It often left me paranoid; suspicious that I’d never truly know if people liked me for me, or for what they could get from me. That’s where my arrogant sarcasm came in. It was a shield that kept people at a safe distance. But with Layne, I felt it slipping, and surprisingly I liked how it felt to have her move past my defenses.
Yet, as we pulled up to my house, a familiar knot of anxiety formed in my stomach. Layne was the first person I’d invited home since moving to Northwood. Was letting her see behind the curtain a mistake?
I guess there was only one way to find out.
“Here we are,” I said as we pulled under the portico that faced the distant eight-bay garage and horse stables. “Home, sweet, home.”
My hands began to sweat as I waited for Layne’s response. She’d lifted her head, staring out the car window in shock before turning to me with a look of annoyance. “Ha-ha, very funny.”
“For once, I’m not being funny. This is where I live.”
“And I’m secretly Dumbledore,” she teased. “I forgot to ask, what house were you sorted into?” She tapped her chin while scrutinizing me. “You look like either Ravenclaw or Slytherin.”
I began shaking with laughter.
Her frown deepened. “Definitely Slytherin.”
It only made me laugh harder. This was a response I hadn’t anticipated. She didn’t believe me. She thought this was some sort of joke, because obviously no normal high school student would live in such a ridiculous mansion.
I suppose I shouldn’t have been surprised she thought this was another of my jokes considering I’d done nothing but tease her since the day she burst into my mother’s office.
Sadly, this was the one thing I wished I was joking about. But I didn’t know how to make her believe me since she was glaring at me like the boy who cried wolf.
“I’m not messing with you,” I said, through my laughter. “I swear. This is where I live.”
Unfortunately, Layne thought my laughter was directed at her. “This won’t work, you know.”
“What won’t?” I asked.
“Is this supposed to be scary?” She crossed her arms. “Because it’s not. I’ve heard all the ghost stories about this place. The gargoyles come alive at night, there’s a ghost in the attic, a witch in the well. It’s all very spooky. But I’m not scared of ghost stories, Wyatt. I’m not twelve.”
I blinked at her, no longer laughing. “What’s that about a well?”
She rolled her eyes. “Can we please leave before we get arrested for trespassing, which is the only scary thing about this place, by the way.”
I sighed, not quite sure what to do. I had two choices, roll with this being a prank and take her to town for pizza, or bite the bullet and bring her into my garish home.
I knew which option I preferred, so not wanting to lose my nerve, I made my decision.
I got out of the car and walked around to her side, pulling the door open. Layne blinked up at me, no longer looking so confident in her belief that this was all a ruse.
“Listen, I live here. I know it’s lame, but I’m owning it. You have two choices, either come inside, have some pizza and listen to vinyl with me like we planned, or you can sit in the car and wait for the gargoyles to wake up.”
I held my hand out to her, waiting. After a long moment of hesitation, Layne slipped her hand into mine and I loosed a breath of relief.
“If you’re messing with me,” she warned.
“Trust me, I wish I were,” I muttered, leading her toward my house.
Chapter Twenty-Six
Layne
When Wyatt’s key code actually opened the front door the hairs on the back of my neck stood on end. Either this was one heck of an elaborate joke, or he really did live here. In which case I felt like a huge jerk for teasing him about it when he’d been nothing but respectful about his visits to my less-than-spectacular home.
Despite my best efforts to remain cool, when we walked inside, my jaw dropped. Who was I kidding? I wasn’t cool on a normal day and walking into Northwood’s only mansion was definitely not normal.
My eyes raked over the unbelievable home as I followed closely on Wyatt’s heels, afraid I’d get lost in the maze of rooms if I didn’t. As I tried to take everything in, one thought kept tickling my mind. Why would anyone be embarrassed to live here?
The place was incredible.
The inside was nothing like the dark foreboding exterior. Everything had been updated with all the modern trappings one could hope for, yet it still retained some of what I imagined was its original splendor.
I particularly loved the walk-through fireplace in a room that vastly resembled the Great Hall at Hogwarts. But I decided to keep that Harry Potter reference to myself since I’d probably done more than enough damage to my credibility with my dorky book nerd references earlier.
We finally walked into a gorgeous white marble kitchen with a massive island in the center. It was the size of a Buick and again I had to remind myself to pick my jaw up off the floor.
Wyatt looked at me expectantly.
“Who did you say your dad was again?” I joked.
He didn’t look amused. “I didn’t.”
I stood back as he opened what I thought was a large cabinet to reveal a refrigerator. I remembered to snap my mouth shut just in time for Wyatt to hand me a bottle of water.
He took out one for himself, taking a long swig. “So, what kind of toppings do you want on your pizza?” he asked.
I arched an eyebrow. “Does Carmelo’s deliver out here?”
He looked at me like I was crazy. “Of course not. We’re making our own. If that’s okay?” he added.
It seemed like a shame to let such an incredible kitchen go unused. “Sure.”
Wyatt’s easy smile was back. “Good. I asked the chef to pick up what we’d need.”
He opened another equally large hidden fridge and started handing me things. When he was done, the gorgeous marble island was covered with enough supplies to make an army of pizzas.
“How many pizzas are we making?” I asked.
“I didn’t know what you liked,” he said defensively, as he surveyed the now cluttered island.
“Your castle makes you moody,” I teased.
Wyatt smirked. “Sorry. You’re right. I’m being a bit of a wanker, aren’t I?” he replied, his hand rubbing the back of his neck bashfully. “I guess, it’s just . . .”
“What?”
“I don’t have many guests here . . . er, ever, actually.”
“Why? This place is amazing!”
“That’s one word for it.”
“You have a different opinion?”
He pursed his lips. “It’s not lost on me how ridiculous this place is.”
“I don’t think it’s ridiculous.”
Wyatt crossed his arms. “I saw the look on your face when we first arrived.”
“Well, okay, I was a bit shocked at first. I mean, from the outside, it does have a bit of a Beauty and the Beast vibe, but that’s my favorite Disney movie, so . . .”
Wyatt leaned back against the counter as he scowled at me.
“I’m kidding. Geez. Lighten up.”
“You just referred to my house as Beast’s Castle,” he said, still brooding. “I can only imagine who that makes me in that scenario.” His green eyes flashed with disappointment when they met mine. “Which is exactly why I don’t bring people here,” he added under his breath.
“Wyatt, you know I’m not serious. I think your home is spectacular. But that’s just my opinion. It doesn’t matter.”
He looked up, his eyes meeting mine. “Why not?”
“Didn’t you tell me not to care what people think?” I replied. “I believe, ‘do you and be proud of who you are and where you come from’, were your exact words.”
That earned me an adorable crooked smirk. “I do give pretty great advice, don’t I?”
“I’ve heard worse,” I teased, glad to have ligh
tened the mood. “But the real question is, how good are your pizza skills?”
Wyatt, pushed off the counter, grabbed one of the black aprons from the hook on the wall and slipped it on, tying it as he walked over to me. “I think you’ll find you like my cooking as much as my kissing.”
I barked a laugh. “Okay, smart guy. You’re on.”
“Oh yeah?”
“Yeah. I’ve been cooking since I was six. I’ve got this in the bag.”
“Is that a challenge?”
“It is,” I said, grabbing another apron.
“Where shall we start?”
I eyed the pineapple and grinned. “With a new experience.”
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Layne
“Fine you win,” Wyatt moaned as I held another slice of his pizza to his mouth. “If I eat another bite I’m going to die.”
“Are you admitting defeat?” I teased.
“Yes, you’re the better cook.”
“And . . .”
“And pineapple is horrendous. I solemnly swear to ban it as a pizza topping hence forth.”
I giggled, unable to contain how amusing it was when his Britishness showed. I didn’t think people actually spoke like that outside of Harry Potter novels.
“Seriously though,” he said. “Why was your pizza so much better than mine? My crust tasted like cement.”
“I told you, I’ve been cooking since I was six.”
He furrowed his brow. “So, you didn’t secretly sabotage my crust with clay?”
“Nope, you’re really just that bad,” I said, letting my legs swing from the counter I sat on.
Wyatt stood next to me, his green eyes sparkling as he moved closer. He caged me in, placing his toned arms on either side of my hips, making my throat go suddenly dry. “I don’t know,” he hedged. “I think I might’ve been hustled.”
“You can’t be good at everything,” I said, trying to sound like I wasn’t affected by his proximity. But nothing could be further from the truth.
Wyatt’s narrow hips pressed against my knees as he leaned in, stealing all the oxygen in the room. His cunning lips curved up at the corners, the delicate hallows of his cheekbones twitching with humor. “How is it a six-year-old knows how to cook? Are your parents chefs?”
My chest deflated. It was like my parents had walked into the room, completely killing the blissful buzz I’d had a moment ago.
I hated talking about them, well mostly just my dad, but either way, it was the last thing I wanted to get into. It brought reality crashing back, and with it came the truth that no matter how much fun I was having with Wyatt, it wasn’t real. This was just a two-week hiatus from my real life.
Our partnership would end as soon as the competition was over, so I shouldn’t get used to the hopeful feeling in my chest. Guys like him didn’t fall for girls like me.
Not that I wanted him to, I reminded myself.
This was strictly a musical partnership. Speaking of . . . “Didn’t you say you were going to blow my mind with vinyl?” I asked, changing the subject, as I ducked under Wyatt’s arm and slipped off the counter.
He frowned, probably shaken by my sudden mood swing. “Oh, um, yeah.”
“Great,” I replied, starting to clear the dishes.
Wyatt’s hand caught my elbow. “Hey,” he said softly. “Did I do something wrong?”
“No,” I said, trying to pretend I was unfazed, but my voice betrayed me.
“I didn’t mean to offend you, Layne. I shouldn’t make assumptions about what your parents do.”
“Well, they’re not chefs.” I huffed a laugh. “Anyway, it’s fine. You didn’t offend me.”
“Obviously I did something wrong.”
I sighed. “No, it’s just . . . I don’t love talking about my family.”
“Noted,” Wyatt said, nodding. “I can relate, you know?”
I laughed bitterly, somehow doubting he had a clue. “Really? You have a deadbeat dad, too?”
“Something like that,” he offered, slinging an arm around my shoulder. “Come on, I’ve got the perfect record.”
“Oh yeah?”
He smirked. “It’s all about being misunderstood by parents.”
I laughed, unable to fight my grin as Wyatt’s easy warmth pulled me back under his spell.
So what if this wasn’t reality or if he didn’t really understand my life? Sometimes an escape was the best medicine.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Layne
“Okay,” I gasped, through breathless laughter and dance moves. “I can’t take anymore.” I let go of Wyatt’s hand and collapsed onto his bed.
He’d been right, he did have the perfect record, or twenty.
We’d listened to everything from Beastie Boys to Lilly Allen to Band of Horses. Wyatt’s vinyl collection was as surprising as he was. But the best part about it was whether we were raging against the machine or singing ballads about our achy breaky hearts, we were laughing.
I’d never danced or laughed so much in my life. And it was exactly what the doctor ordered. I felt light and invigorated as I waited for Wyatt to change the record. We were finally getting to the Mogli album, the whole reason I’d come to his house.
“I think you’re going to love her,” Wyatt said crashing onto the bed next to me.
We both lay on our backs letting the smooth sounds of a sultry voice fill the room. Her voice was rich, yet whispery and the lyrics . . . I was breathless.
“You think I sound like her?” I asked with awe.
“Yeah. You have that same unique flavor to your voice, and I feel like if you incorporated a bit of this beat into your second song it could work really well.”
I rolled onto my side, propping my head on my elbow so I could study Wyatt. His eyes were closed as he listened to the music and there was nothing on his face to indicate he was messing with me.
I grinned, unable to stop the glowing tingle his words ignited within me. It was perhaps the best compliment I’d ever received about my music. And it made me want to kiss him.
The thought stirred something deep inside me. I could do it. His lips were right there. I just needed to lean in and press my lips to his. My heart sped up, a flickering spark taking root inside me like a match striking flint.
Could I do it? Should I?
Wyatt’s eyes slowly opened, like he knew what I’d been contemplating. His decadent lips carved into that crooked half smirk that warned me I was playing with fire. But it was his eyes that did me in. They were green flames, burning with an inferno of desire that promised me I wouldn’t survive this dangerous game I was playing.
“Penny for your thoughts, Penny Layne.” Wyatt said, his voice low.
I cleared my throat. “Yeah, um I think we could make this sound work.”
“That’s all you’re thinking?”
“What else would I be thinking about?”
Wyatt’s grin grew. “I dunno, you just look a little breathless.”
I swallowed hard. “Good music should leave you a little breathless.”
He winked. “I couldn’t agree more.”
I collapsed back onto his bed, listening to Mogli’s haunting voice while I tried to get my breathing under control.
Vacation over, Layne!
It was time to return to reality before I got myself in trouble. I knew better. I was in way over my head with Wyatt as it was, and I think he knew it, too.
I decided to keep things strictly business for the rest of the night, moving to the cushy armchair where I could keep my distance while we discussed music theory and possible arrangements for our next song.
The night flew by in a beautiful blur. Even with Wyatt at arm’s length, my world felt infinitely more exciting. How was it one boy could change my life so much?
Never in a million years would I have picked Wyatt Nash for my partner, but as I watched him lazily playing my song on his guitar, I couldn’t imagine a more perfect fit.
I
hadn’t realized how much I’d been craving this sort of connection in my life. And it wasn’t just because I was missing my best friend. I’m sure that was part of it, but what I had with Lola was different. Just as important, but different.
I couldn’t really explain it, but with Wyatt, when we made music together, I felt complete camaraderie.
Once we’d both let our walls down it was like I’d finally met someone who spoke the same creative language as me and that feeling of understanding, of not being alone . . . it was restoring my faith in everything—my reason for being here and my hope for a better future.
Maybe I had a shot at this competition after all.
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Wyatt
Despite the night starting off rocky, it went better than expected. Much better, actually. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d laughed so much.
Having Layne around was a welcomed distraction. She made me feel weightless in a strangely addicting way. I didn't know how she'd done it, but she'd bewitched me. The first time I'd heard her sing I'd been ensnared.
And now that I'd seen her, truly seen the wonderful creature she hid behind glasses and baggy clothes, I couldn't look away. She was funny and smart and wickedly talented. And when she laughed, her smile could light up a room.
If I wasn’t careful, this girl could easily turn my world upside down.
As I watched her scribbling notes in her songbook, I wondered if that would be such a bad thing. There wasn’t much about her that I didn’t like. Well, apart from the fact that it was getting late and I had to take her home.
I reluctantly agreed and helped her pack up her things. We were still eagerly discussing the sound we’d come up with for her next song when we walked into the kitchen, startling my mother.
“Oh!” she gasped, setting down her tablet and tipping her readers into her hair. She was in her white silk robe, a large glass of Chardonnay in front of her and her face was covered in one of those creepy green beauty masks she loved. Even behind the mask I could see she was mortified. Her hand flew to her chest, clutching at her robe. “I didn’t realize we had company, darling.”
Kissing The Hero (The Dangers of Dating a Diva Book 2) Page 10