Love Song(75)

“I don’t actually believe that. Yes, she was upset and showed up at our dock crying and begging, but there’s no way that’s why they sold their house.”

Annaliese is smug. “Logan, my mother is the Tahoe Realtor. And that is literally what happened. Mom’s the one who sold their house.”

Wow. I’m legit shocked that the rumor is true. Enchanting penis indeed.

“Anyway, he thinks he’s going to hurt me,” I say with a shrug. “He makes comments about it sometimes when we’re fooling around. He’s probably terrified that full-on sex will make me fall in love with him.”

“Well, joke’s on him, right? Because you’re already in love with him.”

I glare at her. “I am not.”

She snorts. “You’ve been in love with him since you were a kid.”

“That wasn’t real love,” I protest. “It was puppy love. It was a crush.”

“Okay, so what is it now?”

I bite my lip. What is it now? It’s…

It’s magic.

Ugh. I hate even thinking that, because it only demonstrates I’m probably way more into him than he is into me. But something happens when Wyatt and I are together. Something magical and emotional and infuriating. He stirs all my emotions, not just one or two, and it’s terrifying to feel everything, all at once.

I’m so tempted to ask him if he feels it too, that magic. I want to ask him what it means that he texts me all the time, even when we’re in the same room. It’s cute. And sweet. And I want so badly to know if I’m misreading it. Because I behave the same way, and I know what it means when I do it. He’s always on my mind.

Fuck.

Maybe I am falling, just a tiny bit. But I’d never admit it to Annaliese, because she’ll tease me mercilessly.

We’re interrupted by an incoming message on my phone. I check it and chuckle at the screen.

“Is that him?” Annaliese grins.

“No, it’s my ghost-hunting buddies. Little Spencer claims he heard Darlie at the lighthouse yesterday. His hypothesis is that she takes a break from lake haunting sometimes to indulge in some lighthouse haunting as revenge for her sister meeting Raymond there.”

“Girl, you need to stop associating with crazies.”

“The Spencers aren’t crazy. They’re hilarious.”

“Crazy people can be funny. There’s no rule that says they can’t be.”

“Nah, I like them. And I’m enjoying the research. Oh! And guess what!” I brighten at the reminder. “The county sent me Darlie’s death certificate. We’ve got official confirmation that she’s dead.”

“Oh, thank God,” she mocks. “We needed that confirmation so badly. I was suffering sleepless nights because of it.”

“We both know you’re invested now. Stop pretending you aren’t.”

“Didn’t you say you were going to be looking at possible jobs this summer? What happened to that?”

“Ugh, yeah,” I say with a sigh. “I’m doing that research too, but this is way more fun. Oooh, and now that I know she’s actually dead, I can hit up all the local cemeteries and look for her tombstone.”

“Wow.” Annaliese stares at me for a moment. “Maybe that can be what you do after graduation. Cemetery stalker.”

I flip up my middle finger, then reach for the bill that our waiter just dropped off. “On me,” I say. “Since you drove.”

“Are you still coming to the fireworks show tonight?” she asks as we leave the restaurant.

“Me, yes. Not sure about Wyatt yet. If he comes, we can meet you at Commons. Otherwise, pick me up?”

“You got it.”

After she drives me home, I head to the dock in search of Wyatt. His guitar and notebook are on a lounger, but he’s not with them. He’s lying down on the swim platform fifty feet out. Sunglasses on, black swim trunks hugging his muscular thighs. A golden feast on display for my hungry eyes.

“Hey, Graham!” I shout toward the water.

He rises on one elbow and props a hand on his forehead to shield his eyes, peering in my direction. Then he gets up and dives off the platform, barely leaving a splash in the water. I admire his long, graceful strokes as he swims back to the dock.

A moment later, he climbs the ladder, his muscular torso glistening and water dripping from his wet hair.

A devilish smile forms at the sight of me. “Hey, freckles.”

Forget the sun beating down on my head. His words are what make me melt. I’m a fucking goner every time he smiles at me like that. Every time he drawls that endearment. For the first time in my life, the word freckles doesn’t feel like a slur.

He strides toward his lounger and grabs a towel, drying himself off. Then he flops down and stretches his legs out. “When’d you get back?”

I wander toward him. “Just now. I came down to see if you want to go to the fireworks tonight with me and Annaliese and her brother.”

I don’t think Wyatt is listening. He’s too busy staring at me. Or, as Annaliese would call it, undressing me with his eyes. That hot gaze starts its journey at my feet in my red flip-flops, traveling up my bare legs, resting on the hem of my short, flouncy skirt. He focuses only briefly on my thin tank top before those hungry green eyes lower again.