Waiting for Wyatt (Red Dirt #1) (33 page)

“Do you miss things?” I whispered into the soft folds of his sweatshirt.

“Things?”

“I don’t know. Like doing stuff and going places. Things.”

Wyatt rested his chin on top of my head. “I try not to think about that kind of stuff. I guess it defeats the point. Don’t you think?”

Given the opportunity, I gave him another small nudge. “No. I think it’s okay to miss things. Or wish you could do things.”

“I miss you when you’re not here.”

Wyatt knew just how to get me right in the heart. I was tempted to give in to his sweet answer, but I tried to push one last time. I lifted up my head and looked Wyatt in the eye. “I miss you too. But that’s not what I mean. Wanting to do something and actually doing it are two different things. You focus so much on trying to deprive yourself of things on purpose. It’s okay to talk about what you want or what you miss. It doesn’t mean you are going to run over the fence line and break the rules. But I think talking about this stuff helps calm some of those thoughts that twist around in your head.”

My tiny, delicate nudge had transcended into a full-on shove. When he didn’t answer, I chose not to push him any further. I didn’t want it to come across as an attack.

Wyatt got that look again, where he seemed to drift away into another dimension. I didn’t interrupt like I’d done in the past. Instead, I studied his eyes as they hung open wide, staring off into the distance.

Maybe this was too much for him to discuss with me today, but I knew my hypothetical question had sparked somewhere in his twisty thoughts. Wyatt needed to come to terms with his
actual
punishment and the difference in levels of restrictions he’d chosen to impose on himself. But I knew none of those issues would be resolved in an afternoon or even a week.

I leaned over, taking the ball from Gus, tossing it out into the grass. I cuddled up against Wyatt’s warm sweatshirt again. His chest moved in ragged breaths under my cheek. I held on to his body as the conflicts wrestled to some form of a conclusion inside his head.

“I miss riding my bike.” His voice came out soft.

The revelation startled my thoughts and warmed my heart as I imagined him on Priscilla. I’d told Wyatt about Mr. Hughes a few weeks ago. He didn’t say much at the time. I think it had bothered him to be gifted with something so significant from another person. The bike had meant a lot when it had come from his grandfather. Now it had an ironic sentimental tie from someone in my own life. Maybe he didn’t feel worthy. Or maybe he just hated talking about the outside world.

“I miss going to the movies,” he continued. “The giant screen. And the noise. I have always liked the way loud movies make your seat shake like you are literally standing in the middle of whatever you are seeing on the screen. I liked that part the best. Even more than the popcorn. But I miss that too. I swear I can smell it right now.”

I held onto his body, listening to his words and smelling the scent of butter. His voice always had the ability to bring the imaginary to life. When he read his stories—and even now when he told me his secrets.

“And playing football,” he spoke again with a soft, nostalgic ache. “I always loved the simple act of playing the game. Way before the whole crowd thing. But I liked all that shit too. I loved playing in the stadium. The way it sounded, hearing everyone stomping in the bleachers, chanting all that “go team” shit—chanting my name. You get this high unlike anything you can imagine. Thousands of people who love you. And they know nothing about you. But they love you anyway.”

He paused, resting his chin on my head again. “And they can just as easily hate you. Thousands of people who know nothing about you. I deserved the love or at least I thought I did when I was scoring points. And I deserved the hate too when I screwed it all up.”

I had come to realize the pain in Wyatt had many layers. He blamed himself for the accident, yet it also hurt to have others blame him too. And I think he felt some twisted guilt about those thoughts. He felt guilty for being hurt by their hate.

“And I miss seeing the texts from Trevor.” My heart immediately clenched, hearing the raspy catch in his throat. “He always sent the craziest shit after he heard my score on the college games. He was always rooting for me. All the way back here even though Trevor never saw one of my games.”

His voice faded out, haunting the quiet air. And I couldn’t bear to look at him. I didn’t know what to say to the answers he’d given to my question. Wyatt had made progress, at least to me it was progress. Gus pushed the ball to me again, and I took it from the little Jack Russell without throwing it.

“I want to go sky-diving,” he muttered.

I sat straight up and stared at him. “Sky-diving?”

“Yeah, Trevor, Marcus, and I tried to go once. But we got drunk in the parking lot, and they wouldn’t let us go up. Trevor had always talked about going back, but we never did.”

“So you’ve never jumped?”

“No,” he muttered. “You said
want
. That’s what I want to do. I want to feel that kind of freedom, falling through the clouds, seeing the world float below me. I bet it’s an unbelievable high. Maybe even better than a whole stadium of people shouting your name.”

He paused, letting the thoughts cloud his green eyes. “What do you think about that, Emma?”

I clutched the yellow ball in my fingers, feeling Gus paw at my hand. “What do I think about you sky-diving?”

“No, um, what do you think about going?”

“Like, with you?” I stared at him, feeling my heart beat faster in my chest.

“Yeah.”

“Are you asking me?” And my breath caught. Because it was the first time Wyatt had acknowledged anything about our future. He seemed to accept me in the
now
, but we had never talked about what happens
after
.

“Yes.” For a moment, the ghosts of the past seemed to disappear. His lips rolled into a faint grin, letting me see his dimples. “Emma Sawyer. Would you jump out of a plane with me?”

I weighted the sincerity of his question and decided to push him just a step further. “On one condition. You put your request in writing.”

“Seriously? You’d jump with me? You’re not scared?”

“Seriously? You’re going to put it in writing? A commitment to me for something on the other side of this?” Our eyes locked for a moment, and I knew the struggle was still very much alive in his head even with the dimples shining from his cheeks.

“Yes,” he finally answered.

“Okay then. I’ll be right back.” I jumped up before he could change his mind. Going inside the trailer, I came back with my notebook. I wrote the following and handed it over for Wyatt to sign.

I, Wyatt Carter, commit to jumping out of an airplane with Emma Sawyer.

Wyatt scribbled his name below the words. I saw his handwriting for the first time, and it wasn’t surprising. The letters were all squished together like he gripped the pen with the intensity of a grizzly bear.

I signed below his name and looked up, catching his gaze. “Well, I guess I will see you on the other side then, Wyatt.”

“Yeah, I guess it’s a date.”

He seemed a little torn at the realization. Pulling me into a tight bear hug, his fingers pressed into my skin. I struggled to breathe as his emotions transferred into the tight embrace. Wyatt and I stayed like that until my coffee got cold and Gus gave up on the ball.

“I need to go to my study group,” I whispered.

“Okay.” He reluctantly released me. “Go get your stuff together. I’m going to stay here.”

Going back into the trailer, I shoved all my papers into my backpack and paused before leaving. I hated this part. When I walked out the door, I would see his face. He always tried to hide his thoughts, but it was impossible for me not to see them written so clearly on his cheeks. Wyatt did this every time I got in my car, every time I drove away back into the world, leaving him standing alone in his dirt driveway.

Taking a deep breath, I gathered a big smile and turned the knob. “So you gonna walk me to my door or what?”

Getting up from the steps, he gave me that heartbreaking grin, taking my backpack from my hand. “What do you got in here? Rocks?”

“No. I shoved several of those cow skulls inside from the gate entrance. I’m taking them back to scare Blaire. You know, like the horse head in
The Godfather
movie.”

Wyatt carried my backpack as I followed him out to the car. His eyes studied me like he wasn’t sure if I was kidding. “I um . . . okay?”

“Go ahead. You know you want to look.”

“I’m just going to pretend you didn’t put one in here.” He chuckled, putting the bag in the passenger’s seat. “You know. I have never seen
The Godfather
.”

“Really? I thought that would be one of your favorites. You seem like a Mario Puzo fan.”

“So you’ve watched it?”

“Well, not exactly.”

“I didn’t think so, you little liar.” He smirked. “Well, I may not have seen the movie either. But I read the book.”

“Ha. I knew you were a fan.” I leaned up on my tiptoes, laughing right into his face. He leaned forward, capturing my lips with his mouth. And then his hands pulled my body to him.

Everything between us did a one-eighty from sweet and joking to a needy burn. His lips moved slowly, drawing out each pass so they took twice as long. Every tiny movement amplified as Wyatt took his time, touching my mouth, stroking back and forth with his tongue.

I leaned into him, wrapping my arms around his neck, digging my fingers into his shoulders as I tried not to fall over from the cloudy thoughts in my head. I turned my cheek to the side, gasping for air. I knew he did it on purpose. The more I was wrapped up and consumed with the taste of his mouth, the slower it took for me to get in my car—to the point I almost forgot about even leaving.

Wyatt rubbed his hands over my waist, pulling me tighter against his chest. I took a step back and gave him a sly grin. “Hold on.”

His fingers clenched into my skin before releasing my body. Reaching behind me, I opened the door to the backseat of the car. I sat on the edge of the soft cushion with my feet dangling outside. I tugged his hand.

His eyes held my gaze as a thousand thoughts circled around inside his head. “Come on. Don’t overthink it. Just get in here with me. I don’t bite.”

Letting go of his hand, I scooted inside the car, lying down on my back. Wyatt hesitated in the doorframe before climbing inside. Our bodies shifted around in the tight space of the backseat. My elbow hit the seatbelt buckle, causing me to squeal. And I couldn’t help myself from giggling as Wyatt’s head whacked the side of the other door before we got situated, but that didn’t stop our lips from finding each other again.

They moved softly over my cheek, nibbling on my ear as he whispered, “You may not bite, but I do.”

His teeth teased at my earlobe, making me smile. My fingers traced over the side of his jaw as Wyatt kissed me full on the mouth, sucking on my lower lip. It was easy to get lost in these feelings. These moments of abandonment, the overwhelming physical pull that came alive as our bodies squirmed to get closer.

Wyatt slid his hand up the side of my black yoga pants, pulling my leg over his thigh. “I like these.”

“Because it lets you grab my butt easier.”

“I don’t do that,” he whispered with a hazy grin.

“You do too. And when I first started coming out here, you used to watch me walk to the car, staring right at it. Even when you acted like a jerk, you still liked to look at my butt.”

“I’m not an ass man. I was afraid you would fall down on the driveway.”

“And I look at your lips because I’m afraid they are going to fall off your face. And I kiss them like this.” I pressed my mouth to his. “To make sure they stay on tight.”

His lips latched onto mine as his fingers moved over the soft fabric of the pants until he grabbed my round butt cheek, squeezing lightly. Wyatt pulled me tighter against his hips as my leg curved around his thigh, keeping me in place.

In the nights I’d slept beside Wyatt, he’d held me, but he didn’t touch me. Not like this. Those moments were different because he needed someone to chase the ghosts away. But in the backseat of my car, I closed my eyes and let him touch me, feel me, want me with the burning desire of a person craving another person.

And I liked it. I liked it so very much that I forgot about the kennel and my study group. I forgot everything except the touch of his lips and his hands as they rubbed against my body.

Wyatt traced his nose down the side of my cheek, leaving faint kisses on my neck. His hands ran under my shirt. They trailed over my breasts and stomach. Every brush of his fingers caused warm sparks to shoot under my skin. I wrapped my legs around his hips as he rocked slowly, back and forth against my body. Each time he made contact, I let out a faint little gasp. I had on every stitch of clothing, yet I was about to lose my entire sense of time and place.

His breath floated over my skin as his mouth found mine again. Wyatt slipped his tongue inside my lips. And he was touching me. Each place registering separately until my senses exploded and I felt him everywhere. A faint gasp escaped my lips. And I couldn’t get enough. I wiggled as close as I could to his body as he rubbed against me.

Wyatt pulled back a little, staring me in the eye. I didn’t want him to stop touching me. I needed him to keep touching me. He held my gaze, and then his hand slipped slowly over my stomach and down between us. My eyes closed as his fingers moved against the yoga pants, touching me, over and over again, and then I lost it altogether. As my body drifted away, a smile formed on my lips. I relaxed, savoring the moment. And then I got embarrassed. And then I was falling.

My eyes shot open, and I grabbed at his body, but my hip whacked the back of the front console and I landed on my back in the floorboard. Wyatt looked down at me and started laughing. I tried to rise up, but I was stuck. The more I tried to move, the louder he laughed until I was giggling with him.

“Stop laughing. You have to get me out of here. I’m stuck.”