Page 104 of Wyatt

How is this happening so fast? But really, it’s not happening fast at all because it’s taken us twenty-plus years to get to this point.

Maybe that’s why I also don’t feel nervous. I’m thrummingwith anticipation, sure. But I don’t feel the least bit self-conscious.

I feel pretty damn comfortable, like I always do when I’m with my best friend.

“Lemme pour you some wine,” Wyatt says as he hangs my coat in a narrow closet beside the door. “Then I’ll light a fire. Dinner should be ready in an hour or so.”

I head for the kitchen, my legs feeling like rubber. “I can open the wine.”

“You can, but you won’t. Not when I’m around.”

I still reach for the corkscrew, but Wyatt grabs it out of my hand. The muscles in his forearm flex as he pulls the cork out of the bottle in a smooth, well-practiced movement.

“Mollie came over yesterday,” Wyatt explains as he fills the glasses with a good pour of wine the color of black cherries. “She showed me how to properly open a bottle, and then we drank it while she helped me set the table.”

Just keep breathing. “You had Mollie over?”

“I did. Had to call in the experts.”

“She’s the fucking best.”

“Cash lucked out.” Wyatt holds out a glass and meets my gaze. “So did I. Cheers, Sunshine.”

I take the glass, our fingers brushing. “Cheers, handsome.”

His eyes stay locked on mine as I sip and he sips. I don’t know wine super well, but my roommates and I drank our fair share of it back in veterinary school. The stuff we bought from Trader Joe’s wasn’t awful, but it wasn’t great either.

This wine though? This isexcellent. Bright, vibrant flavor explodes on my tongue. I can only describe it as fruity yumminess, the kind that makes you want to lick your glass.

“Damn.”

Wyatt smirks. “Am I off to a good start?”

“You already know you’re getting laid, right? You didn’t need to pull outallthe stops.”

“But I wanted to.”

The gray-blue light from the window catches on his irises, making them appear translucent, the color of the Texas sky at dawn.

Sliding a hand onto his neck, I lean in and close my eyes and kiss my man.

Wyatt Rivers is my man. For now.

I lick into his mouth and taste the wine. His tongue dances with mine, and we fall into a slow, easy, deep kiss that has my pulse thundering and my heart twisting.

Nowwas never going to be long enough with Wyatt, was it?

I want him forever.

I want to be kissed like thisforever.

Wyatt growls, shifting so that his hips are angled toward me, pressing his body against mine. He cups my cheek in his hand and drinks me in. Awareness blooms between my legs, need gathering in my thighs, my abdomen, the back of my knees.

“You’re”—Wyatt feathers his lips over mine before breaking the kiss—“making it awful hard to do things in the proper order, Dr. Powell.”

I nudge his nose with mine because I do that now. I do what I feel like doing without worrying if it’s too much or not enough.

“Ever had sex before dinner on a first date, Mr. Rivers?”