Shrugging away from Wyatt, I start in the direction of the club. He’s right on my heels. “At least they’re having a good time,” I say under my breath. Of course, he hears me and snorts.
“We’ll have better, once we’re together again.” He pauses, giving me time to counter or look up at him. When I do neither, he walks backwards, speeding up so that he can face me. “But we won’t be like them. I’m going to f**k you everywhere, Kylie, but not where anyone else’ll see it.”
I’m at a loss for words, completely flustered, so I maneuver around him, keeping my gaze directed at the blur of people on the sidewalks. Our bodies brush, and he turns around to walk straight. His fingertips find one of my belt loops, tugging me just a touch closer to him, but I still don’t budge and meet his stare. Wyatt’s eyes . . . they’re the reason we’ve been on this merry-go-round so many times. They carry all of his emotions— the beautiful and hideous and heartbreaking.
The entrance to the warehouse nightclub comes into view. “I’m exhausted.” Plus there’s a long line zigzagging around the club. There’s no way we’re getting back inside. I wrench my iPhone out of the pocket of my jeans to send Heidi a message and let her know what’s going on, but she’s already beat me to it. I have two missed FaceTime calls and a text from just five minutes ago.
1:48 AM: Saw you leave with HIM, so I came back to the room. Don’t tell me Lucas ratted you out. You coming back after you’re done? Finn might be stopping by later, so text me if you do . . .
As I read, Wyatt stifles a noise that sounds suspiciously like laughter, and I c**k my eyebrow. He’s rocking back on his heels and working his thumbs together in front of him like a diabolical ass**le.
“What?”
He shrugs his broad shoulders. “I know that look from anywhere. Somebody’s said something that pisses you off. And I bet you the panties you’ve got on it’s about me.”
Pressing my lips together, I run the tip of my tongue along the roof of my mouth. Even my best friend assumes that when Wyatt McCrae shows up, the probability of me falling into bed with him as soon as he snaps his musical-note-tattooed-fingers is pretty damn high. “No, but I am sleepy as hell. So we’re going to have to do this another time, and I’m going to respectfully keep my panties in place tonight.”
“You sure know how to kick me in the balls, Ky, but I call bullshit.” Ignoring my sharp intake of air, Wyatt runs his hand down my forearm, not stopping until our palms touch. He connects his fingers with mine. “I’ll get us a taxi. We need to talk—and we’re going to do it in my hotel room.”
“I can get my own cab.” But his grip on my hand tenses. I release a sigh. I can stand here all night and argue with him, but it’s just going to make the situation worse. Wyatt wants to talk? Fine. I can handle conversation. “No trying to talk me into bed when we get to your room. And afterward, you’ll let me enjoy the rest of my vacation?” There’s only one more night left after this one, but dammit, I want to spend it in peace.
He nods, almost convincingly, so I climb into the taxi he flags down a moment later. I slide to the far left side of the car, and he comes in right after me, gazing across the seat at me intensely all the while. Judging by the way he’s looking at me, you’d think I was sitting on the other side of a bed naked, jutting my B-cups out and begging him for round two, instead of scowling in a cold, dark cab.
“Stop picturing me without my clothes on.”
Smirking, Wyatt lowers his mouth until it touches my cheek, and my shoulders lift up involuntarily. “Not naked, Ky, but fully clothed,” he drawls softly enough so that only I can hear. “I’m thinking about how creative we’d have to be to f**k right here.”
“What happened to the whole ‘not where anyone else will see’ spiel?”
“Emphasis on the word creative, beautiful.”
I’m damn lucky that the cab driver chooses this moment to clear his throat a few times, letting us know that he’s waiting for a destination. The moment between us ruined, Wyatt and I break apart and glance up to meet the man’s gaze in the rearview mirror. “The Veranda,” we say in unison.
I lift my chin. He grins, and damn it, my stomach and chest constrict. “You Foursquare stalked me down to the hotel?” I ask, my voice subdued but hard.
He shrugs a little too indifferently for my liking. “Better me than somebody else. I have good intentions.”
No, he has sweaty intentions.
“It was someone else. It was Cal,” I point out, rolling my eyes. I catch the cab driver glancing up at us through the front mirror again, so I lower my volume. “What time do you have to be back tomorrow to record?” The sooner Wyatt has to leave the better for the short remainder of my vacation and for my heart.
“There’s not going to be any recording for a while.”
“Y’all are finished already?” I can’t keep the surprise out of my voice. The band had just started to record. It’s been a long time since Your Toxic Sequel made a new album without a lot of B.S. and time.
“You’re sexy as f**k when you say y’all. You know that, right?” He bites his lower lip and shakes his head to each side. Before I have a chance to smart off at him, he continues, “But no, we’re not. Look, Lucas didn’t want to mess up your trip, but Sinjin . . .”
The moment he says the drummer’s name, I know nothing good will follow. “Oh, shit,” I murmur.