Love Song(60)

“You remember that?”

“Yeah.” His eyes shift to the sky again. “You’d sit cross-legged on the dock with your knees tucked to your chin like you were trying to hug the whole lake. And then your parents would wake up and find you gone. Your dad would start banging on doors and organizing a search party, and I’d be laughing in my bed because I always knew exactly where they would find you.”

Something warm flickers through me. I didn’t realize he’d paid that much attention to me, especially when I was seven and he was eleven, and I was sneaking out to watch sunrises.

Finally, the sun breaks through the trees and shimmers across the lake. I shift under the blanket. My arm brushes Wyatt’s.

“You should get some sleep,” he says.

“Maybe,” I answer, still admiring the sunrise. “But this feels better than sleep.”

When I turn my head toward him, he’s looking back at me, his expression unreadable.

“Don’t look at me like that.” His voice is quiet, but there’s some heat in it. It makes my pulse skip.

“Like what?”

He doesn’t respond. His lips curve slightly, and those intense eyes suddenly focus on my mouth.

“What?” I murmur.

His hand comes out, fingers curling over my cheek. His touch unleashes a flurry of shivers. Oh my God. I think he’s going to kiss me for real this time. It’s the same heavy-lidded look he had in the bedroom when he asked to take my hair down.

He moistens his lips, and now I’m staring at his mouth. Begging him silently to press it against mine.

His thumb gently sweeps my bottom lip, but then he sucks in a breath and lets his hand fall from my face. Disappointment slams into me.

“Know what I was doing when you called?” he says without meeting my eyes.

“What?”

“Getting my dick sucked.”

A hot pang of jealousy stabs me in the chest. “Oh.”

“I stopped it right before you called.”

“Why?”

He shrugs. “Wasn’t into it.”

“You weren’t into a blowjob?”

“No.”

“Why are you telling me this?”

“I don’t know. I shouldn’t.”

I wait for my jealousy to transform into anger, for a sharp retort to exit my mouth. We just spent the entire night talking, and he decides to punctuate it by revealing he got a blowjob from someone else earlier? I should be livid.

And yet…I’m not.

The last time he brought up his dick and how he puts it to good use, I suspected he was trying to convince me what a big, bad fuckboy he was in order to push me away.

But I don’t think that’s what’s happening.

He’s not trying to convince me—he’s trying to convince himself. But I can’t for the life of me figure out why.

Wyatt eases the blanket off us, and I try to mask my frustration as he slides off the chair. “I should get some sleep,” he says, and then he leaves me on the dock to watch the sunrise alone.





Chapter 20


WYATT





I’M FUCKED.

Fucked.

And ironically, I didn’t even get fucked.

Blake and I stayed up all night talking like a pair of teenagers, watching the stars fade into sunrise. Not a single item of clothing came off.

I stumble into the blue room and face-plant on my bed, burying a silent scream in my pillow.

I knew it was a bad idea sometime around one in the morning, but I ignored the alarm bells in my head. By three a.m., my defenses were starting to slip, because it felt so damn nice, lying there and talking to her. Once four and then five a.m. rolled around, my brain stopped screaming for me to leave and just accepted my fate.

There’s something about Blake Logan that I can’t escape. Maybe it’s the way she looks at me like I’m someone worth knowing. It’s an addictive feeling.

But it wasn’t just the talking that did me in. It was the way her head felt against my shoulder. The smell of her hair. The sound of her laughter in the dark and the way her hand slipped so easily into mine.

She bared her soul to me last night, and I bared mine right back. I don’t do that. I don’t just open up with anyone and let them peek inside. My sister is probably the only person who has that power, but she’s my twin. It’s inevitable.

Yet with Blake, opening up felt as natural as breathing.

And that scares the hell out of me.

I’m not supposed to want her this badly. But God, I do. I wanted to kiss her so badly I could taste her, and it took every ounce of my willpower not to. But it’s all I think about when she’s near me. Tangling my fingers in her hair and bringing her face to mine. Kissing her. Touching her. Fuck, I want to touch her. I want to slip my hands underneath her shirt and play with her tits. Slide my hand inside her panties and play with her clit, then drop to my knees and suck on it until she’s moaning my name.

I roll over, trying to shake off my rising anxiety as my brain cycles through the litany of familiar warnings that crop up whenever the attraction feels too real.

She’s younger.

She’s the daughter of my father’s best friend.

She’s close with my sister.

She’s my muse.