Damn you, Wyatt.
“Glad you have so much faith in me.” I clear my throat to get rid of the dryness in the back of my mouth. “And now that you know my legs are safely locked at the knees?”
“I’m still not leaving until you talk to me.”
I narrow my chocolate brown eyes into thin slits. He swallows, making the tattoo that races across his throat appear as if it’s moving. I don’t need sunlight to know what it says. I’d been with him when he got it.
All Does Not End Well.
What’s especially sad is that’s exactly how things will go down if I go anywhere with Wyatt tonight, or any other evening, for that matter.
So why the hell do I still want him?
“If I leave with you, you’ll have no reason to find me through your friends anymore. I mean, isn’t that your forte? A big jealous showdown, followed by an even bigger letdown?”
The edges of his lips twitch up into an almost apologetic grin. “You forgot what happens between that showdown and letdown, Ky,” he says.
“Nah. Just didn’t see a reason to mention that.” And that would be the angry, mind-fucking sex usually fueled by one of our more epic arguments. Shoving my palms up against his muscular chest, I push myself away and walk around him. He grabs my wrist, the one with the nearly invisible scars racing up it, and spins me back around. “I don’t want you here. In fact, I’d rather be the third wheel to Heidi and the guy she just met,” I say, but he shrugs my words off.
“You’ve got no f**king choice, beautiful.”
“Of course I do.” But when I try to shake free of him again, he pushes my hands over my head, pausing when his gaze locks on my ring finger.
“Jesus, get that thing covered already,” he snaps, his voice low but audible even over the sound of Cajun music pouring from the festival in the streets. “It’s been seven years.”
I skim the pad of my thumb over the tattoo of my ex’s last name. “If you hadn’t come, you wouldn’t have to look at it,” I respond calmly, despite the harsh, familiar flash of pain in my ribcage. I want to choke this man. I want to curl my fingers around his freaking neck or slap him.
But after the storm is over—because I’m a glutton for punishment—I want him to kiss me. I want those feelings from Wyatt McCrae that I’ve chased for years.
And that is the precise reason I’m here in the first place. I'm over chasing him. I’ve been over it since last year and have successfully stayed away from him.
Until now.
The tiny lines at the corners of his midnight blue eyes tighten, and he backs me up against the brick wall. The air leaves my lungs for all the wrong reasons. “Do you really think I need to be with you to remember you let some f**ker put his name on you?” He nudges my legs apart with his knee.
“Should’ve done it first.”
“I’m doing it now.”
“That would require a little more commitment than you telling me you’re wanting to take me back to your room and—”
But then Wyatt’s mouth comes down on mine, shutting off my last few words. He lets go of my hands, and I drop them to his shoulders. I dig into his flesh because I don’t want to let go. Because like so many times before, I’m so lost in him that it causes physical pain to every inch of my body.
I need to end this now.
I need to move on, just like I planned.
“Wyatt,” I start, but he rubs his thumb against the center of my lips and shakes his head.
“Just let go, Ky.” He replaces his fingers with his mouth, skimming the labret across my lips. The sensation of the metal makes me shiver, and I feel him his slow smile. He thinks he’s got me right where he wants me. “I couldn’t get you off my mind.”
It must come as a shock to him when I pull back and put my index finger over his lips. “Glad you finally started to think about me when I’m not in your bed.” I zero my attention in on a piece of lint on my green tee shirt, taking my time to pick it off so I can gather my thoughts. Finally, I look back up into his eyes. “But I’m still not f**king you tonight, babe.”
CHAPTER TWO
“You think that’s what I came here for?”
Cocking my head a fraction so that my hair falls sideways over my face, I shove my hands deep into my back pockets. “Isn’t sex what you always come to me for?”
He looks at me—really looks at me—and I can practically feel the heat from his disappointment seeping through my skin, burning a course through my body. That’s the thing about Wyatt, about love in general. It always finds a way to get under your skin and scorch the hell out of you.
I squeeze my eyes shut and glance away, but he touches my chin gently, redirecting my face. “If I only wanted someone to f**k, I would’ve just done it back in Nashville.” A grin that somehow straddles the line between cocky and sheepish spreads across his face. Because I know precisely what he’s going to say next, I flinch beforehand. “Instead, I declined.”
So, there’d been someone else.
I tell myself to forget that thought because it’s wrong.
In order for there to be somebody else, Wyatt and I would have to be something to begin with.
I match his sarcastic grin with my own, and I pray it’s just as infuriating. “Telling her you won’t spend a second night with her isn’t declining.” I laugh, and there’s a jagged edge to it. “I—”
What I’m on the verge of saying is cut off by another couple wandering drunkenly into the alley. They’re falling all over each other, laughing and groping. They don’t seem to notice that we’re here at all.