Now Kennedy was on the dance floor. While she wasn’t much of dancer, she did feel the music, all close-eyed and swaying with a beer hoisted high in the air. She had an okay face. A prettier body. But she didn’t talk about much and she was certainly no Edy Phelps. She didn’t pump his blood or hijack his dreams. Still, he considered her willingness to join his bed. Was this what other guys did? Take what they could get? He could do worse. Roland would certainly be proud of him.
He needed… no, wanted a beer. It was his father who needed beer. Wyatt only needed something in his hand, something to sip and appear busy with. Something that would help him not look so awkward in his own house.
A few fist pounds and claps on the back came his way as he tapped the keg to refill his empty plastic cup. Mateo, who was homeless and sleeping with Lottie (which Wyatt supposed meant that he technically lived there with them), threw an arm around Wyatt and called for some of the strong stuff.
Wyatt didn’t want the strong stuff. But he didn’t say ‘no’ either. Instead, he threw back the bit of beer he’d managed to get, winced at its harsh, awful, pungent taste, and watched Lincoln weave through the mass of bodies.
“Cȋroc, baby! The best for the best!” he cried.
Wyatt wondered if Lincoln knew who he was calling the best. He wondered what Lincoln would do if he saw an old picture of Wyatt, from not so long ago, when he wore faded polos, mom jeans, and thick, dingy sneakers with names that rhymed with more famous brands. Would he still be ‘the best’ if Lincoln saw that? Would he be ‘the best’ if he met Roland Green? Or Wyatt’s mother, who had run off with a South End senior?
Wyatt shook his head. “Don’t call me that,” he said quietly. But Lincoln didn’t seem to hear.
The door opened, and one of those lean, brawny types came in. He had a motorcycle helmet that he hung on the coat rack before heading straight for the keg, shouldering people along the way. Wyatt stepped back before he got stepped on, sure that this guy had to be one of Hassan’s nasty little teammates.
“Good to see you’ve finally learned southern manners, Silas,” Lincoln said dryly.
Silas looked at the much shorter Lincoln as if he were a common bug. Then he downed his full cup of beer and went for a refill. Only then did he wander off.
He had the looks of a James Bond, Wyatt realized, and the grace of Hassan. How did some guys luck out like that?
“What an asshole,” Wyatt muttered.
Lincoln shrugged non-committedly. He was a good-natured kind of guy and seemed to genuinely like everyone. Soon he turned back to Wyatt with a grin. “More alcohol!”
Of course. Alcohol was the answer to everything with this crowd.
Obligingly, he drank. And drank. When Kennedy pulled him to the dance floor, he relented, laughing, knowing he was going to make an absolute fool of himself. For the first time, he honestly didn’t give a damn. This was his house. His music. His friends. He could do what he wanted.
Wyatt jerked to the music. Kennedy didn’t mind. Around him, a few of those who knew him cheered him on, as it was rare for him to dance at these things. In those moments, he could see why Edy loved dancing. He could feel the rush through his soul, like happiness set to music, and he wanted more of it, he realized. When Kennedy bowed out for the next song, a cute and chubby girl took him up. Then another girl and another. Lincoln brought him Cȋroc and, much to Wyatt’s disbelief, he was actually having fun.
Then she came. Huddled in a cluster of girls who hooted and cheered and got a wild cry in response, Edy slipped into Wyatt’s house as sure as Lottie had predicted. She was there and he couldn’t bear to tear his eyes away.
God, what was she wearing? He’d never seen her dress like that, unless he counted the skimpiness of her dance uniforms, which he didn’t. This was somehow different. Those hadn’t been her choice, but this outfit… God, she had chosen to wear this.
Cleavage. Cleavage for days in a top that cut so wide and low that bending over was an impossible feat for Edy. A deep V-neck scooped down to nearly meet the fluttering fabric that swept up to expose her abdomen. It wrapped from the left and right, careful to leave her belly button exposed. In that moment, Wyatt realized that he had absolutely never seen her belly button. He exhaled nosily.
She wore short shorts with it. They halted high on her thighs. While he had seen that much of her legs before, he had never seen them while she stood in high heels. Wyatt bit down hard on his lip and looked away. He opted to concentrate on his breathing.
The music switched up to a heated, brash hip-hop song—something rough and serrated around the edges. But Edy whooped and scurried to the center of the room at a time when the slower tempo cleared the way for her. She didn’t care. The girl was bold as hell and doing something Wyatt had never seen before. And she looked absolutely bad ass strutting around and popping various parts of her body, each of which seemed to snap of its own volition, before bringing them together in a brilliant succession of moves he hadn’t even known she was capable of.
Another girl she’d arrived with, dark with a massive spray of natural hair that fell to her shoulders, threw herself out there in the fray with Edy, and together they began jerking, laughing, fully aware that they had the attention of everyone.
When a shot came Edy’s way, she paused, threw it back with a wince, and snapped right back into her routine, as if drinking had been part of it all along.
How long had she been drinking alcohol exactly?
A short, slender guy appeared next to Wyatt. He had what looked like a mixed drink of his own creation in his hand. Or maybe Mateo had created it. He liked to play the bartender at these parties.
“I’m not into the sisters, but I’d do those two, you know?” the guy said and nodded towards Edy and her friend.
Wyatt scowled at him. It took all he had not to snatch the cup from this asshole and frog march him out the door. “‘The sisters?’” was what he echoed instead with a faint tone of disapproval.
The guy grinned unapologetically.
The music picked up, a more familiar dance beat that drew braver souls to the floor. Wyatt shifted enough so that he could still see Edy. It was in time to see an Asian girl hand toss back a shot and hand Edy yet another. She laughed and threw that one back too. Then she climbed up on his coffee table, got a round of cheers, and slid into an array of slides, picking up momentum until she became a feat of acrobatic motion, with the music and more aggressive than it, seizing every sound as if it were made for her to dance to.
Even the other dance girls she’d come with stopped to watch this wild, free, gorgeous version of Edy. And how sexy was she now? With a quick scan around the room, Wyatt saw he wasn’t the only guy with his eyes married to her. When another drink came her way, she took it. Half a shot, followed by a shudder, a brief hesitation, before the rest went down in a hard swallow.
Edy climbed off the table with the willing hand of some strange guy. When he didn’t let go, she snatched back and whipped around to dance with the first willing person. She found a grinning guy who had moves to match Wyatt’s. Briefly, Wyatt wondered what she would do if he cut in, if he asked for the next dance. Would she take him up? If not, would any amount of alcohol make her take him up on that offer?
He didn’t think so. With that thought, he retreated to his bedroom.
At least there was no one screwing in it. He was amazed at how many times people had done that during the dozen or so parties he’d already thrown.
Wyatt locked his bedroom door and flung himself across the mattress, face down, breathing hard.
He was an absolute idiot. No girl would want him, least of all Edy Phelps. Even with money, he was nothing. He wasn’t charming or funny or good looking. He wasn’t fooling anyone. Edy wasn’t the sort of girl who would care about his cash. What else did he have to offer?
He had love. Mountains and mountains of love. But she wasn’t exactly starving for that, either.
A tap at the door startled him. When he tried t
o ignore it, it grew more insistent.
“Wyatt, it’s Lottie. Open up.”
Wyatt groaned. This was someone he couldn’t get away with ignoring.
“Yeah?” he said once he’d thrown open the door.
She pushed her way inside and locked it behind her.
“Why did you leave?” she said.
“Edy’s out there,” he said sullenly.
Lottie’s eyes widened. “She was the girl on the table, right? I thought so.” She grabbed him by the wrist and pulled, but Wyatt snatched back.
“It’s no good,” he said. “This plan won’t work. Just…” He looked around, as if the furniture might help. “The last time I saw her in Boston, I’d treated her so bad. I can’t expect her to fall into my arms now.” Not when she could have her choice of any guy who’d just seen her dance.
“You’re nervous, Wyatt. C’mon. I’ll—” She reached for him again.
“No!” He had no idea why, but seeing Edy like that ripped panic right through his soul. He didn’t want to try and talk to her. He wasn’t ready to convince her that he was the guy for her. He wasn’t ready to hear her inevitable rejection. After all, there was no point in these parties and extravagant lifestyle, was there? She’d known him before. She’d known him in the faded polos and mom jeans. She knew the worst parts of him.
“Fine, Wyatt. Don’t talk to her. But if you don’t come out, I’ll bring her back here.”
His eyes gaped. “You wouldn’t.”
Lottie folded her arms. “You know I would.”
Wyatt gauged her, trying to determine if she could possibly be bluffing. When he saw nothing to indicate as much, he cringed. “Alright. I’ll… come out. But I can’t talk to her. I haven’t thought about what I’d say.” That was a lie. It was all he thought about. But he had never settled on anything that would be good enough.
Lottie unlocked the door and he followed her out. A few guys in the hall raised their drinks to him, and hooted stupidly, obviously thinking that they’d been up to something.
Wyatt froze the second he entered the living room. He’d spotted Edy, not far from where he stood, wrapped up in conversation with Silas.
She didn’t look happy.
Chapter Twenty
Fingers wrapped Edy’s wrist before sliding down to grip her hand. She made to pull away until she saw who they belonged to.
“Wanna dance?” It was Silas.
His hair fanned in a shocking, messy, yet stylish array that gave him an absolutely brazen look, while his gray eyes peered down at her as if he’d laugh at any second. He stood close, body lean and hard and imposing in the small space.
Edy shrugged nonchalantly. “If you want.” After all, they’d have to dance together for class. There was really no difference.
He released her hand, slowly, then shifted back and forth in place as if warming up to the music. His eyes were closed. Edy raised a brow.
The moves came quick and in time with the beat, sharp, snapping power plays from a strong dancer looking to show his dominance from the start. When his legs scissored and he tapped Edy’s cheek playfully, she grinned and jumped in.
So, this Silas really was a dancer like her. Interested and able to do it all.
But he was bold, rude even, braggadocios, though he wouldn’t intimidate Edy. That’s what he wanted.
But we can’t always have what we want.
She didn’t know how long she danced with Silas, only that the music changed and they changed, and something like anger and grudging respect brewed between them somewhere between song after song. There were cheers occasionally and someone—she had no idea who but suspected it was one of their teammates—laughed and sprayed them with a rush of beer from the keg. Edy laughed and opened her mouth, as if she’d drink right from the tap. Silas stared at her a moment, cursed, and then scooped her up caveman style.
Edy punched him in the back. “What the hell are you doing?” she cried.
Silas weaved through a crowd that largely parted for him. “Saving you from yourself,” he called back. “You obviously don’t know when you’ve had enough. You’re wasted.”
Edy flared and twisted, even as the jaunting steps he took threatened to make her hurl. “What do you know?” she shouted at his backside. “You don’t know me! Put me down, you goddamned idiot.” She pounded his back again for good measure.
It was then that she spotted Wyatt, moving fast and coming toward her.
“Put her down,” Wyatt said.
Silas paused, no doubt looking at Wyatt like a bug he meant to step on. Edy took the moment of confusion to wiggle free and straighten out her clothes. She could only imagine how much of a cleavage show she’d given riding on Silas’ shoulder.
“Come on,” Wyatt said. “Follow me.”
For one wild moment, Edy forgot Silas, her dripping beer hair, and everything except the money Wyatt had given her. She wished she had it; she’d hand it back that second. Then she tried to remember all the questions she’d had after seeing him that day in the cafeteria. Edy swayed a bit on her feet, on those goddamned heels three of her teammates had talked her into. Two pairs of hands shot out to grab her. Over her head, Wyatt glared at Silas. She had no doubt that Silas glared right back.
“Can I talk to you for a minute, Edy?” Wyatt said, firm this time.
She blinked at him, slow. The music blared in her brain and she shivered from being soaked to the core.
“Yeah. Sure.” This guy was her best friend, right? Why wouldn’t they talk?
Wait. There was something wrong with that thought, Edy realized belatedly. But she couldn’t for the life of her remember why. And why the hell was she so wet? Silas was too, though, so at least there was that.
A blonde girl appeared at Wyatt’s side.
“Edy?” she chirped, with too much familiarity. “I’m Lottie, Wyatt’s cousin!” She extended her hand for a shake.
Edy stared. His cousin? The same cousin he… Edy looked at Wyatt, then the girl, then Wyatt again. There was no way in hell her fumbling brain could make sense of this. “But I thought—”
Wyatt grabbed her by the wrist and pulled her away from the crowd. “Let’s talk in private,” he said.
“But I don’t—”
“We really have to talk in private.” He stopped, but he didn’t let go of her wrist. “Just a second,” he said, as if he thought she’d deny him. “One minute in private and you can go back. Please.”
She looked around in confusion, but returned to see only desperation in his eyes.
“Alright,” Edy said. “One minute.”
He led her back to the room, passing a wall lined with drinking guys. Unease bubbled in her stomach and briefly she thought to snatch away and run. He paused long enough to open a linen closet and retrieve two towels. Then they were in the room and Wyatt was locking the door.
She must’ve been drunk. She must have been absolutely smashed, because her judgment was all off… She didn’t know what to make of herself. She didn’t even know what was happening to her.
Maybe Silas was right. Maybe she was out of control.
“Edy,” Wyatt said softly, then said nothing at all, his gaze sweeping over her again and again in open adoration. Only Hassan had ever said her name so gently.
She looked away, embarrassed. “Wyatt, if there’s something you want to say…” Already, she was ready to leave.
“I think there was something you wanted to say,” he countered. “I thought we should have some privacy for that, at least.” Then he wrapped a towel around her shoulders. “Plus, I figured you wanted to get away from that asshole and dry off a bit.”
Edy blushed. Drying off sounded good. Faintly, she dabbed at her face and hair, wondering for the first time just what the hell she looked like. She wandered over to the massive mirror he had and cringed at her damp, curling, gargantuan hair. Even her blouse, cut low and clinging to her cleavage, accentuated the swell of her breasts and hinted at—Oh God.
&n
bsp; Edy threw the towel around her neck so that it dangled and covered her chest entirely. Then she turned to Wyatt. “I have to go,” she said.
“Edy don’t.” He grabbed her wrist just a little too hard.
“Let go!” she snapped and snatched free.
Wyatt held up his hands in surrender. “I’m not—I just—please, listen. One minute, like you promised.”
Edy took a step back and inhaled in an attempt at calm. “Fine then,” she said. “But only if you tell me what you’re doing.”
“‘Doing?’” he echoed. He looked down at her, blankly. He’d gained another half inch, whereas she’d stopped growing.
“Why you’re here,” she said.
He lifted a shoulder. “It’s my house.”
Edy looked around, taking in the plush, massive bed, the impossibly lush bedding, and the bedroom set she recognized as expensive. It was the same way with the living room furniture. When she’d come in, she couldn’t believe the way people were spilling liquor on it and scuffing up the floor.
“This is your place?” she balked, momentarily distracted from her original question of why he was in Baton Rouge. “This is your party?”
He nodded, his cheeks coloring a tad.
She shook her head, pivoting from the volley of questions that followed that one. Wyatt had never cared about parties and popularity before. Why the sudden change? What the hell was going on? Something felt… off.
“Your cousin,” she said. “That’s the same one…”
He opened his mouth, then shut. Wyatt nodded instead.
Edy’s face crumpled. Nausea swept up and threatened to claim her. This was the closest he’d come to confessing to her. Now that he had, she couldn’t even look him in the eye. She was going to be sick.
“I have to go,” she mumbled, tripping over her tongue with the effort.
“Edy, please. Wait. I’m not supposed to tell you this, but—”
She fought with the lock on the door now. Why the hell had he locked it anyway? The thought sent her into sheer panic. When Wyatt placed his hand over hers and the door knob, Edy jerked back, burned to her soul.
Wrecked (Love Edy Book Three) Page 15