Page 44 of Wyatt

Aaaand now I’m picturing just how big Wyatt is. I’ve heard rumors. I mean, the guy is hugeeverywhere. Makes sense he’d be huge there too.

Need rips through me, sending a bolt of lightning straight to my clit.

“Are you doing this on purpose?” I manage.

“Doing what on purpose?” He’s still smirking.

“Making me blush.”

“You’re pretty when you blush.”

Fuck, now I’m blushing harder. Goddamnhim.

“Stop it,” I say in all seriousness.

But Wyatt is never one to be serious. “Stop what?”

“Being so good at this.”

“Sugar, by the end of the night, you ain’t gonna be asking me to stop.”

I laugh. “Be honest. That line ever work?”

“Yep.” His eyes dance. “It workin’ on you?”

“Hell no.”

His accent gets thicker when he’s flirting. I realize mine does too.

Guess you can take the girl out of Texas, but you can’t take the Texas out of the girl.

“How about this? You take my lead tonight. Anything makes you uncomfortable, you just tug on your ear. Like this.” Wyatt plucks at his earlobe. “I like the earrings, by the way. The sparkle suits you.”

“You don’t have to compliment me.” I put my free hand on my face. My skin is hot, almost feverish. “We’re not inside yet.”

I imagine his eyes are burning when he replies, “I know. But I want to compliment you. You really do look beautiful, Sal.”

“Thanks. You really do look handsome, Wy.”

The smirk is back. “I know. Ready?” His eyes flick to the barn.

I’ve been ready to get laidproper-likefor what feels like a lifetime.

I’m also so,sonot ready to be on this cocky, gorgeous, foul-mouthed man’s arm all night. Seems too dangerous.

Too good to be true.

But that’s the thing: none of this is true. It’s all fake. I’m pretending to flirt with Wyatt in the hopes it reminds me how to have fun and not think so damn much.

If only the decades of friendship Wyatt and I share didn’t make this kinda-sorta date feel so deliciously real. We’re still holding hands, like it’s the most normal thing in the world for us to be touching this way. It feels…right.

Good.

Really good.

“I’m ready,” I say.

And he smiles. It’s not a smirk. Not a silly expression. It’s a real smile, the kind he lets touch his eyes, and my heart swells.