“Flew in so that I can head out with McCrae tomorrow morning.”
Somehow sleep and making sure my brother made it to Atlanta in one piece had completely shoved that little detail out of my head. Wyatt and Cal are going on the road together. “I’m sure that’ll be fun.”
Cal winks at me. “Fuck yeah, it will. Shitty food and grimy hotel rooms.” We both know that he and Wyatt are more than capable of paying for any hotel they choose to stay at while they’re on the road, so it’s my turn to look skeptical. “And before I forget and you blast me, sorry about the Foursquare thing.”
“Yeah, about that . . . ” I pull away from him and nod my head to the elevators. He follows alongside of me. “I’d actually forgotten, but thanks for reminding me that I need to kick your ass.”
“I had to tell him, Kylie. He loves—”
“Don’t,” I say, my voice suddenly deep and all sorts of screwed up. “Please don’t, okay?” I don’t need Cal telling me how much Wyatt loves me because it will only be an assumption. Not once has Wyatt actually said the words to me himself.
“I’m sorry Kylie.”
“It’s fine.”
Cal stops with me at the elevator door. He doesn’t come inside, but he gives my hand a tiny pump as I shuffle in. “I’m going to grab something to eat before f**ker comes back with the rental car. You coming?”
So that’s where Wyatt went instead of keeping his word to me. To pick up a rental car. So that he can go play a few shows with a band that he doesn’t even know. Stepping aside so that an over-glitzed woman on wobbly heels can come into the elevator, I shake my head. “I’ve got to do laundry before Heidi and I pack up to go back to L.A. tomorrow night.”
Cal snorts. “You’re officially the lamest person I know.” As the doors close, I flip him the bird. Laughing, he shakes his head and returns the gesture.
“Should’ve gone with him,” Glitzy says. She’s balancing herself in the corner and squeezing her knees together like she has to pee. Releasing a massive hiccup, she adds, “He was hot and looks like that guy from that one band.” She bites her lip and scrunches her face, trying to remember the name of the band. Thankfully the elevator shudders to a stop on the second floor before she can.
“Thanks for the advice,” I say as I speed walk off and into the hallway.
My room is an inferno when I step inside. My plan to sink myself in a scalding bath flies out the window, so I throw my license and credit cards inside of the nightstand drawer and grab my iPod from its spot under my pillow. I drop my change purse inside of my laundry bag and leave the room, taking the stairs this time to the dungeon-like basement where the washroom is located.
I’m the only person in the laundry room, probably because everyone else in this city had the good sense to go out tonight, so I slide my earbuds on, turn on a random playlist, and sort my clothes into three piles (whites, lights, and darks) instead of the two I planned on since I have access to all of the machines.
I wait patiently as the washer runs without taking a look at my phone, but finally, as I load the dryers, I can’t help but check. Still nothing from Wyatt or Lucas. I’ve got too much pride to contact Wyatt, so my brother is the lucky recipient of my text message.
12:43 AM: Call me about Sin tomorrow, okay? Love you.
Since it’s 1:43 in Atlanta right now, I don’t expect him to reply. I lay my phone facedown on one of the machines and crank the volume of my iPod even higher. As I insert quarters into the gleaming white Whirlpool dryers, I can’t resist singing along to Weezer. “ . . . my love is a life taker.”
The next line of Say It Ain’t So is cut off because there’s a new scent in the small laundry room. It’s clean and masculine, and the only image that comes to mind as I breathe it in is the top of Wyatt’s head visible between my legs.
“I didn’t Foursquare where I was this time,” I say softly.
Wyatt presses his tall body up against my backside, and my muscles weaken. Gently removing my earbuds, his lip ring teases my skin as he growls into my ear, “I’ve never seen someone’s hips move like that to that song.” He brushes his fingertips down my chest, skimming over my br**sts until they finally stop at the closure of my jeans. “And no, you didn’t even have to Foursquare yourself this time.”
No, not when we have a mutual friend who’s bound and determined to see us together. Cal and I are going to have a serious heart to heart about his inability to keep his mouth shut.
“Did you get your car?” I breathe, turning to face him. He nods and returns his hands to my button. I step backward, and he follows, until I bump into the dryer.
“And I’ve got a pocketful of . . .” His voice trails off. I run the palms of my hands over his back pockets. Foil crunches in the left one.
“I thought you’d forgotten about me,” I admit.
He crushes my body to his, shakes his head. “Never, Kylie.” I reach up and touch the sides of his face, threading my fingers into his wheat-colored hair. “And besides, I called and messaged you many, many times.”
My lips quirk up skeptically. I ease away from him and flip my phone over to examine the missed calls. There are none from Wyatt. “Did you dial the wrong number?”
“Unless the wrong number has your voice on the answering machine, beautiful.” He plucks his phone from his back pocket and scrolls through a list of names. When he reaches mine, he recites the number. “That’s right, isn’t it?”