lay in bed, trying to sleep after washing my hands, I can’t help but wonder one important thing.
Would it be different with Wyatt?
Chapter seven
Wyatt
Taking some time off was a good idea. The freedom to wake up each day whenever I want, and spend my time outside, away from suits and computers and meetings has given me a much needed reset to my energy. But when night falls and it gets too dark to safely be out in the forest, I’m faced with an empty house. At least in the city I have people I can go out with, there’s always a willing woman ready to come home with me if we’re in the mood, or there’s work to catch up on. Here, there’s none of that. And I’m starting to go a little stir-crazy. Which is why tonight, I decided not to spend another evening at home alone, and instead, I head to the pub I noticed on one of my drives around town.
Hastings is pretty full when I walk inside. I guess this is where everyone goes when it’s time to get out for an evening. I make my way to the bar and signal to the guy serving drinks down at the other end. He gives a nod of acknowledgment, and I settle in to wait. Looking out over the room, I don’t realize I’m looking for Paige until my eyes land on her. She’s sitting at a table with several other people, including the woman I now recognize is Mila.
I came close to kissing Paige yesterday. When I saw her carrying those boxes, I couldn’t have stayed away, even if I tried. I was raised to always offer help to someone who appeared in need. And when she told me why she was at the hospital, the relief I felt was surprising. Not that asthma isn’t a big deal, I know it is. But I also know it’s easily managed. It’s not the death sentence that Ryder’s cancer was.
And yes, that’s a relief, but it’s also a complication. Because it makes it that much harder for me to come up with a reason to resist my attraction to Paige. Granted, I’m almost certain that even if she was open to starting something with me, it would be for something a lot more committed than I’m willing to do.
“What can I get you?”
A deep voice has me turning around to see the bearded bartender looking at me with open curiosity.
“Whatever Saison you have on tap would be great,” I reply. He gets to pouring and minutes later a frosty glass is slid across the counter to me.
“You’re new here, aren’t you?”
I put the glass down after taking a sip. Apparently he’s a chatty bartender. “Yeah. Not staying long, just a few weeks.”
His head moves up and down slowly. “Well, you found the best beer selection in town and some wicked burgers. Name’s Dean.” His hand is out and I reach over and shake it firmly.
“Wyatt.”
His eyes widen in recognition, which has me confused for a moment.
“I’ve heard about you. My wife Riley is friends with the other ladies, and they gossip more than a group of teenagers. I’ve heard your name come up a couple times.”
“Good things, I hope,” I remark casually, even though on the inside, I’m sweating. What if one of them has figured out who I really am and tells Paige. Unbidden, my eyes dart back over to her.
“They’re all taken except Paige and Serena, so careful with who you’re looking at.”
There’s a warning edge to Dean’s voice, and I look back quickly. “Don’t worry. I’m not here to cause any problems.” He takes my reassurance with another silent nod. “Actually, I am curious about Paige.”
At the obvious narrowing of his gaze, I hurry to continue. “She’s interesting, that’s all.”
“Paige is a fucking gem. And anyone who messes with her, messes with all of us.”
Jesus Christ, what is this, the small-town mafia? I’ve dug myself a hole without even realizing it when two men come up on either side of me.
“Dean, my man, can we get another pitcher of Route 49?” The bigger guy wearing a plaid shirt speaks before turning to me. “Hi. I’m Ethan.”
“This is Wyatt. He was asking about Paige.”
There’s a meaningful manner behind Dean’s words that I don’t have time to unpack before Ethan folds his thick arms across his chest and fixes me with a stare.
“Really. You’re Wyatt.”
