napkin. I know it’s a tell—that I’ve given away my discomfort. But I just can’t keep my hands still.
“How come I think that’s a lie?”
I blink at the table, the napkin, and my shaking hand. Then I shrug.
“I don’t know why you think that.”
Wyatt is watching me closely and I feel prickly under his scrutiny. Refusing to back down, I meet his gaze, one brow arched. A few seconds later, he breaks.
“Okay, be mysterious.” He splays his hands out wide on the table. The span of his fingers is massive. I can imagine both of those hands spread wide on my body—stroking by back, cupping my ass. God, I could visualize that shit all day.
I inhale through my nose, then exhale hard.
“Well, you’ve certainly been here more than once or twice,” I counter.
Wyatt pulls his hands down into his lap and leans slightly closer. The visible sinews of his neck tighten beneath his skin.
“I’ve been here a lot. A whole fucking lot. Most of the time, I wasn’t sober. At least half the time, I only know I was here because I woke up somewhere in the back the next morning at the ass-crack of dawn.”
“You slept here?” I sort of smirk at him, crossing my arms. “The least you could have done was claimed a booth to crash in.”
Wyatt chuckles.
“Yeah, well—most of the time I was drunk or high or both and I couldn’t remember shit. Thankfully, I didn’t get behind the wheel all that often. Although, I can’t really say I never did at all. After Zeb though . . .”
His eyes cloud over a bit and we both go silent.
“We all make mistakes,” I finally say quietly.
He sort of leans back, then folds both hands behind his head and sort of peers at me, like he’s waiting for me to continue. I purse my lips.
“I sort of had a problem . . . with drugs. I still associate this place with those nights when I was higher than any kite you could possibly imagine and I couldn’t consider coming down for a second.” I look up and Wyatt’s eyes narrow a bit as he drums two fingers on the table before scrubbing a hand over his short-shorn locks. I try not to focus in on his scar when he does that. Instead, I lock in on his eyes as he opens his mouth.
“How long have you been clean?”
I watch him as he leans in toward me, his elbows now planted on his knees and his hands tented in front of his lips. Then I look down at my hands.
“Five months, twenty-three days . . .” I trail off as I glance at my watch. “And maybe about twelve hours? Give or take.”
I shrug then and try to smile as I say, “Not that I’m counting or anything .Sorry.”
Wyatt cocks his head. “That’s amazing, Carson.”
I frown at him. “What’s amazing?”
“Your sobriety. I mean, wow . . . that’s an achievement—not something to be taken lightly.”
Tears—red and hot and lightning fast—prick at the corners of my eyes. I feel his words like a physical force and I have to hold myself back from launching my body at Wyatt in gratitude for his recognition. Right now, the smile playing his lips is less sexy and more sweet. More honest.
He looks like he’s about to speak again, then Deena sashays over with our drinks on her tray. She grins at Wyatt again.
“Here ya go, honey. Ice cold and right outta the can.”
“Thanks, D.” He holds up his can towards me, and I lift my glass of water and tap it against his drink.
“To you,” he says softly. I lower my lashes and take a small sip, hoping that even the smallest amount of cold water might lessen the heat that’s already rising inside me for this man.
Frankly, I’m not betting on it.
Chapter Six
For a long moment, Wyatt and I just stare at each other. Finally, I swallow hard and give a small smile.
“So . . . were you married long?”
He shakes his head. “Nah. We were together for years, but only married for about nine months. It was a problem from long before we said ‘I do’ but I was too blind to see it.”
“Yeah.”
I get what
“How come I think that’s a lie?”
I blink at the table, the napkin, and my shaking hand. Then I shrug.
“I don’t know why you think that.”
Wyatt is watching me closely and I feel prickly under his scrutiny. Refusing to back down, I meet his gaze, one brow arched. A few seconds later, he breaks.
“Okay, be mysterious.” He splays his hands out wide on the table. The span of his fingers is massive. I can imagine both of those hands spread wide on my body—stroking by back, cupping my ass. God, I could visualize that shit all day.
I inhale through my nose, then exhale hard.
“Well, you’ve certainly been here more than once or twice,” I counter.
Wyatt pulls his hands down into his lap and leans slightly closer. The visible sinews of his neck tighten beneath his skin.
“I’ve been here a lot. A whole fucking lot. Most of the time, I wasn’t sober. At least half the time, I only know I was here because I woke up somewhere in the back the next morning at the ass-crack of dawn.”
“You slept here?” I sort of smirk at him, crossing my arms. “The least you could have done was claimed a booth to crash in.”
Wyatt chuckles.
“Yeah, well—most of the time I was drunk or high or both and I couldn’t remember shit. Thankfully, I didn’t get behind the wheel all that often. Although, I can’t really say I never did at all. After Zeb though . . .”
His eyes cloud over a bit and we both go silent.
“We all make mistakes,” I finally say quietly.
He sort of leans back, then folds both hands behind his head and sort of peers at me, like he’s waiting for me to continue. I purse my lips.
“I sort of had a problem . . . with drugs. I still associate this place with those nights when I was higher than any kite you could possibly imagine and I couldn’t consider coming down for a second.” I look up and Wyatt’s eyes narrow a bit as he drums two fingers on the table before scrubbing a hand over his short-shorn locks. I try not to focus in on his scar when he does that. Instead, I lock in on his eyes as he opens his mouth.
“How long have you been clean?”
I watch him as he leans in toward me, his elbows now planted on his knees and his hands tented in front of his lips. Then I look down at my hands.
“Five months, twenty-three days . . .” I trail off as I glance at my watch. “And maybe about twelve hours? Give or take.”
I shrug then and try to smile as I say, “Not that I’m counting or anything .Sorry.”
Wyatt cocks his head. “That’s amazing, Carson.”
I frown at him. “What’s amazing?”
“Your sobriety. I mean, wow . . . that’s an achievement—not something to be taken lightly.”
Tears—red and hot and lightning fast—prick at the corners of my eyes. I feel his words like a physical force and I have to hold myself back from launching my body at Wyatt in gratitude for his recognition. Right now, the smile playing his lips is less sexy and more sweet. More honest.
He looks like he’s about to speak again, then Deena sashays over with our drinks on her tray. She grins at Wyatt again.
“Here ya go, honey. Ice cold and right outta the can.”
“Thanks, D.” He holds up his can towards me, and I lift my glass of water and tap it against his drink.
“To you,” he says softly. I lower my lashes and take a small sip, hoping that even the smallest amount of cold water might lessen the heat that’s already rising inside me for this man.
Frankly, I’m not betting on it.
Chapter Six
For a long moment, Wyatt and I just stare at each other. Finally, I swallow hard and give a small smile.
“So . . . were you married long?”
He shakes his head. “Nah. We were together for years, but only married for about nine months. It was a problem from long before we said ‘I do’ but I was too blind to see it.”
“Yeah.”
I get what
Similar Books
