“Layla was especially nice.” I am cruising for a bruising.
“I’m sorry for not forewarning you. It slipped my mind that she’s with Grant now. Seems like every time I come back, who’s together and who’s not has changed. This town isn’t very big, ya know? The dating pool is about the size of a bird bath.” He takes my hand in my lap across the bench seat from him. “Layla and I were kids. She means nothing to me now.” He looks out the front window of the truck to the other guests piling in their cars. He puts his other hand on his neck, rubbing something away. The stiffness of this conversation, maybe. “I’m glad you and I weren’t friends in high school.”
“Why do you say that?” I ask with a laugh.
“I wasn’t boyfriend material.” He shakes his head at the thoughts of his younger self. “I never put her first. Football and the farm always came before her.”
I wave him off. “You’re being too hard on yourself. You were both just kids.”
“You didn’t hear her jab at the table? When I said I hadn’t been back in a while because of football, she basically said that was always my excuse.” He pauses, then continues. “And maybe she’s right. Football is always my excuse.”
I lean back against the worn leather bench seat and gaze up at the ceiling. “I’ve probably done the same thing in my life.”
His eyes flash to me. “You have?”
“Uh,” I start playfully, “does running away to another country to play volleyball after kissing you ring any bells?”
“You already had the flight booked and you were saving our friendship by never bringing it up again.” His eyes look sad as he thinks back on the memories. “You let me down easy.”
I reach over to take his hand. “Now you know that’s not true. You’re still the one I always turn to when I was overwhelmed with homesickness.”
“That’s true.”
“And the only one I wanted to live with when I moved back.”
He shrugs. “That was just for convenience.”
“No, it wasn’t.” I shake my head. “I wanted to be around you. And that’s not going to change.”
I desperately hope I’m right about that.
The day of the wedding, Wyatt, his parents, and I eat a huge late breakfast together. There’s coffee, pancakes, and breakfast casserole—which is basically a full breakfast mixed all together and baked in a dish.
I watch in awe as Charlie pours himself a cup of hot coffee from the pot and immediately takes a sip of the scalding liquid. He never blows on it, doesn’t put any milk or creamer in it that would cool it—just down the hatch.
I lean over to Wyatt and whisper, “Your dad’s taste buds must be fried.”
He barks a laugh that gets his dad’s attention, and Wyatt attempts to cover it with a cough into his own mug. “I did not get that gene.” His coffee has a splash of half and half and two sugars.
“I’m glad; what a shame to lose your sense of taste.” It comes out sultry, and Wyatt’s pupils go wide at my suggestive tone.
Weddings always get me all riled up. I think I’ll take to teasing him all day. Anticipation is the best foreplay, isn’t that what they say? I thought the other night on the beach was the last time, but I’m determined to fit in one more.
I smile back at him unapologetically, letting him know the game I’m playing, and his smile turns hungry.
We clean up from breakfast and make sure Wyatt has everything he needs to head to the wedding venue. “If the other guys are taking shots, do not take one,” I warn. Wyatt’s a big guy and he can hold his liquor, but wedding days are a marathon, not a sprint.
He pauses, shoving stuff in a backpack to look at me. “You think I’d risk coming home to you with whiskey dick?”
My cheeks burn at the idea of him thinking about that already. But wasn’t I doing the same thing at breakfast? I’m encouraging this. And I like it.
If I let this keep going, he’ll miss his arrival time. “Do you have everything?”
“Almost. Just one last thing.” He closes the gap between us in less than a second, his long legs eating up the carpet, as he begins to kiss me slowly, like he doesn’t have anywhere to be. His hands move down over my leggings to palm my ass. He kisses me until I’m leaning so far into him, I’m not sure I could stand on my own. When I’m almost ready to peel hisHurricanes shorts down and suck his soul out before he goes, he breaks the kiss. “There. All ready to go.”
I swat at his chest playfully as he shoulders his backpack, picks up his garment bag, and walks through the door heading down the stairs. I follow him because what else am I supposed to do? I stand on the porch and wave, watching his truck as it ambles down the long dirt path leading to the road.
Now I’m all revved up with nowhere to go.