Lucas laughs at my reaction.
I step over next to where he stands, leaning against the half wall dividing the pathway from the beach.
He hands me my tea and I take a sip, thinking it over.
“Is it okay if I tell you I’m not ready?” I ask, not wanting to be rude, but also not sure if it’s the right timing yet.
He rubs his face, though I can tell he’s hiding a smile.
“I do want to meet her, I swear. But I just need a little more time.” I sigh. “I have to get over a few things before I can not see her a certain way. And she’s your mom. I want to care about her the way you care about her.”
Something soft comes across Lucas’ face but he turns away before I can really understand what it means. “Not a problem.”
He takes back my tea and we walk for a few more minutes, the sound of my camera shutter clicking softly as I continue to take photos.
“I’ll just make sure to tell her you don’t want to meet her yet.”
I turn and glare at him, seeing his teasing smile. “Stop it, or I’ll chuck this at your face right now.”
When I get off work that night, I have a text waiting for me from Wyatt.
A little happy fairy does a dance in my mind.
After our weird interaction last night, I was worried. I couldn’t shake off this strange feeling and I wasn’t sure what to expect. So hearing from him is exactly what I need.
Hopefully he was just in a funk and everything is back to normal.
Wyatt: Hey. Plans today and tomorrow?
I grin, shooting off something small in reply.
Me: Nothing. What’s up?
A few seconds later, my phone lights up, showing that Wyatt’s calling me.
“Hey,” I say, excited to hear from him.
“Hi,” he replies, his voice warm. Much more like the Wyatt I have gotten to know and am starting to fall for.
I almost laugh at myself.
There’s no starting. I’ve fallen. Hard.
And he’s totally worth it.
“Hi.”
He chuckles. “Hey.”
Then I start laughing, too. “You know, it’s been one day since I’ve seen you, and I miss you,” I say. “I don’t know if that’s a thing I should say. But it’s the truth.”
There’s a pause. “I miss you, too. Want me to come pick you up?”
I grin. “Absolutely.”
“Good, because I was planning on coming to get you anyway, so I’m pulling in to the alley now.”
I turn and see a pair of headlights coming towards me, and I laugh into the phone.
“That was a bit presumptuous of you,” I reply as Wyatt parks the car and gets out, his phone still to his ear.
“Confident of me,” he corrects, rounding the front of his still running car. He pockets his phone and steps into my space, his hands coming to either side of my face. “But I think you might be just as crazy about me as I am about you. So I took the risk.”
I beam at him until his lips drop down to mine, and he gives me a kiss.
A deep one, much more than I’m expecting in a back alley behind my work on a random night of the week.
But it does what every kiss from Wyatt does.
Makes me feel love drunk.
He steps back, grabbing my bike and sliding it into the back of his SUV with the efficacy of a man on a mission. “Let’s go.”
Ten minutes later, we’re walking in the front door of his house. Well, the guesthouse at his mother’s. I haven’t been up here before, though I’ve definitely seen the interior of the main, so I feel pleasantly surprised at how homey it is.
Warm colors and soft furnishings. More of a rustic feel than the modern woods and metals across the courtyard.
“This is beautiful,” I say, kicking my shoes off at the door and wandering into the living room. “I’ll be honest, this isn’t at all what I was expecting of the place you live.”
Wyatt chuckles as he heads into the kitchen and grabs two wine glasses from an upper cabinet.
“What did you expect?”
“I don’t know,” I answer. “Something more sterile, maybe. More bachelor-ish. This is like… a home.”
“Well, that’s definitely Vicky’s doing. This guesthouse isn’t used often anymore, but she told me she wanted me to have somewhere comfortable to stay when I finally came home.” He shrugs as he uncorks a bottle of red. “But this place has never really felt like home to me.”
“Where was the last place that felt like home?”
“I mostly grew up in a house on The Strand. My parents bought this property when I was ten, but it wasn’t done until I was almost fourteen. So I only lived here for a few years before leaving for college. And I lived in the main house.”
“It took four years to build this property?”
Wyatt rolls his eyes, carrying our two glasses over to where I stand on the other side of the counter. “Yeah. That’s what happens when you want custom everything imported from a million different countries.”
I shake my head. “Wow. Well, the main house is beautiful.”
“Beautiful. And sterile. It’s more like a museum than a home.” Then he shakes his head. “But let’s not talk about that. How was your day today?”
He hands me my glass, then leads me over to take a seat on the couch, a big soft plush thing that you sink right into and never want to get up from.
My expression perks, and I launch into the story of my new camera, so excited to share with him that I now get to take pictures of birds pooping on a wall in really high quality.
He laughs. “That’s amazing. I’m so happy for you. So what’s your plan, then. Now that you have the camera you need, will you start a business?”
I lift my shoulders, an uncomfortable expression coming across my face, though I try to laugh through it. “Oh, I just… I don’t know. I don’t think I’m ready for that. You know? Like, I just have so much more to learn first.”
He shakes his head. “That’s always going to be true. There will always be new things to learn. But that doesn’t mean you shouldn’t start now. Dive in and grab your dream, Hannah.”
I wish it was as simple as that. But a business requires startup capital. Websites, marketing, even more tech and resources that I still need to save up and buy.
“I have some things I’m thinking about,” I finally say, taking a large sip. “We’ll see how it goes.”
“I believe you can do whatever you set your mind to, Hannah,” Wyatt says, and something inside of me wants to weep at how earnest he sounds. “You’ve gotten through so much in your life. This is one of the last hurdles to get you where you want to go. And I wish you could believe in yourself as much as I do.”
I give him a smile, shake my head almost in disbelief.
I’ve never had someone say things like that before, never had someone speak such beautiful words, try to build up confidence in me so unconditionally.
It scratches something in my throat, wells something up in my chest.
“You look like you have something on your mind,” he says, taking my free hand in his and tracing his fingers along my palm.
I shiver, the tiniest movement from him causing big reactions inside of me.
“I’m just glad to be here with you, is all.” I gaze into his eyes, enjoying the way he looks right back at me.
Wyatt looks at me like he can really see me. Like I belong here. Like I matter.
There’s something inside of me that wants him to be the one I sleep with for the first time. The one who teaches me what it’s like to experience that type of pleasure and bite of pain.
I might have been a little irrational with my thought process that first night, when I invited him upstairs on our first date. Now, though, it feels right.
But I’m unpracticed with seduction, even if I do manage to get brave every so often. So I don’t even know where to begin.
“You’re so beautiful,” he says, setting his wine glass do
wn. Then his hand comes up to tuck a loose end from my ponytail behind my ear. “Do you know that? Do you know how it makes me feel when you look at me like you do?”
“How do I look at you?”
“Like you never want to look away.” He shakes his head, like he wants to say something else. But instead he leans forward, presses his lips against mine.
I sink into his kiss, allowing myself to be devoured by something that looks so small but feels so big.
So much.
Too much.
No, not too much.
Not enough.
I set down my wine glass and stretch my length on the couch, pulling Wyatt on top of me. The weight of him something warm and comforting as he settles between my legs.
My hands go into his hair, twirling through his strands as our tongues dance and thrust and our bodies move. He makes me feel so sexy, and my body heat level rises as we continue to kiss and moan and touch.
But eventually, I feel like something’s wrong.
When I reach my hand down between us, he twists his fingers through mine. When I press against him, he shifts his hips slightly away. It feels like he’s subtly rebuking my inexperienced attempts to move us further, and it starts to whittle away at my confidence.
Maybe he’s just appeasing me. Maybe he doesn’t feel the same about my body as I do his.
The choking feeling it creates inside of me becomes almost overwhelming, until I can’t continue to kiss him for fear that I’ll cry into his mouth.
“What’s wrong?” he asks, pulling back, the concern on his face so intense. “Are you okay?”
I nod. “Yeah, I’m just…” I roll out from under him. “I think I’m gonna go home.” I walk over to the door, picking up my shoes and preparing to tug them back on.
“Hannah…” His voice trails off, and when I look over, I see him sitting on the couch, his elbows resting on his knees and his head hanging forward.
“It’s okay, Wyatt. You don’t have to explain.” I shoulder my backpack. “Can you unlock your car so I can get out my bike?”
“Don’t go,” he says. “Please. I want you here.”
My shoulders drop, but I stay silent.
I don’t know how I feel right now. Confused, I guess. Because after our previous encounters, tonight feels like he’s trying to push me away. So I don’t understand how he can really mean that.
He stands and makes his way over to me, taking my backpack off and dropping it to the floor. Then he takes my face in his hands. It’s a move that normally makes me feel so treasured. But in this moment? I don’t know.
“I want you here, with me. More than you could possibly imagine.”
“Then… what was wrong?” I whisper, my eyes unable to look directly in his for fear of what I’ll see. I know rejection all too well, and I’m not ready to see it from him.
He dips his head so his eyes are in line with mine. “I just have something on my mind, is all. And…” he pauses. “And I worry that we’re moving to fast for you.”
My cheeks flush. “Is it that obvious?”
He grins, kisses my nose. “It’s not a bad thing to have these things be new, Hannah. It’s a little intimidating, but it isn’t bad.”
I scrunch my brows together as his hands drop from my face, his fingers linking with mine.
“Why is it intimidating for you? You know what you’re doing.”
Wyatt laughs, and while my first reaction is to feel like he’s laughing at me, the clear affection shining in his eyes allows that thought to drift away just as quickly as it came.
“Do you have any idea what I feel when I look at you? How enraptured I am with you? I’m afraid I won’t be able to give you that perfect first time. That you’ll regret me someday.” He lifts a shoulder. “It’s a lot of pressure, and I don’t want to disappoint you.”
It blows my mind that he was thinking something like that. That he would even wonder how I felt. My entire experience with men and sex has been them taking what they want without question. Grabbing, groping, touching, shouting.
The idea that he’s thinking so much about me?
It brings in a new emotion I think I’m not ready to name. Something I’ve never said to anyone. An emotion meant only for the closest people in life. Something I haven’t put a word to since Joshua died eleven years ago.
“The fact you care enough to… even think about that…” I trail off, shaking my head. “It means everything to me.”
He leans down and presses his lips to mine. “And you mean everything to me,” he whispers. “There’s no rush for something this important.”
I feel so much better, having gotten this conversation out of the way. Now, I don’t have to worry about some secret that I’m keeping from him.
So I nod, lifting up to kiss him again.
And then he does the gentlemanly thing and goes down on me before he takes me home.
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
Wyatt
“Who was that girl?”
My mother’s question sends an uncomfortable thread of unease down my spine.
I turn to look in her direction, finding her standing at the door to my office, leaning against the doorjamb, a glass of clear liquid in her hands.
My shoulders droop slightly. If my mother’s drunk, this conversation will be a lot easier to handle.
“What girl?”
She waves her hand around, the one holding the glass, spilling a drop onto the carpet. “The one that was talking so much to Ivy today.”
I can’t help the little bit of joy that shoots through my chest, remembering Hannah and Ivy together today.
It was Ivy’s thirteenth birthday party.
Originally, we’d planned on having a party at the house. Something big and fun to make sure my little sister feels overwhelmed with affection and love.
But as the day got closer and closer, I realized that a big party is what my mother wanted for her, not what Ivy wanted.
So I changed it.
Of course, Vivian Calloway was not pleased when she started to get phone calls asking her why the ‘event’ was cancelled. She gave me quite a bit of shit about it, actually. But I was quick to remind her that Ivy’s medications make her tired, and that being too overwhelmed wouldn’t be good for her health.
She begrudgingly gave in.
So today, we did what Ivy wanted to do.
We had dinner at Bennie’s at the Pier.
Hannah was supposed to be a guest at the table, of course, instead of a waitress. I’d offered to call in a favor to get her the Saturday night off, with her permission. But she said she needed to keep working, assuring me that she would be the one to serve our table.
And there she was, with a big smile and so much attention for the birthday girl.
My mother sat at the opposite end from where I sat with Ivy and Ben, who left the dinner table as soon as he could come up with an excuse for why he needed to head to the kitchen for some non-existent emergency.
Lucas came too, though he steered clear of me the entire evening, offering just a hello and a handshake when he arrived.
I assumed that Lucas’ presence would distract my mother. She, of course, knows that Lucas and Ivy share a father. And she knows that Lucas knows.
There’s a bit of fear, I think, in my mother that Lucas will tell Ivy, even though he already assured my mother that he has no plans to do so.
So she watched him like a hawk.
Which I thought would mean she didn’t really see the girl that kept talking in sign language with Ivy.
Apparently, that isn’t the case.
A little bit of anxiety creeps under my shirt as I consider how to answer my mother’s question.
“She’s my girlfriend,” I say, knowing full well that I haven’t said as much to Hannah. “She loves chatting with Ivy since she knows how to sign.”
I watch my mother’s eyes widen. She’s never heard me call someone a girlfriend before.
I mean, she�
�s seen the girls, obviously. The parade of women that have been on my arm at every Calloway Foundation function, the ones that did the walk of shame out of my bedroom in high school.
But this is probably a first.
No, it’s definitely a first.
For me, and my mother.
She considers me for a minute, like she has something to say.
But ultimately, she just points a finger at me, wavering slightly on her feet.
“Calloway men don’t know how to commit to anything but their own self-interest,” she finally says, her expression looking bitter and angry. “Don’t do something stupid.”
And then she stalks off, leaving behind only the scent of her perfume and the bit of vodka she dropped on the floor.
I shake my head, feeling a little confused and a whole lot frustrated at her words since they do nothing but highlight the true conflict that lies in the way of anything serious happening with the girl that’s slowly changing my life.
I lie to myself, pretending like it isn’t a big deal that I’m dating Lucas’ sister behind his back. But it’s something that claws at me. Forces me to keep things from getting further physically.
What I said to Hannah that night at my house last weekend was true. I do worry that we’re moving too fast for her. The last thing I want is to get too hot and burn out quickly. Or for her to want something I’m willing to give her, and then regret her decision later.
I want her to know, for certain, that moving things forward between us is really what she wants. Hannah knows herself well enough to make that decision on her own. So I guess the true indecision between us comes from me.
We continue to fool around, though we don’t do anything as public as our date a few weeks ago at Papa Louis’.
Instead, we spend time in the guesthouse, just the two of us. Over the past week, we’ve ordered take out, watched TV, gone on another motorcycle ride. One night, we just read in front of the fireplace, then laid out on the deck and did some stargazing with that app Hannah mentioned to me before.
Promise Me Nothing (Hermosa Beach Book 1) Page 28