Total pages in book: 115
Estimated words: 112903 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 565(@200wpm)___ 452(@250wpm)___ 376(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 112903 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 565(@200wpm)___ 452(@250wpm)___ 376(@300wpm)
“As luck would have it,” I say with a scoff, “I don’t have any balls.”
“You did just ask me out.”
“And you turned me down!”
His eyes go wide as he swallows. “I said yes. Twice. Three times. More than that.”
“But that was before you knew what I was asking for.”
Wyatt lets out a breath through his nose, those blue eyes raking over my face. “Do I love the idea of fake dating you, or whatever you’re calling it? No. But I get where you’re coming from, and I want you to get what you need so you can feel better. And once you feel better, I know you’ll absolutely crush it at your new job.”
I blink, heart skipping a beat.
Could this actually happen?
What if it worked?
“You really don’t have to.”
“I know. But I will. For you.”
The sincerity in his words—in his eyes—has me feeling short of breath.
Wyatt pretends to be happy-go-lucky all the time. And while I do think he genuinely likes to have fun and make people laugh, I know Wyatt swims in deeper waters than he lets on. He’s been through some shit. I saw firsthand how losing his parents at eighteen affected him.
Deep down, he’s still the hurt kid who sobbed in my arms not far from this very spot.
Deep down, he cares. A lot. But he rarely shows that side of himself.
He’s showing it to me now, and it’s all I can do not to reach across the ATV and kiss the shit out of him.
“So it’s a fake date.” I tuck my hair behind my ear.
Wyatt looks out the windshield. The breeze blows a stray lock of dark blond hair off his creased forehead. “It’s a fake date.”
“The potluck starts at seven, I think. I can pick you up at six—”
“Nah, Sunshine. That ain’t how this is gonna work.” The playful, cocky gleam in his eye is back. “You date me, you don’t drive. You definitely don’t make the plans. I’ll buy some tickets. Then I’ll come grab you, and we’ll have some of that fun you been missin’. Sounds like we have a lot of lost time to make up for.”
If only he meant that literally.
I’m just buzzed enough to smile and say, “I like the sound of that.”
“I’mma show you how fun is done. How it should be done.” He reaches over to put the cap back on the thermos and flashes me a handsome smile. “Hell, you’d better hope I don’t ruin you for everybody else, Sal, because I’m real good at this shit.”
That’s exactly what I’m worried about.
CHAPTER 7
Wyatt
AIN’T NO HOLD’EM
Glancing up from my cards, I peer through the haze of cigar smoke at Colt Wallace.
He’s sitting across from me at the large, round table in The Rattler’s basement. There’s a Macanudo clamped between his teeth. A glass of Blanton’s single-barrel bourbon, neat, sits at his elbow. His Texas Rangers cap is pulled so low that I have to strain to see his eyes.
He looks like any other cowboy at this table. Could be his brother Beck’s twin for how alike their features are.
What is it about the Wallaces that caught Sally’s eye? Cowboys have never been her type.
Then again, she hasn’t been around Hartsville all that much. Maybe she’s just never had the chance to throw down here in town.
I blink when Sawyer clears his throat beside me. His eyes flick to my cards, which I’ve let wilt in my grip to the point that I’m about to reveal my hand to all eight players in the weekly poker game I’ve hosted for—wow—five years now here in the basement.
That conversation I had with Sally earlier has totally knocked me off my game. The ugly part of me is jealous she’s set her sights on someone—anyone—else. I also feel a little angry. Hurt, too, that she wouldn’t consider me for a real date. Her insinuation that I’m the king of casual, meaningless sex was more than a little insulting.
But the rational part of me knows I’ve never led anyone to believe any different. It’s not Sally’s fault that she doesn’t know the one-night stands and dance-floor make-outs have left me feeling hollower and more alone than ever. Really, who the hell was I to tell her no one deserves to be alone? ’Cause I’m sure as hell lonely, but I ain’t doing jack shit to fix that. Maybe deep down, I also believe I deserve the loneliness I feel.
Ultimately, it’s not Sally’s fault I’m hurt. That’s on me, because I’ve been too chickenshit to tell her the truth.
Truth is, I’d let her use me until I got nothing left.
Also hurt, hearing how messed up she feels around men. Makes me wonder who the fuck made her second-guess herself that way. How could she not know how perfect she is? How witty and smart and sexy? She deserves to have a good time as much as anyone else.