Meant To Be Different

by Amelia Foster

  As Georgia slid into her seat beside Paige as Mr. Tatum started lecturing on post-civil war U.S. History, a little smile crept over her lips. Somehow living in a small town in North Carolina had almost become bearable.

  ***

  Wyatt

  A shuddering breath accompanied the crackling as Wyatt balled the paper and shoved it into the side pocket of his backpack. His locker looked as hollow as he felt without his training bag inside.

  “You could have said something.”

  Wyatt’s eyes closed, and he swallowed back a groan. He loved Gigi. As cliché and trite as that may sound for a couple of kids in high school…he did. But right now he could practically taste the sassy attitude dripping from her tone. Any other day he would welcome a little sparring with his Dark Angel.

  Any other freaking day.

  He screwed up as genuine a smile as possible and turned to face her. “Hey, Gigi, listen, I’m not feeling so hot right now and—”

  She popped a hand on her hip. “And I don’t really care. If you are my boyfriend, you’re going to explain what the hell is going on.” Gigi stepped closer, the toes of her heavy black boots nearly colliding with his well-worn brown leather ones. “You’re going to tell me why I had to hear about some stupid dance from Paige instead of you.”

  The ever-present thread of vulnerability that laced through the edges of Gigi’s hardened exterior smacked him in the face. Yeah, he knew about the dance. He had every intention of not simply asking Gigi to the dance but making it memorable.

  Right up until he couldn’t.

  “Hey.” Her sharp tone cut through the haze of self-deprecation that shrouded him. “Talk to me, Wyatt. Why don’t you want to take me to the dance? Were you planning on hiding this forever and…hope I didn’t find out? Because that’s pretty dumb.” She shuffled her feet and dropped her head. “I mean, I guess I figured it out kinda late, so I must be pretty oblivious.”

  Shit. Wyatt hooked an index finger beneath her chin and rested the opposite hand on her hip. He never understood how she could function on a daily basis when her home was in a constant state of suspension, hanging between life and the inevitable. A day he mentally and emotionally prepared himself for upon waking each morning, determined to be prepared to take care of his Angel to the best of his ability.

  “Look at me.” Her uncertain hazel eyes collided with his, and his mind and body waged the familiar war of lust versus guilt. He wanted every part of her, but there was no way in hell he’d take their relationship to a place that made her vulnerable. Not when she had so many decks stacked against her. “You’re not oblivious. You’re focused on things far more important than a stupid dance.”

  She toyed with one of the buttons on his shirt. “I mean, yeah, it’s stupid, but if you wanted to go…” Her words died off with her shrug and averted gaze.

  Expletives ricocheted through his mind. He kind of loved that she eschewed all the normal trappings of high school life. One of the best nights of their relationship was when they sat together, huddled under a blanket high in the bleachers while she mocked every player, cheerleader, and booster mom that paraded across the field in front of them. Her smart mouth was a gift. The first and last game they went to. She much preferred spending Friday nights at his training with him, and damned if he didn’t too.

  But she had to pick the one thing he couldn’t offer to be the time she wanted to be a joiner. “You really want to be part of the typical high school experience? Why, Gigi, you shock me.” He embellished his drawl, hoping to distract her. He really didn’t want to admit his failure.

  Small hands trailed up his chest and linked behind his neck. “If it means we get to spend the night together, it will be worth the melodrama of high school revelry.” Her saucy grin belied the weighted sigh she expelled. “You really should thank me for being so selfless so you can wow your devoted fans.”

  Shit. Damn. She wanted to go. She really wanted to go. Stall, he needed to stall and figure out a way to handle this. Maybe if he at least got a tutor, his parents would reconsider and let him… at least for her. “Can we talk about this later, Gigi? I gotta run.”

  Her arms fell, and she flicked her wrist. “Ah, crap, yeah, I’m sorry, Wy. I didn’t realize what time it was. You’re gonna be late for training.” Thin brows knitted together when she caught sight of his empty locker. “You forgot your gear?”

  Two paths spread out before him. Deceit or truth. Neither was particularly exciting, but Gigi sure as hell didn’t deserve a lie. Something in between? “I don’t have training tonight.” He hitched his backpack up on his shoulder. “But I have to get home to take care of the horses and study.”

  Ebony lips turned down into a frown that was equal parts adorable and damning. “Is something wrong with one of the guys? You never miss training. You lied to your parents about not being sick when you had strep just so you didn’t miss. What the hell is going on, Wyatt?”

  He slammed the locker closed harder than he needed then winced when Gigi jumped at the bang that reverberated through the empty hallway. “I don’t have training and won’t for a long time to come. And hell, let’s just lay this all out because I’m not going to be going out with you anytime soon either.”

  If it was possible, her face paled more beneath the makeup, and she wrapped her arms around her abdomen. “Wyatt, I—”

  “Congratulations, Gigi, you were right. I am just a stupid freaking cowboy.” The ache in his chest begged him to stop talking, but if he was going to be an asshole, he might as well go all the way. Maybe she’d decide to find someone better. She deserved it. “And because I am, I just lost out on training, the dance, and being able to take you on anything resembling a date for the foreseeable future.”

  He fished the crumpled paper from the side of his backpack and shoved it at her. Gigi fumbled to catch it and unravel the ball. He pushed past her and stalked down the hall toward the freedom the exit offered. Freedom from her hurt expression. Freedom from her certain disappointment.

  Wyatt tossed his backpack in the passenger seat of his truck, slammed the door, and threw it into gear, foot far too heavy on the gas pedal. He had to run before he confessed it all. Before he told her that as much as he missed training, the worst part of the punishment was letting her down. Taking away something she loved as much as he did because he was a failure.

  His palm collided with the steering wheel, and he pushed the accelerator further down, trying to escape the pain of walking away, of losing out on training for his dream, and most of all, disappointing the girl who owned the organ that ached with each beat. The definition of futility.

  Stupid freaking cowboy. Wyatt snorted. No surprise, Gigi got it in one.

  Chapter Nineteen

  Wyatt

  Present Day

  Wyatt lifted the hat from his head, ran his fingers through his hair, and pushed it back down with more force than was necessary. He pressed his fingers in the corners of his eyes and rubbed at the gritty sand collecting there. A weighty sigh preceded his push away from the cherry desk that was so massive it took up nearly a third of the space of the small office he’d created off the edge of the biggest barn.

  It was a space intended for whoever he deemed worthy of entrusting with the day-to-day operations of the ranch so he could focus on his true passion, the competition. A mythical person who had yet to present themselves in the dozens of interviews he’d conducted. The very same ones that were now on hold like everything else in his life at the moment.

  He crossed the room and flopped onto the futon, a pathetic, second-class choice that somehow turned into a five-star hotel quality bed when it was occupied with Gigi. He turned his head and buried his nose into the pillow that still held a trace of her scent.

  Groveling was going to become his newest hobby if her responses were any indication. The middle finger emoji she sent most recently instead of an actual reply was his favorite.

  Tanner and Wyatt always had a stronger bond than their othe
r brothers, and he was grateful Tanner and Izzy both welcomed him to stay at their house for as long as needed while his own was under construction. Being under the watchful eye of his parents at this stage of life was pretty low on his list of desires right now. Somewhere below taking another ride on Crosshair, one of the nastiest bulls he’d ever encountered, and slightly above having each toenail removed.

  Despite their bond, confessing all to his brother—something that was sure to happen as soon as Mr. Fix It caught onto the fact something was off—wasn’t an option either. Because Tanner could fix this. Their father could fix this. Both of them would in a heartbeat. Family trumped any and everything for the Carlisles, and Wyatt was grateful most of the time for their unwavering support.

  But taking their help would mean Wyatt would be left to be the screw-up who couldn’t make it on his own in the real world. The Carlisle brother who wasn’t capable of handling a real job that didn’t involve taking his shirt off to model jeans or getting his ass handed to him by a fifteen hundred pound angry beast. Yeah, that was a title he was pretty damn sure he didn’t want to wear.

  His feet dangled over the end of the short mattress, and he tossed his hat on the floor beside him. Darkness enveloped him as his lids closed, numbers ping-ponging through his brain.

  “I’m getting really tired of chasing after a stupid freaking cowboy more than a decade after I swore I’d never even think of him again. This is basically the opposite of getting me to trust you again.”

  Her voice cut through the avalanche of dark thoughts consuming his mind and was a much needed balm to his aching heart and wounded pride. Gigi had a way of fixing him, even when they weren’t together. Even when the only way she was present was when he pulled her picture out of his wallet or cued up the one he’d saved after he stalked her social media one drunken night. The same site he visited far more than he would ever admit.

  And the one where he saw his Gigi wrapped up with some blond-haired, overly tanned creep for months on end. He’d breathed a sigh of relief when the asshole disappeared. Right around the same time her location changed too. Back home to North Carolina. That had been a damn good day.

  He partially opened one eye and drank in the beauty of a furious Gigi. One of his favorite sights. “I’m not too hard to find, Angel. If I’m not with you or Tanner…well, there aren’t too many places for me to go.”

  A string of muttered curses accompanied her fingers raking through her hair. “Insanity. Wyatt Carlisle brings chaos, frustration, and total insanity with him everywhere he goes.”

  Reflexively, he reached for his discarded hat and plopped it on his head as he moved into a sitting position before pushing against his knees and standing. “And you bring hunger, desire, and every other thing I need to feel better. What’s your point?” He gripped her hips, pulling her close before his hands moved to flatten against her spine and align her body against his.

  Her lashes fluttered for a brief second before she shoved him away. “You’re missing a huge issue here, Cowboy. You bailed once. When you do it again, it doesn’t help your cause; it hurts it. If you’re dealing with a problem and we are supposed to be…” The incomplete sentence hung in the air between them. The title he wanted taunting him from its unspoken hiding place. “Friends…then we need to talk. Instead you taking off. Again.” She sighed and dropped her forehead against his shoulder. “I need you to talk to me when something’s going on, and I really need you to not run.”

  Pain lanced through Wyatt’s chest with her words. It wasn’t what he was trying to do. This was one hundred percent self-preservation and injured pride. “Shit, I’m sorry.” Apologies were becoming his most repeated phrase. Whether it was desperation to bring something good into his world or sheer stupidity, he never really figured out, but the next words tumbled from his mouth without any input from his brain. “If I promise to stop running, will you promise to give us a real chance?”

  The widening of her hazel eyes—not to mention the loss of the comfort her body offered him when she took three steps away—was confirmation he’d said too much.

  Gigi wrapped her arms around her abdomen. “I have reasons, Wyatt. I’m not just trying to get revenge on you.”

  He called himself every kind of asshole he could think of and closed the space between them. His arms pulled her close, and she quickly locked her own around him. “I’m sorry, Angel. I’m just…frustrated as hell right now. I’ve been staring at every account, every expenditure, every payment, and I can’t seem to make sense of it. There’s nearly fifty thousand dollars missing that I can’t account for.”

  “What would you say if I told you that I could fix this? At least a temporary band-aid that will give you time to talk to your insurance agent—and an attorney, I might add—without screwing up your timeline.” Her brows lifted in a silent challenge.

  The corner of his mouth twitched. “I’d say I always knew you were an Angel, but that might be a miracle just slightly out of your grasp.”

  She rolled her eyes with an exaggerated sigh. “Do you want to know or not? This deal might expire if you’re gonna pull the Rhinestone Cowboy routine.”

  “You always did like giving me options.” His brows popped twice.

  Gigi moved to dig in the small container sitting on his desk before producing a silver coin. “Flip ya for it? Heads I tell you my plan and you don’t give me shit, tails I let you figure this out on your own.”

  He tilted his head back and laughed, releasing her before rounding his desk and reaching into the drawer. “Now, Angel, this is my life, my career, and my future.” Our future, he corrected in his head but wasn’t sure that was something he was confident enough to speak out loud. “We need something a bit more grown-up than flipping a coin.”

  She lifted one shoulder. “We’ve always done pretty well with it in the past.”

  Wyatt held a pack of cards between his fingertips. “Poker, Angel. Something this serious requires a serious game.”

  A mischievous grin curled her lips, and every nerve ending on his body took notice. The wicked promises the small gesture offered nearly wiped his mind clear of the looming threat to the future he was so carefully constructing.

  “If we are playing poker, let’s make it really interesting, Cowboy.”

  He swallowed his suddenly parched throat three times. “What’d you have in mind there, Gigi?”

  She leaned across the desk and plucked the deck from his hand. “Strip poker. Winner gets to decide what our next step for your ranch is and where we end up tonight.” Her tongue darted out to run along her bottom lip. “I have a lot of ideas.”

  The answer was quick, easy, and required absolutely no thought. “Deal me in.”

  ***

  Georgia

  “Three of a kind.” He spread three Jacks on the barrel serving as their makeshift poker table with a cocky smirk. Damn him. The overly confident air that radiated off him was nearly as irresistible as the mischievous twinkle in the deep blue eyes that had haunted her far more than she’d ever admit.

  Georgia sighed dramatically, laying down a pair of tens. “Shame I only have two of a kind.”

  He smacked the wooden surface with a bark of laughter then motioned her to stand from the black leather office chair he’d rolled over to place opposite his seat on the couch. “Hot damn, Gigi, lose that shirt.”

  Over the course of the past hour, she’d won far more hands than him, and the result was her still retaining possession of her panties, bra, and t-shirt while Wyatt sat across from her in only boxers, jeans, and his hat. Which he’d heatedly argued counted as an article of clothing.

  She lifted one brow and countered with a wicked smile of her own. “Not so fast there, Cowboy. See, my pair just so happens to be accompanied by three two’s.” She laid her remaining cards beside the others. “I believe that’s called a full house and means that round goes to me.”

  When he stood and flicked open the button on his pants, she wasn’t sure she should gloat t
oo much. The muted grind as he slowly unzipped the fly shot fire and ice through her veins. His thumbs hooked beneath the waist band and pushed the denim down his legs at a tortuous pace.

  His penetrating stare caused her heartrate to kick up a notch, but she couldn’t look anywhere but at the length of thigh being revealed inch by excruciating inch. Her tongue darted out to trace along her parched lips. She hadn’t even realized what she was doing until his deep groan broke through the haze of lust blanketing the air between them.

  “Are you trying to kill me, Gigi?”

  He kicked his jeans across the room and flopped back onto the sofa, his head falling back against the exposed wood wall, but not before she caught sight of the thickening bulge straining against the front of his boxer briefs.

  A strangled laugh escaped her mouth as Georgia collected the cards and began shuffling them with shaking hands, commanding her body temperature to drop to something back in the double digits. “I was just gonna ask you the same thing, Cowboy.”

  He pulled the cards from her grasp and began dealing them out. “My turn to deal, Angel.”

  Never, not if they lived to a hundred, would Wyatt ever understand the power of that single nickname on every part of her. It didn’t just ignite her raging libido. That happened simply from sharing the same air space with him. No, it spoke to the tender place in her heart, the one that iced over with the terminal prognosis her mother was given and didn’t thaw until a stupid freaking cowboy waltzed into her life.

  Georgia shook her head and cleared her throat, picking up the five small rectangles and investing far too much emotional energy in the cards she held in her hand. And promptly swore in her head. It would take a miracle to win. She laid more than half of them down. “Three.”

  The corner of his mouth curled up, and his eyes bounced from the cards in his hand to the ones she’d set down to her. He plucked a single one and set it on the barrel next to hers. “Just one for me.”