Love Song(2)

My mind suddenly flashes back to that god-awful night. The living nightmare I experienced, a tomato-faced, trembling sixteen-year-old, drunk on one glass of champagne, blurting out to Wyatt that I had a crush on him.

And…

He laughed.

I confessed to my crush, and he laughed.

Granted, it wasn’t in a ha ha, everyone point at Blake Logan and laugh at how pathetic she is way. 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 spends most 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 your mind 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.

“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 was not doing 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’re the one who was staring at me all night.” I lift my chin in challenge. “Why?”