by Susannah Nix
Loosening his arms, he took my face in his hands again and looked straight into my eyes. “No.” He frowned when I let out a long exhalation. “Were you worried about that?”
Before I could think of a way to answer, he shook his head.
“This isn’t just a casual fuck to me, if that’s what you were thinking.” He hesitated, doubt flashing across his expression. “I hope that’s not what you wanted.”
“No.” I touched my fingertips to his lips. “I don’t want to be someone you sleep with and then leave.”
“You could never be that. You matter to me too much.”
Something bright flared in my chest. Wyatt was the wish I’d been carrying around in my heart, and now he was telling me he was mine.
I burrowed against him, sliding my hands around his waist. Our bodies fit together like they’d been designed as a matching set, uniquely meant for each other. He enfolded me in his arms, surrounding me with comfort and safety.
Mine, my mind whispered as his heartbeat thumped in my ear.
But there was something else we needed to talk about still. I didn’t want to ruin this fragile, burgeoning thing between us, but before it went any further, we needed to deal with the stupid, stubborn elephant in the room. The thing that had kept Wyatt away from me for so long.
My brother.
“Wyatt?”
His hand smoothed up my back, leaving a warm trail in its wake. “Hmmm?”
“What about…” I hesitated, loath to bring up the subject and spoil the mood.
He gave my ponytail a gentle tug. “What about what?”
“Josh.” My mouth twisted with resentment as I spoke my brother’s name. If it hadn’t been for him and his misguided determination to butt into my life, so much might have turned out differently.
Wyatt went disturbingly still for a moment. Long enough for a sense of dread to settle in my stomach. Untangling himself, he rolled onto his back away from me and stared up at the ceiling. I felt a chill at the loss of his body heat as I watched a muscle twitch in his jaw.
He let out a long breath and raked his hands through his hair. “We can’t tell him.”
When I didn’t respond, he turned his head to look at me. The worry lines had returned to his brow. “You know that, right?”
I didn’t know any such thing. As far as I was concerned, Josh had way overstepped by interfering in my love life. I wasn’t feeling inclined to coddle his chauvinistic attitudes. But I also wasn’t the one in danger of losing his friendship. It was easy for me to stand up to Josh. I was his sister, so he was stuck with me no matter what I did.
“Please, Andie.” Wyatt’s face contorted, and he reached for my hand.
I frowned as I let him entwine our fingers. “Why? Why does he get any say at all about you and me?”
“Because I made him a promise.”
It was a dumb reason to deny ourselves happiness, and it made me angry. “A promise he didn’t have any right to ask for in the first place. A promise you never should have made.”
Wyatt flinched at my tone and rolled onto his back again, scrubbing a hand over his face.
“Is this what you were trying to tell me that night you got in the fight?” I asked.
His head swiveled toward me. “I don’t remember. Did I?”
“You said Josh made you promise to look out for me back in tenth grade. But that wasn’t all he made you promise, was it?”
“No.”
“Let me guess: he made you promise to keep your hands off me.”
Wyatt turned his head back to the ceiling and nodded.
“That was high school,” I said. “We’re all grown-ups now. The statute of limitations on stupid high school stuff ended years ago.”
“It doesn’t work that way.” His jaw set stubbornly. “A promise is a promise.”
Under different circumstances, I would have found his fidelity admirable. Sweet, even. But since it was my choice that had been taken away by this ridiculous oath, and my wishes that had been thwarted without my knowledge, I merely found it frustrating and ludicrous.
“Oh come on,” I snapped, getting angry now. “People say and do all kinds of shit when they’re teenagers that no one takes seriously or expects to stick forever. That’s literally why the courts seal juvenile records. Because what you do as a teenager shouldn’t dictate the whole rest of your life.”
“Josh takes this seriously. Trust me.” Wyatt’s eyes met mine. “You think I haven’t ever tried to test the waters over the years? Believe me, I have. Grown-up or not, his opinion hasn’t changed. Not about this.” He squeezed my hand in what felt like an apology and a plea for understanding all at once. “I wasn’t being dramatic when I said he’d never forgive me.”
Wyatt knew my brother as well as anyone—even better than me—and if he really thought Josh would end their friendship over this, then I guess I believed him. Hadn’t Mia said pretty much the exact same thing? And that had been coming straight from my brother’s mouth.
Wyatt knows Josh would kill him. That was what Mia had said. Those were the words Josh had used, and while he might have been exaggerating, he hadn’t been kidding.
My brother had a temper he worked hard to keep in check, and he held grudges even better than I did. I tended to blow up at people, letting my anger burn hot, which meant it burned out faster. Whereas Josh kept his anger inside, allowing it to fester and grow. I’d seen him cut people out of his life before, turning his back on friends after one mistake or perceived slight.
I could understand why Wyatt didn’t want to test him, even as disappointment burned in the back of my throat. I wanted Wyatt to fight for me. To care enough to stand up to Josh and tell him to shove his interfering nonsense straight up his ass.
The one time I actually wanted Wyatt to barrel-roll in to defend my honor, he didn’t want to do it. Why did he have to be cautious about this one thing when he was so casually reckless about everything else?
I knew why, of course. Because my brother wasn’t just some random stranger in a bar. Josh mattered to him.
Did I really want to force Wyatt into choosing between me and my brother? Was it a fair thing to ask or expect when he stood to lose a lot more than I did?
Would he even choose me if it came down to it?
Almost definitely not.
Josh was more than just Wyatt’s best friend. In a way, he’d been his savior.
Wyatt hadn’t had an easy time of it after his mother died. His father and closest brothers had been bound up in their own grief—first losing Chance, then Brady leaving, then finally Wyatt’s mother. Tanner had always been a little withdrawn, and he’d withdrawn even further that year. Ryan had done what he could under the circumstances, but he hadn’t been at home anymore to keep much of an eye on Wyatt. And Wyatt’s dad—well. George King had never been warm and fuzzy, but he’d seemed to grow colder and even more distant just when his sons had needed him most. Maybe it had simply been grief—I couldn’t imagine losing two sons and a wife like that—or maybe it had been selfishness, but his relationship with Wyatt had never recovered.
In a way, Josh had been all Wyatt had. They’d spent so much time together in the months after his mother’s death, when Wyatt had desperately needed someone and felt like everyone else had abandoned him. Our house had been his retreat from all the unhappiness waiting for him at home, and my brother had been his primary support system.
It scared me to wonder what might have happened to Wyatt without Josh’s levelheaded influence to keep him from spiraling out of control. Wyatt had always been impulsive—we were a lot alike that way—but I’d had a stable, loving family to keep an eye on me and keep me in line. Who knew what Wyatt might have turned to if he hadn’t turned to Josh? It didn’t seem like a stretch to think my brother had saved his life.
Josh’s friendship was more important to Wyatt than I was. That was the way it had been for as long as we’d known each other.
If I tried to force the issue, I
knew exactly what would happen. I’d lose.
“So what are we supposed to do?” I asked helplessly.
Wyatt rolled onto his side, his expression pained as he wrapped both his hands around mine. “We have to keep this—us—a secret.”
“You mean sneak around?”
“Would that be so bad?”
Would it?
If I got to have Wyatt, but no one could know, I’d still have Wyatt, wouldn’t I? Wasn’t that better than not having him at all?
Still cradling my hand, he brought it to his lips and kissed it. “It’s not like we’d never be able to see each other. We can keep hanging out like normal, as friends.” His mouth dragged a trail across my knuckles. “We’ll just have to be careful when we’re around other people so no one catches on. Pretend nothing’s changed.”
“What about other women?”
His brow compressed. “I won’t sleep with other women.” He looked a little hurt I’d had to ask. “Obviously.”
“Will you quit flirting too?”
“I…” He hesitated, frowning. “People will probably notice something’s up if I stop showing interest in women altogether.”
Regrettably, I had to admit it was a valid point. “So you’re proposing what? That you continue to flirt with other women in public?”
Gathering me in his arms, he rolled onto his back so I was lying on top of him. “Can you live with that? If I swear to you that it’s all for show and I won’t let it go anywhere?”
“I don’t know,” I answered honestly as I traced a finger over the dragon tattoo under his collarbone. “What counts as flirting, exactly? How far are you allowed to go?”
If we were going to do this, I needed to know exactly where the boundaries were.
His thumb dragged across my lower lip possessively. “No kissing, definitely.”
That was a relief. I was trying to be easygoing about this, but the thought of Wyatt kissing anyone but me made my blood boil.
I sucked the tip of his thumb into my mouth and bit down on it, causing his eyes to flare with heat. “No putting your mouth on anyone, anywhere.”
“Agreed.” The fingers of his other hand trailed up my side, caressing the curve of my breast. “And no touching in any bathing suit areas.”
“That sounds reasonable.” I lowered my lips to his chest, and his hand slid into my hair as I mouthed a wet trail across his skin.
“All the same rules apply to you. No sleeping with other men.” The hand that had been on my breast stroked down over my backside and between my thighs. “You’re mine.”
I lifted my gaze to his, arching an eyebrow. “But I can flirt with other men?”
He looked conflicted, but he nodded. “You can flirt, just like me. But you have to abide by the same restrictions.”
“No kissing and no groping.”
He slid a finger inside me and I shuddered with pleasure. “Not with anyone but me.”
“Deal.” Lifting my hips, I spread my legs to give him better access as I took him in my hand.
Our little arrangement didn’t sound so bad, really. Not as long as I could have him like this when it was just the two of us.
Hadn’t I watched Wyatt flirt with other women for years and survived it? At least now I had a promise he’d be mine at the end of the night. However it might feel to see him pay attention to someone else in public, I had no doubt he’d be able to make it up to me in private.
Starting right now.
I woke the next morning to the glare of sunlight behind my eyelids and the scent of Wyatt all around me. On my pillow, on my sheets, on my skin.
Slowly, I opened my eyes, and Wyatt’s handsome face filled my field of vision.
“Good morning.” He had his head propped up on his hand beside me, and the sound of his sleep-roughened voice was sweet enough to bring a smile to my lips.
“Have you just been lying there staring at me while I slept?”
“Maybe.” His mouth curved in a smile to match mine. “Guess I don’t need to ask if you slept well.”
It had been a long time since I’d let a man sleep over in my bed. I didn’t usually sleep well with someone else next to me, but as with so many other things, Wyatt proved to be the exception.
I ran my fingertips over the stubble on his jaw, marveling at how unfairly attractive he looked for first thing in the morning. His bedhead was tousled to sexy perfection and the relaxed, tender look in his eyes set off a fluttery feeling in my stomach. “Did you sleep okay?”
“I did.” He captured my fingers and pressed them to his lips. “You wore me the hell out.”
“Not too much, I hope.”
He leaned forward to brush a closed-mouth kiss across my lips that was really more of a nuzzle than a kiss. “No such thing as too much. Not when it comes to you.”
Something soft and warm flooded my chest. I sank my fingers into his sexy bedhead and pulled him closer, my mouth seeking his greedily.
It still shocked me a little, that I could kiss him like this and he’d welcome it. I’d spent so long believing he didn’t want me and telling myself that would never change. I was still getting used to this new reality in which I could kiss him as much as I wanted, and he’d gladly kiss me back.
His arms wrapped around me, pulling me to him as he lay back on the bed. When I fitted myself against him and rested my head on his chest, he let out a long, contented sigh. “Too bad we can’t stay in bed all day.”
My fingertips wandered aimlessly over his stomach. “Can’t we?” I’d been awake less than a minute and I was already imagining all the ways we could entertain ourselves without ever leaving the bedroom.
He laughed. “Well, we could, but then who would finish prepping the siding for the painting I’m supposed to start tomorrow?”
“Right. The house.” Reality deflated my blissful bubble. “I guess we can’t just ignore it for the day.”
“No, probably not. Especially since we already took half of yesterday off.” His hand stroked down my back in a soothing caress. “But we don’t have to jump up and get to work right away. We can stay here awhile longer and enjoy the moment.”
“Good.”
My stomach growled, and he laughed. “Or we could see about rustling you up some breakfast.”
Reluctantly, I agreed to get up, despite the small, irrational voice in my head whispering that leaving the bed might break the spell and cause Wyatt to realize he didn’t want to stick around after all. But my hunger won out, and I shrugged on my robe while Wyatt pulled on his boxer briefs.
I followed him downstairs and started a pot of coffee while he examined the contents of my fridge. He offered to cook up some breakfast sausage and eggs, and I volunteered to make grits to go along with it.
“With cheese?” Wyatt asked, his eyes lighting up. My mom’s cheesy grits had been his favorite when we were kids. She’d taught me to make grits the old-fashioned way: low and slow with plenty of dairy fat. Good grits required patience and a cavalier attitude about your cholesterol levels.
“Of course,” I said, and he smacked a kiss on my lips as he carried the sausage and eggs to the counter by the stove.
I still had my grandmother’s O’Keefe and Merritt gas stove from the fifties, the kind with a built-in griddle and stovetop clock with matching Bakelite salt and pepper shakers. That big old stove was one of my favorite things about the house, and I’d paid a pretty penny to have it restored by a guy in Austin. Little had I imagined that one day Wyatt would be standing at it in his underwear making me breakfast.
Once I had the grits simmering on the stove, I poured two cups of coffee and set one next to Wyatt as he laid the sausage patties in my cast iron pan. It had also belonged to my meemaw and was probably as old as the stove, if not even older.
He seemed to know what he was doing, so I stood back and appreciated the view as I sipped my coffee. My eyes wandered over the familiar tattoos on his arms and the slightly less familiar ones on his torso. Only last nig
ht had I learned that the words inked around his rib cage were from his mother’s favorite Fleetwood Mac song. They weren’t the only song lyrics he’d had etched onto his skin. Lyrics from some of his favorite bands were woven through the tattoo sleeves on both his arms.
Looking at them now reminded me of the notebook I’d seen in his apartment. The one full of original songs he’d written.
“Hey, Wyatt?” I cradled my coffee mug with both hands, hoping I wasn’t overstepping.
“Yeah?” He turned and leaned back against the Formica countertop, folding his arms across his bare chest.
“Remember the night I drove you home from King’s Palace?”
“Only parts of it.” He frowned as he scratched the side of his head. “Why? Did I say something embarrassing?”
I shook my head, because this wasn’t about the things he’d said. “When you were puking in the bathroom I cleaned up your apartment.”
“I noticed.” He ducked his head guiltily. “Sorry, I should have thanked you for that and for looking after me that night.”
“When I was in your bedroom, I saw a notebook sitting open on the bed.”
Something a lot like fear came into his eyes. “Did you look at it?”
“I only saw a little of what was written on the top page—I didn’t mean to pry. As soon as I realized what it was, I backed away.”
He turned away from me and picked up the spatula. I could see the tension radiating through him as he pretended to check on the sausage so he wouldn’t have to look at me, but I couldn’t tell if he was angry, or just embarrassed to have his secret found out.
“I didn’t know you’d been writing your own songs.”
One of his shoulders twitched in a slight shrug. “I haven’t showed them to anyone yet.”
“Not even the other guys in the band?”
“No.”
I set my coffee down and crossed the room to wrap my arms around his waist. “Why not?”
He didn’t move, but he didn’t shake me off either. “I don’t know.”
“Yes, you do.” I wasn’t letting him off the hook that easily. This was a big deal. There was passion on the pages of that notebook. Too much to keep hidden away. I already knew he was a talented singer and pretty damn good at playing guitar. What else could he achieve if he let himself make the attempt?