Love Song(23)

“Well, I don’t know what your personality is without your dad standing there glaring at anyone who talks to you.”

I snicker. “Not anyone. Just the Golden Boys.”

The Golden Boys refers to three of the more entertaining hockey kids in our circle—Beau, AJ, and Gray. A year younger than I am, they’re a hell-raising, heartbreaking trio of budding hockey stars. I’ve never met a straight woman who didn’t fall over backward for one of the Golden Boys.

I finish my prosecco, which I’m surprised Wyatt didn’t try to confiscate. But he didn’t say a word when I pulled the bottle out of the wine fridge. I’m on my second glass now, and it’s loosening my tongue.

“God, imagine if he knew I lost my virginity to one of them?” I giggle as I picture my dad’s reaction.

Wyatt’s surprised gaze flies to mine. “Which one?”

“Beau,” I confess.

“Ah, the goldenest of the Golden Boys.”

He’s not wrong. Beau Di Laurentis is the definition of golden. I’m talking blond hair, bright green eyes, dazzling smile. The worst part? He’s also a genuinely good guy. The all-American sweetheart.

“How was it?” Intrigue flickers in Wyatt’s eyes. And I swear I see a spark of heat too.

But that’s probably wishful thinking. I don’t make Wyatt hot. For a moment there, when we were on the boat today, I thought maybe I was actually affecting him. He seemed so flustered at the sight of my boobs that it gave me a little ego boost. But then he informed me they “weren’t anything special,” so who the fuck knows. He’s too difficult to pin down.

“I’m not telling you that,” I reply.

“Why not?”

“Do you want to tell me about the night you lost your virginity?”

“I mean, it wasn’t that eventful. I lasted about ten strokes before blowing my load.”

“Was it to Mrs. Brown?”

He grins. “No. It was to an age-appropriate girl.”

“How old were you?”

“Fifteen. How old were you with Golden Boy?”

“Seventeen.”

He sips his beer, and my gaze is drawn to his mouth. Ugh. It isn’t fair. Even almost three years later, I can clearly remember how those lips felt trailing up my neck, when his body was pressed up against me and I wanted him so badly it made me dizzy.

He never kissed me.

He kissed my neck, my jaw, that sensitive spot beneath my ear. But not my lips.

Sometimes I wonder if he did that on purpose. Maybe he knew that if our lips touched, I’d never forget it.

Catching me staring, Wyatt lifts a brow. “What?”

“Nothing.” I quickly avert my eyes, feeling a blush rising in my cheeks.

His tone is casual when he speaks again. “How did that happen anyway? You and Beau? Where was it?”

“Their place in Connecticut. My parents and I were spending the weekend, and I stayed home when everyone went out for dinner. Beau had plans that night. Otherwise, I doubt Dad would’ve left us alone. But his plans fell through.”

“And the rest is virginity history,” Wyatt finishes.

“Yep.”

“What was his move?”

“Pretty sure it was my move. I didn’t want to go to college a virgin.”

“So you lost it just for the sake of losing it?” He makes a tsking noise. “You’re better than that, freckles.”

“Don’t call me that.”

“I can go back to kid,” he offers.

I give him a dirty look. “Don’t you dare.”

Wyatt leans back in his chair. “Was it his first time?”

“Ugh. No. Guy’s a year younger than me and he was already a sex pro.”

“Did he go down on you?”

My face burns hotter. “I’m not answering that.”

He chuckles. “You’re blushing. That means yes.”

I get to my feet, eager to end this conversation before my cheeks literally burst into flames. “Come on, let’s clean up. I still need to get ready.”

Just like that, the lighthearted mood dies.

“For what?” he demands.

“I’m going into town tonight.”

“For what purpose?”

I stare at him. “For the purpose of fun.”

His expression darkens. He pauses, as if thinking it over. Then he shakes his head. “No. You’re not going.”

I start to stack our dishes. “Hey, Wyatt, guess what? You have no say in how I spend my time.”

“Maybe not, but one message to Man Chat, and I know someone who’ll be very interested in your plans.”

“Oh no!” I roll my eyes. “You realize my dad is across the country, right? He can tell me not to go to a bar tonight until he’s blue in the face. But guess who’s still going to the bar?”

“Oh, so now it’s a bar?”

“It was always a bar,” I say in exasperation. “I want to go out. Meet people.”

“Guys?”

“I don’t know. Maybe. What do you care?”

It’s not like you’re interested in me, I almost snap, but I’m not opening that can of worms. Best to leave our past encounters where they belong—inside the small dungeon in my gut labeled HUMILIATION. Bringing up his lack of interest won’t lead to anything but an uncomfortable conversation.