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“He didn’t. He was in school. Still is in law school, last I heard.” She crossed her arms. “He used to dream of being on the Supreme Court. It was part of our plan. First graduation. Then marriage. Then kids. Then the world. He had no doubt he’d be able to get there, too. He had connections.”
Wyatt rolled his eyes. “Yet another entitled asshole.”
“Pretty much,” she said.
“My brother is a lawyer.”
“I’m sorry,” she immediately said.
He laughed. “Nah, he’s not too bad. He lives in a small town and mostly works with business owners and old people.”
“Is that Eric? The one who moved for a girl?”
“Yes,” he said, impressed she remembered that. “What’s next?”
“Huh?”
He pointed at the couch that was diagonal and blocking the entrance to the kitchen. “Want me to move that, or do you like it there?”
“Oh, uh, yeah, sure.” She stepped aside and crinkled her nose. “Over there, under the window, please?”
Without replying, he moved her couch where she wanted it. He stopped at the table that had been behind the couch and cocked an eyebrow. “What about this?”
She pointed, and he picked it up, since it was light, setting it into place. When he turned back around to face her, her mouth was parted and her eyes slightly glossy as she focused on his arms. His response was immediate, and he took a step toward her without realizing it.
Letting out a small breath, she cleared her throat. “Uh, all that’s left is that loveseat.”
He glanced at the object in question, his pants a hell of a lot tighter than they’d been moments before because he was picturing exactly what he’d like to do to her on that loveseat.
Damn it.
He took another step closer to her, but then made himself stop. Nothing had changed. He still couldn’t give her a relationship, and still wasn’t willing to jeopardize his career over a woman. But she’d sworn to him she would never ask him for more than he was willing to give, and he knew exactly what she meant by that. If he took her up on her offer, she would give herself to him, and ask for nothing in return. She would be his.
“Where’s it going?” he asked, walking over to it, his voice thick.
She pointed. Her finger trembled sli
ghtly. “There.”
Bending over, he moved the loveseat easily. Her eyes were on him the whole time, and he’d swear she did more than look. He’d been with a lot of women, liked a lot of women, but he’d never been so attuned to a person that he could tell they were watching him. But with her, he could.
What did that mean?
“Thank you,” she said quietly.
“You’re welcome.” He rubbed his chin and surveyed his handiwork. The couch was slightly off center. He walked over to it, pushed it, and then nodded. “There. Perfect.”
“Yeah, it is,” she said immediately.
Something told him she wasn’t talking about the couch.
“Do you want something? Coffee? A beer? Water?” She jerkily shoved her hair behind her ears. “I mean, it’s the least I can do for your help.”
“Hmm.” He walked toward her slowly, watching her as he drew closer. She sucked in a deep breath and lifted a foot, but didn’t back up. “I’d love a beer.”
“Sure.” She headed into the kitchen, and he followed her. They passed a framed picture with her, her brother, and her parents in it. She was smiling, but it didn’t seem real. She opened the fridge, bent over, and pulled out a Budweiser. “Thank you, by the way.”
“You’re welcome,” he said from directly behind her.
