Wyatt (Lane Brothers #1)

by Kristina Weaver

  I’m literally a drooling mess at just the mention of his name, so being that close is definitely going to test my powers of coolness to the extreme.

  Not that I’m cool or anything. I’m a little on the plump side, my hair is plain brown to go with my plain brown eyes, and I have freckles across my nose that no amount of makeup will get rid of.

  In short—yeah,I’m short too—I am exactly the opposite of sexy, and so far out of Devon’s league it’s heartbreakingly sad.

  Chapter Two

  “You can do this, Beck. Just take a deep breath and plaster a smile on that face. Nod when necessary, and just pretend that you’re not practically pissing yourself when he comes through that gate.”

  Easier said than done, I think, looking down at the dirty spot at my knee where I’d landed after tripping up the escalator and falling on my ass in front of a billion onlookers.

  Oh yeah, maybe I should mention how clumsy I am. Always have been. I could fall wearing a freaking harness, and odds are I’d do it in a crowd.

  “Well hey there, gorgeous. Please don’t break my heart by telling me you’re waiting on your significant other.”

  I turn with a squeak and face plant into a brick wall, one that smells absolutely delicious and feels warm and….yummy. Two broad, steel bands shoot out and wrap around me, keeping me firmly planted on my feet and smashed against all that tasty hardness.

  When I look up I practically have to roll my tongue back into my mouth, the guy is so hot. He’s about six one to my five two and so muscled his shirt looks like it’s painted on.

  My eyes flit up and I blush, licking my lips in an unconscious need to taste the dimples that have popped out. Blue eyes the color of a winter sky smile down at me, and it’s a freaking miracle when I find myself smiling back instead of fish-lipping myself into mime school.

  The guy is hooooot!

  “Uh…”

  “So are you?”

  “Um, what?”

  Cool, Beck. Just stay cool and you won't be making an ass of yourself.

  “Are you gonna break my heart, gorgeous? Are you waiting on your man?”

  The way he asks the question is so cute, especially with the way his lip pouts out and trembles beneath puppy dog eyes, that I can’t help but giggle and bat my eyes at him.

  “You’re full of it. And no, I’m not waiting on my man, just a man,” I laugh, feeling the lie hit my stomach like a lead boulder. “My brother’s best friend is flying in.”

  I’ve always considered Devon mine, always, even though we’re not even living on the same continent and despite the fact that he probably doesn’t even remember my name after the last time we’d seen each other four years ago.

  Christ, the guy probably hasn’t thought of me once since leaving after a quick visit when Grey and Lila had their engagement party. I almost cringe just recalling the stumbling and clumsy hilarity that is me after two glasses of champagne.

  Talk about a show stopper.

  “Well, now I can breathe again,” he drawls, grinning down at me. “Name’s Dillon, and I am most definitely all too pleased to make your acquaintance.”

  I laugh and step away, feeling out of sorts and jittery all of a sudden. Is this what it feels like to be attracted to a guy? I mean… But no, I am definitely attracted to Devon, have been for years, and this feels nothing like that.

  All I’m feeling is a small amount of amusement and quiet, friendly interest. There are no butterflies or happy nerves. All I feel is…friendly affection.

  Damn.

  Why though? Dillon is hot, I mean seriously hot, and he’s got a big, open smile that makes me want to smile right back, but…I dunno, I’m not all tingly and breathless, I’m not thinking of what to say not to make a fool of myself, and I am most definitely not thinking about what’s under those jeans and his white shirt, even though I suspect any red-blooded female in my position would.

  Bummer.

  “Becky,” I say, holding out my hand for him to take. “So what are you doing here, Dillon?” I ask, pulling my hand away to scan the gate again.

  Still no Devon.

  “I’m here to get my little sister, Mags. She’s coming home from college, and I thought her big brother should take her out before the parents get their claws into her poor hide again.”

  His tone makes me laugh, and I relax, reminding myself that being hit on by a gorgeous man is not a bad thing. I’m a little dumpy and what I would consider plain, so this is most assuredly a new experience for me. I should enjoy it, not look around for a way to fob him off gently.

  “Big brother, huh? I have many of those creatures in my life, and as far as I recall they live to torment little sisters,” I tease, casting another quick glance at the gate.

  “Huh, well, I can’t say you aren’t wrong, but the little darlin’ has spent the last four years cooped up in a dorm with nothing but her books. It’s time for her to live a little.”

  Damn, now I’m a little jealous. I’d spent four years being managed by my over-protective siblings, and the last two being managed as well.

  My brothers even take turns coming up every three months to check things out and make sure I’m ‘safe’.

  “So, you live around here?”

  ‘Here’ being Georgia, which is big, so I should have been more specific, but truth is I really don’t care that much. Huh.

  “Yeah.” He laughs, tweaking a curl that’s fallen over my shoulder. “We should go out some time, ya know—”

  “Rebecca?”

  My body goes hot and cold at the sound of that cultured accent, and I feel a blush spread over my skin, heating me up in a way I wish the tall, teasing Dillon could have.

  What’s the use of getting all hot and bothered for a guy who doesn’t even know you exist most of the time? He’s so…intense, and…he’s a playboy, I keep telling myself as I take a deep breath and turn, willing myself not to blush or start stammering the moment I see those blonde locks and gray eyes.

  “Devon.”

  The name is a breathy whisper of sound that makes my lips tingle and the jittering start low in the pit of my stomach. I haven’t allowed myself to even think his name since the last tabloid article had shown him smiling down at a reed-thin, leggy blonde who’d looked air brushed, she’d been so perfect.

  Blech.

  Yesterday had been the first time I’d so much as thought his name in years, and yet here I stand, feeling every bit the gauche, plump girl I’ve always been in his presence.

  Those gray eyes hold mine for a second before going over my shoulder, the slight smile that had played there hardening when he spots Dillon and the hand still resting at my hip.

  “I don’t believe I’ve made your acquaintance,” he says, his eyes trained on the hand that now feels like it’s burning a hole through my flesh.

  “Oh, hey man, I’m Dillon, Dillon Johnson. Becky here was just about to agree to a date, ain’t that right, gorgeous?”

  No! I want to scream that I am so not even interested in the tall, hot hunk beside me and prostrate myself at his feet in payment for a betrayal that shouldn’t exist, that I really shouldn’t feel, considering I don’t really exist as a whole person to this man. But I can’t.

  I do have some pride, after all, and for the first time ever I’m desirable to someone and not just plain little Becky, the kid who’d spent half the summer following him around like a loser.

  “Uh, yeah. Let me give you my number and you can call me,” I say, my voice a high-pitched squeak as I fiddle with my phone, ignoring the man beside me.

  “Sweet! Thanks, Becky. Oh, I see my little sis. I’ll call ya soon!”

  And then he’s off, leaving me alone with the silent man beside me. With a will that is born of sheer bravado I raise my eyes and keep the smile on my face, only holding my breath when our eyes meet and hold, staying connected so long I feel a renewed blush heat my cheeks.

  “Uh, so welcome back? You look different?”

  Everything I
say comes out a question, something I’ve done since I was sixteen—three years into my crush—and have yet to rid myself of.

  I can’t help it. Whenever I’m in his presence every pep talk and shred of common sense I possess flies out the window, to be replaced by the gawky nerd he’s always known.

  “Thanks, imp. You’re looking all grown up yourself,” he drawls, and I shiver, blushing all over when his eyes run the length of my body and back up, a smile back in place. “Still the same though.”

  Every warm feeling I possess evaporates all at once, and I fight back the hurt, not wanting him to see how much it hurts. To Devon I’ll always be the plump little dweeb, and nothing I do will change that.

  Two years ago I’d actually gone on a diet and succeeded at losing ten pounds. Grey had invited him over for the holidays, and I’d had this fantasy that if I could look the part and somehow change my personality he’d finally see me.

  I’d been sick that year, thanks to the extremes I’d gone to in order to lose weight, and gone against doctors’ orders and traveled back home, so excited for him to see my transformation.

  He’d called the day before Thanksgiving and begged off, and I’d felt so shitty I’d eaten enough for three people and slunk up to my room, sick to my stomach.

  Now every time I think of the things I’d done to my body to be good enough that he’d finally recognize me, I get so pissed at myself I can’t breathe.

  That emotion does what nothing else has the power to, and instead of stammering and tittering like an idiot I give him my stoniest glare and seal my lips, cocking my head toward the doors.

  “We should get going.”

  “Have I said something to upset you, imp?”

  “Nope. I’m just tired. I worked all day, and then I had to ask my boss for time off to come get you. Not one of my top twenty things to do before I die, I’ll tell you that. Come on, we better get going. Mama and the gang are expecting your hallowed return.”

  Here’s the thing. I have two settings: sweet, kind, bumbling Becky, and the hell’s spawn Becky who rips shreds into people when she’s hurt or peeved.

  A minute ago I’d been my usual self, and now I’m the product of Devon’s sardonic drawl, as if I needed the reminder that I’m a little less than perfection itself.

  “Did I say something, imp?”

  I keep walking and ignore his question, because honestly, since when would he give a hoot about whether he’s said something wrong or hurt my feelings?

  It’s only once we’ve cleared the automated doors and I’m unlocking the trunk that I turn back to him, back in that calm, serene place my shrink—the one I’d gone to as a teen—had taught me to find.

  According to Doc Mallory, I can overcome anything by channeling my emotions in a constructive way. I just need to breathe and keep telling myself that I can only get hurt if I allow it to matter.

  I’ve survived over two ears of Abi living on that theory alone. I can survive two hours in a car with a man I’m not even sure I want to like if I just keep that in mind.

  “You want to get something to eat before we hit the road, or no?” I ask, unlocking the doors and sliding into my compact little Fiesta.

  I almost laugh when he’s folded almost double and has to fiddle around for the seat adjuster before unsnapping himself from his pretzel-like slouch.

  “No. Thanks, but I ate on the plane,” he mutters, glaring at my twinkling eyes. “Could your car be any bloody smaller?”

  “Well, yeah. My grandpa gave me this sweet little old school Mini for my eighteenth birthday, but Grey went nuts and started yelling about semi-trucks and cardboard boxes and, well, I didn’t make it past the driveway before this one replaced it.”

  Too bad, because that hot pink little cutie had stolen my heart from the start. She’s still sitting in my folks’ garage, awaiting my return.

  “Buckle up, Brit. I plan on making good time,” I warn before shifting into gear and hitting the gas.

  His yell and white-knuckled grip on the dashboard lift my spirits considerably, and by the time I make it to my parents’ place I’ve loosened up enough to have sung along to three Spice Girls songs and a lot of Jessi Jay.

  “Bloody menace,” is all he says as he bolts out of the car and glares at me, his eyes shooting daggers my way.

  “What? I just gave you the ride of your life, big guy.”

  Chapter Three

  Dev

  She’s just as cute as she always was. At thirteen she’d been a slip of a thing, following Grey and myself around and getting into as many scrapes as possible for such a clumsy girl.

  She’d been mischievous and awkward and naughty as hell, hence the name ‘imp’. At sixteen I’d had to warn her off and rip the stars from her eyes, effectively killing the schoolgirl crush she’d had on me since the first time she’d seen me and stammered her hellos.

  Not that I hadn’t thought her beautiful, even then, but at twenty-two I’d been loath to encourage her sixteen-year-old heart, lest I do something to break the fragile gem.

  Now she’s well past the age of consent and all woman, believe you me. I know, since I’d had a hell of a time hiding my all too eager dick cramped within the confines of the little box she calls a car.

  Besides being damn near horrified at her driving—something we’ll be talking about soon, as she’s way too reckless and enamored of speed—I’d been forced to breathe in her jasmine scent for over an hour while my erection endeavored to crawl out of my trousers and into her lap, quite ready to do her bidding.

  Bloody traitor.

  Not that I don’t want imp, I really do, have since I’d gone to that bloody engagement party the year she turned eighteen and seen her in that little yellow dress that hugged her plumpness just right.

  But Becky Slade can never be mine, not if I want to keep her brother as a friend. I’ve known this for years now, after he’d caught me staring slack-jawed at her and warned me off. I resented it then and managed to stay away, not wanting another episode like the one we’d had, but I’ve known the man almost ten years now since we met in college and shared an apartment, and I have no intention of ruining that friendship for a night between imp’s thighs.

  Because that’s all it can be, one night. I never go in for seconds, not after Gia and what she’d taught me, no matter how delectable the woman is.

  I have a feeling that one night with the little firecracker wouldn’t be enough, so I’ve resolved to keep things just as they are between us: as platonic as possible, with the way my boy is chomping at the bit to get in there and stake a claim.

  Shit.

  “You coming or what?”

  And that smart mouth of hers isn’t bloody helping. I’m too used to her stammering and blushing when she talks to me. This mouthy piece is doing terrible things to my already raging lust, and I’m not sure I like it one bit.

  Where’s my cautious, starry-eyed little imp? I’m not sure what’s happened to change her, or if she’s just having a bad day, but I want my sycophantic imp back, not this scornful baggage who’d rather not look at me at all.

  “Rebecca—”

  “Hey, Becks!”

  I’m stopped from an apology—whatever it is,she needs to look at me again—when Lila comes bounding out of the house, her midnight black tresses blowing behind her as she skips over and launches her lanky frame at a much shorter Becky, all arms and legs, like an enthusiastic puppy.

  “Hiya, baby doll. You look even skinnier than usual! Stop making me feel fatter, you bitch!” she laughs, just managing to right herself before they can both go crashing to the ground in an inglorious sprawl.

  The way she says it—jokingly—comes out on a chuckle, but it pisses me off nevertheless. She’s perfect just the way she is, and the fact that she doesn’t think so makes my jaw ache. I clench it so hard my ear pops.

  That bloke at the airport seemed to have liked her just fine, I think, steeling myself against the anger that thought provokes. Strangely, I am n
ot pleased at the thought of another looking at imp and seeing what I see: a desirable woman ripe for the taking.

  “Oh shush, girl, you look fabulous! Oh, Dev!”

  I smirk when the leggy chit jumps my way and seizes me in a rib-cracking hug, her skinny frame belying her strength.

  “Hi, Lila lips, you’re not having cold feet yet? Run away with me,” I tease, like I have since the day I met her and told Grey she’s way too good for his ugly arse.

  “Never. My heart is taken, evil man,” she smirks, lightly punching my shoulder and looking at the car behind me. “So how was the drive?”

  “Bloody harrowing. The woman has never met the brake pedal in her bleeding life! And that’s after I had to watch some wanker practically try to crawl his way down her chest.”

  I don’t mention the hard on or the fact that I’d tried to engage in conversation at least four times and been rebuffed each and every time, my efforts met with a silent pursing of her lips and a raised brow.

  Damned female is snarky.

  Lila, being the incorrigible baggage she is, laughs at my chagrin and shrugs a shoulder, hooking her arm in mine to tow me along behind her.

  “Leave her alone. It’s about damn time someone noticed her. Maybe she can lose the V-card sometime this freaking century.”

  “Uh, wha—”

  “Hurry it up, It’s baking hot out here, and Mama will skin me alive if I just leave you out here!” she yells from the doorway, her cheeks red enough that I suspect she heard Lila’s rather indelicate outing of her status as probably one of a handful of twenty-two-year-old virgins still inhabiting the planet.

  It’s a shock, a bleeding heart-stopper, a flipping jolt to the senses and other things besides, to know that the sexy little package I’ve purposely avoided for four years is still pure.

  I’m honest enough to admit that does things to me, primal things that I have no business thinking about.

  We follow her into the house, my eyes squarely trained on her twitching bum, a bum so nicely curved it would likely cradle my monster very nicely as I take her from behind.