Promise Me Nothing (Hermosa Beach Book 1)

by Jillian Liota

  Wyatt steps closer to me, leans down to whisper in my ear. “Drinks are on me tonight. We’re celebrating.”

  “What are we celebrating,” I ask, loving the way it feels to have him standing so close to me.

  He shrugs. “Every day is a reason to celebrate, Hannah. And right now, I’m celebrating that Paige was able to get you to come out tonight.”

  I can’t help but grin, my traitorous face surely revealing how much I enjoy his flirtation.

  Because it is flirting. Even his speech about friendship last week couldn’t mask the way his eyes are looking at me right now.

  And I’m reveling in it.

  “Done any more running recently?” I ask, taking a sip of my drink as we move along the edge of the crowded dance floor until we’ve found a place against a wall with a tall table to set our drinks.

  It’s been two days since our impromptu buddy run back from the end of The Strand, and I’d be lying if I said I hadn’t thought about running past his house again to see if he wanted to try it a second time.

  Or to see if we could go swimming in his pool again.

  God, he’d look so hot without his shirt on. With the water rushing in drops down his chest when he climbed out. That sexy tattoo of a lion and a shield that covers bicep.

  Monday had been a fun afternoon. Mostly because the more Wyatt and I interact, the more it feels like we’re circling something. Or if I try to use a sports analogy, two hockey players waiting for the puck to drop before we crash into each other.

  Though I envision the crashing part looking a lot sexier, a lot less violent and with a lot less clothing.

  He kept finding ways to touch me. Little things. Things I always made sure to smile about, to make sure he knew I was okay with it. Especially after I freaked out the first few times.

  Wyatt is slowly making his way into the zone of permission, with only a handful of other people. The people I trust, that I allow to see me without any kind of guard up.

  And I’m glad. Because in this new place, I need someone else on this side of that wall. Otherwise, I’m sure it’ll just get super lonely.

  Wyatt laughs, and I’m again reminded that seeing happiness on his face is one of the most beautiful things I’ve ever seen.

  He’s normally so broody, his expressions so serious. This smile and happiness and relaxation is so startlingly different that I can’t help but join in, giggling alongside him.

  “Definitely no more running for me yesterday or today,” he says. “My legs were killing me and this morning I could barely roll out of bed.”

  “Bummer. I was hoping you’d wanna go with me again.”

  He leans towards me. “Just tell me the time and where to meet you. I’ll go with you anytime.”

  I smile at his words, pleased in some odd way that he’d be willing to suffer through physical pain again to go running with me.

  Then I see the underlying heat in his eyes and I flush, recognizing the latent sexual undertone in his words.

  Did he mean running? Or something else?

  Taking another sip of my drink, I let my eyes glance around. “I’m assuming if you have a tab here that you come here pretty regularly?”

  He nods, his eyes staying focused on me, completely unconcerned with what’s happening around us.

  “Paige’s family owns The Wave,” he says.

  “Of course they do.” I laugh. “Because no one here can just have a normal job and live in an apartment.”

  His brow furrows. “Does it bother you?”

  I sigh, not wanting to seem like a Debbie Downer. “Sorry, I wasn’t trying to… I just… I’m not upset that Lucas and all of you guys have a lot. I just feel like an outsider sometimes. Like it’s hard to relate when life has just been so different for me. I felt that way all growing up and I guess I’d just hoped to feel differently here.”

  Wyatt’s eyes flit between mine, and I see him clench his jaw before he turns and looks out at the dance floor. “Are you happy here?” he asks, not looking at me. “In Hermosa, with Lucas and at your job?”

  I chuckle quietly. “That’s the question, right? That’s always the question. Are you happy?” I chew on my straw for a second. “I mean, I’m not unhappy. I’m spending some time with a brother I didn’t know about and I have a roof over my head and a job that pays me pretty decently.” I shrug, watching a couple near us spin and dip together with the music. “What’s there not to be happy about?”

  Wyatt scoots closer to me, his hip pressed against mine as we both gaze out at the dance floor.

  This feels like a much more serious conversation than should be had in a club. But somehow we’ve found ourselves in this corner, huddled together, talking about things that are deeper than gossip and drama and who did what with who.

  “Do you ever wonder if you might not allow yourself to be happy?”

  His question startles me, and I look up into his eyes. They’re darker than normal, filled with something I don’t understand. It feels like he’s looking inside of me, that he can see my deepest fears and emotions and the pain that I can’t ever really, truly seem to get rid of.

  “You deserve it, you know. Happiness.” His eyes search mine, probe for answers to questions he’s never asked me. “And I think you might have told yourself somewhere along the line that you don’t.”

  I can’t help the shuddered breath that I take, the wave of emotion rushing into my chest and pushing goose bumps up along the skin on my arms.

  Wyatt reaches up and tucks a strand of hair behind my right ear, his fingers trailing lightly down the side of my neck, leaving a ripple of goose bumps in their wake.

  “And if I know anything about you,” he adds, his hand holding me lightly at the side of my neck, his fingers singeing my skin, “it’s that you’re probably deserving of an amazingly happy life more than most people I know.”

  Wyatt steps closer to me and I can’t help when my eyes drop to his mouth. To the soft lips that I’d love nothing more than to feel pressed to mine.

  He pulls me into him, the length of his tall, strong frame pressed against me, and he wraps me in his arms. A full body hug, one like I’ve never felt before.

  His face tucks into the space between my cheek and my shoulder, and he slowly brushes his stubble along my neck.

  My body shivers, and then I feel him press a light kiss against my skin. Hear him inhale. Hold back a moan when his hand squeezes my hip.

  He stays like that for longer than should seem normal, not doing anything else, not moving. Just existing in my space, me existing in his, our bodies pressed deliciously together to the point that I can feel his muscles flexing and giving as I remain in his arms.

  But it doesn’t feel anything but normal. My body wants him close, in my space, smelling my neck, licking my skin. As close to me as possible.

  And I’ve never had that before. Never wanted to invite a man into my personal space. Never felt this desire to have someone so close to me.

  Sure, there have been the men who disregard how I feel and do what they want. But Wyatt is the first that has been welcomed. That I want to stay near me.

  He smells really good, a sort of woody cinnamon cologne that screams expensive and man and lust.

  That’s the only thing I can assume this feeling is. This sudden burst of something racing around my body, hardening my nipples and making me feel slick between my legs.

  Gone are the previous emotions, the small ripple of sadness I’d felt at our conversation. In its place is an aching desire to be held, to be pulled closer, if that’s even possible.

  Which is why I nearly moan the loss when he pulls back, steps away. I have to tell myself to let go from where my hands were gripping the cotton of his shirt.

  “Let’s dance,” he says, and I nod, following him almost blindly out to the dance floor, leaving my twelve dollar drink behind without a care.

  Once we get to the middle, I feel awkward, like I don’t know what to do with my hands or how to stand
and I suddenly can’t remember how to dance at all.

  But Wyatt just gives me a smile and pulls me close, his hands at my hips and my arms wrapped loosely at his neck. We sway a little, and he takes the lead as the music thrums and pulses around us, a popular R&B song with a deep bass.

  We dance like that for a little bit, eye-to-eye, hip to hip. And then at some point, I gain my confidence back. Remember all the times I’ve wanted to go out and dance with a boy that I like, imagined what I’d do to drive him crazy.

  And I take hold of that girl I wish I could be, sometimes, and I allow the sips of alcohol to fuel that little bit of confidence.

  My hands stroke along his shoulders, down his arms, my hips rotating and rolling, and then I grip Wyatt tightly at the hips and press into him, feeling a thrill of satisfaction when his eyes drop to half-mast and a small groan comes from his lips.

  I bite my lip and do it again, and Wyatt follows my lead, our bodies finding a rhythm that’s overtly sexual, feels slightly deviant, but feeds a fire inside of me that I need stoked.

  When the song changes, I turn around, press my back into him, feel his strong arms pulling me closer as I grind us together.

  I can feel his length pressed against me from behind. He’s hard, and I set my hands on his knees and drop slightly, then slide my body up against his waist, pushing my ass into him, enjoying the way his hands tighten on me, the puff of air that hits my neck, a moan I can’t hear.

  Before I can do it again, before I can continue this bit of seduction that has me feeling sultry and sexy even in my slight cluelessness, he throws a wrench in my game.

  Wyatt spins me around, both of his hands coming to either side of my face, and then he presses his lips to mine.

  I need no coaxing, my mouth opening to tangle my tongue with his, to invite him in. We’re both covered in a sheen of sweat, the dance floor hot and filled with bodies, and I love the way it feels when his hand drops to my lower back and under my shirt, pressing against my damp skin. Stroking lightly, a soft, teasing caress, that sends goose bumps up my back.

  He wants me closer, and it’s all I want, too.

  But as he continues to kiss me, the only thing I can focus on is wanting to touch and taste and pull him into my skin. Under my skin. Inside of my body.

  Even over the loud music I can feel him moan, hear it in the pant of his breath.

  I feel lost in him, unable to focus on anything but the way his body feels under my hands, the firm body, the ridges of muscle, the sweaty skin, warm and soft and hard at the same time.

  He pulls away and grabs my hand, dragging me off the dance floor and back over to the corner we were in before. Presses me up against a wall and leans in, his lips coming to mine again.

  It feels like I can’t get enough air, but it’s the best way to lose my breath, and I gasp slightly when his face moves down to my neck and his hand travels down to grip my thigh.

  He lifts my leg just slightly, pressing himself against me, and I moan, loving the way he feels, the sensations in my body growing, feeling too big.

  Too overwhelming.

  Like he might be able to set me off just from the erotic feel of him rubbing against me.

  I grab onto him, desperate to find something to ground me because with each kiss and roll of his hips I feel like I’m being launched into the air and don’t know when I’ll come back down.

  And in an uncharacteristically forward move, I bite his lip, my teeth sinking into the soft skin.

  He jerks back slightly, looking stunned.

  And I almost apologize, my own expression surely mimicking his.

  Until I see a dirty smile stretch across his face.

  “Fuck, Hannah.”

  It’s all he says before he dives into my mouth again, his own teeth pulling slightly, a hand moving between us and up to a breast, giving soft squeezes and tracing over a spot that makes me ache at my very center.

  I feel so lost in Wyatt, so focused on how it feels to be pressed against him, that I don’t realize at first that someone has said my name.

  It’s only when Wyatt pulls back and looks over his shoulder that I start to come out of the spell I’ve been put under. That’s when I see Paige standing behind him with a huge grin on her face.

  “Lucas is looking for you,” she says. Then she winks and scurries off.

  I can’t help it. I laugh. I giggle because I have all of this pent up sexual tension in my body and it has nowhere to go except outward.

  Wyatt grins at me, clears his throat, slides his hand along the area on my neck that’s slick from where he’d been kissing and sucking.

  “We might’ve gotten a little carried away, huh?” I ask, unable to hide the joy that feels like it’s bubbling under my skin, dying to be released into the wild. “That was a little wild.”

  But Wyatt shakes his head as I tuck my hair behind my ears, then steps into me one more time to whisper, “If you think that was wild, I can’t wait to see what you think when I have you beneath me.”

  My stomach bottoms out, my chest feeling like a cave of nerves as he pulls back to look me in the eyes. It’s amazing how he can make me feel by only uttering a few words.

  I giggle slightly, then press a soft kiss to his lips. “I’m going to the bathroom and then to find Lucas. I’ll see you back at the table?”

  My words seem to be a douse of cold water. His expression loses some of the heat and he nods, pressing his lips to mine once more before we wander through the crowd, parting ways when I head into the bathroom.

  As I’m washing my hands, I look at myself in the mirror.

  The flush in my cheeks, the sparkle in my eye, the smile on my face. I look like a woman who is truly enjoying herself. Enjoying her life.

  I love seeing her smiling back at me.

  But as I approach the VIP section and our few tables come into view, my smile falls when I see Wyatt and Lucas.

  They’re in an argument, and I can’t hear what they’re saying, but I see my name form on Lucas’ lips a few times. He stops when he sees me approaching, but it does nothing to lessen his frustration.

  Over what, I can only guess.

  “Everything okay?” I ask, sliding next to them and trying to give an unaffected smile, but surely failing.

  They eye each other for a minute, and I feel some sort of alpha male aggressiveness brooding between them. A tension that radiates outward from Lucas.

  “Wyatt and I were just talking about his sister,” Lucas bites out.

  I look back and forth between them.

  “Is everything okay with Ivy?” I ask, still feeling confused, but also concerned that something’s wrong with the adorable girl that I’m quickly becoming a fan of.

  Finally, Wyatt takes a step back, his shoulders dropping.

  He looks at me. “She’s fine. But I need to head home. I forgot I have some plans tomorrow.”

  I nod. “Okay.”

  Wyatt rests a hand on Lucas’ shoulder. “We’re on the same team,” he says. “I promise you.”

  He grabs his jacket from one of the chairs, then steps over to me.

  “I’ll call you soon,” he says, leaning in to kiss me on the cheek, before heading through the crowd and out the door.

  I don’t realize my eyes track him the entire way until Lucas says my name.

  I look back in his direction, still feeling a little lost when I see the tight smile on his face.

  “Let’s have a drink,” he says.

  I nod and walk with him back to the table, wondering what I’m missing.

  And whether I’ll ever find out.

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  Hannah

  I wake to a knock at my bedroom door.

  Stretching my sore muscles, I roll over and glance at the clock on the wall, seeing that it’s still pretty early.

  “Come in,” I say, my voice sleepy and slightly muffled by the pillow my face is still pressed into.

  I didn’t realize how exhausted I would be. Work
ing a double shift, staying at The Wave until almost two o’clock, and then walking and biking home? I didn’t fall into bed until way past my normal bed time, and it is far too early for me to be getting up.

  But I’m pretty sure it’s Lucas on the other side of that door. And if he’s knocking this early, something’s going on.

  “Morning,” he says, holding two cups of coffee.

  Of course he stayed out way later than I did and he looks like he got ten hours of sleep.

  Asshole.

  “Hey,” I say, sitting up slowly and pulling my rat’s nest of hair up into a messy knot at the top of my head. “What’s up?”

  “Just checking in. Thought you might like some coffee.” He hands me a cup, then takes a seat on the edge of my bed.

  Not a big coffee person, I just hold the mug in my hands in silence while Lucas takes a sip from his.

  “Did you have fun last night?’ he asks.

  I nod. “Yeah.”

  “You left pretty quickly.”

  To be honest, I’m surprised he noticed I left at all.

  After he and Wyatt argued, Lucas returned to his table and started doing shots. Within a half hour, he was pretty hammered, so I left.

  “I’m surprised you noticed,” I mumble, then cringe, instantly regretting it. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said that. I…”

  “Hannah, it’s okay. I deserve that.” He sighs, sets his mug down on my nightstand and rubs the stubble growing on his face. “I wanted you to come out last night and then I got into it with Wyatt and got drunk. I should have paid more attention to you.”

  I shake my head. “You don’t have to coddle me, okay? I really was just tired and I figured if you were going to be busy, it would just be better if I went home.”

  “Well, I’m glad you got home okay. You took an Uber or something?”

  I reach over and set my mug of untouched coffee on the nightstand. “No. I walked back to the pier and got my bike and then rode home.”

  Lucas’ expression morphs into a scowl. “You did what?”

  Reading his sudden anger, I stay silent.