Wyatt cocks an eyebrow, a smirk creeping onto his full lips. “We’ve kissed before, Winnie.”
My cheeks flush at the memory, but I snap back, “That was over a year ago.” When he doesn’t respond right away, I add, “I’m just saying–we don’t want the first time we lay one on each other to be around a group of people. It won’t look very convincing.”
“Okay, then,” he finally says. “Let’s practice.”
“Okay.” I nod my head, then glance between us. Anything to avoid looking at his mouth. “Should I stand?”
“Come here, Whitney.” His voice is quiet, but firm. And I hate how quickly my body obeys.
When I meet him in the middle of the living room, I flare my hands out in awhat nowmotion. But he doesn’t speak, onlysteps closer to me. He leans in, blue eyes scanning my face for any hesitation. The scent of him, leather and mint, floods my nostrils. And when his eyes flick to my lips, I just tilt my chin up in response. My breath brushes against his. That’s all it takes before he’s on me.
His hand comes up, his fingers threading through my thick strands. A gasp escapes me as he gives my head a little tug, just enough to angle my head where he wants it. He takes advantage of the slight parting my mouth offers. His tongue slides against mine, sending a stroke of heat straight to my core. My hands slip up his chest, past his shoulders, and tug at the hair on the nape of his neck. An involuntary moan escapes my lips. He groans in response, and it shocks me enough that I pull away, gasping for breath. When he doesn’t immediately move away, but tightens his grip on the back of my head, I murmur, “Th-this is just practice.”
“Just practice,” he agrees, whispering the words against my lips. This time, I’m the one who slams my lips against his. I tug his head towards mine, nipping his bottom lip just once. And when our lips meet again, it’s hungrier. Our tongues fight for dominance, our hands roam across each other’s bodies like we’re savoring every touch and mesmerizing every curve and dip.
Somehow, we inch back, until we’re falling onto the soft couch cushion. Just as I crawl into his lap, just as his fingers roam underneath my shirt and towards my bra?—
The front door opens.
We rip away from each other, much like a couple of high school kids who just got caught making out in the locker room. “Oh!” A gasp ricochets in the air. And I pinch my eyes close at the familiar lithe.
“Oh.”She repeats, a little smugger, but just as shocked. She utters something about letting us “get back to it” before walking right back out the door with a sharpclick.
“Wait-” I shout, “Vivienne!”
But she’s already gone. Heat blazes in my face, and I sink deeper into the couch cushions, covering my face with my hands. Getting caught by anyone while doing that is mortifying, but mysister? Wyatt’s smart-ass mouth doesn’t help my inner turmoil when he says, “I think that was convincing, enough.”
I launch the pillow beneath my back at his head.
Maggie sniffsme for the tenth time as I comb through her mane. I roll my eyes at the horse, nudging her nose back slightly with my elbow. I think she smells Wyatt on me from ourpracticethis afternoon.
It was practice.I keep telling myself, trying to convince myself, that’s all it was. But God, it really didn’t feel like practice. The way Wyatt kissed me felt too real. Too much like need and a lot less like want.
I never wanted it to end. And if Vivienne hadn’t walked in, it probably never would have. She was waiting on the porch afterwards, having talked to her lawyer friend and filling me in on her details. I have a meeting with her soon. When Vivienne tried to interrogate me about Wyatt, I shut it down rather quickly. I know I should start selling it, especially to my sister, but I don’t have it in me to lie today.
“I’ll make sure to change my clothes after any more makeout sessions, deal?” I grumble. That seems to satisfy Maggie though, because she huffs a big breath of agreement. We’ve spent the past few hours doing desensitization work, and I’m ecstatic at the progress Maggie is making. We’re still working on loud noises, but her outbursts at them aren’t nearly as chaotic as before.
“Whitney.” Wyatt’s unusually soft tone slices through my thoughts, nearly making me jump. I look up to find him striding towards me, and… Sheriff Eaton. All the breath whooshes from my lungs at the sight of his familiar tan uniform. I exit Maggie’s stall, careful not to be too loud, even though my body feels like it’s on fire. Either from my anxiety at Sheriff Eaton’s presence, or Wyatt’s proximity. “Is this about the fire?” The question is quiet, and I’m surprised he could even hear me. Wyatt moves, coming to stand at my side.
The sheriff nods, face solemn. It makes my palms sweat and my chest squeeze. “You got a minute to chat?” he asks.
I nod, unable to voice any other words just yet.
“Okay. Well, at first, we thought it was a couple faulty wires that caused the fire. But there were some inconsistencies that kept us going back. On top of that, forensics took their sweet ass time-” I wave my hand, shutting him up. I don’t care if it’s rude, my nerves are wound too tight.
“I’m sorry, but please—pleasejust get to the point.” Wyatt lets out a puff of air like he wants to laugh, but his face is just as serious as mine. A solid force in the chaos of my life.
“Fair enough.” The sheriff shrugs. “I’ll try and explain this as plainly as I can.” He pulls in a deep breath, and when he lets it loose he says, “There was an outlet behind one of the bookcases downstairs. Someone must have moved the shelf, took off the faceplate, and then loosened some screws just enough to make the wiring unstable. Essentially, they took two wires, one hot, and one neutral, and wedged something that would light easily between them. Like paper, for instance. Small enough that you wouldn’t find it unless you were lookin’ for it.”
My brain blanks, and my sweaty palms become unbearable to the point where I have to rub them on the front of my jeans. But I manage to ask, “How did you guys know to check there? I mean… I don’t even remember that outlet.”
“Like I said, there were inconsistencies. We couldn’t find a candle or any kind of accelerant, so we dug deeper. We found fibers and screw marks on the outlet that shouldn’t have been there. When the current ran though those wires, it caused a spark. The spark hit the paper, lit it up, and eventually the fire caught the wall, too.”
This was somehow worse than I could have anticipated. I had a feeling, when it took this much time to hear anything, I had a feeling. But I never could have imagined it’d be something intentional. Who would do this?Whywould they do this?
“Any idea who could have done it?” Wyatt questions, seeing that I can’t bring myself to say anything. It makes me want to kiss him again. And not just for practice.
“Not yet.” Sheriff Eaton replies. “We’re still looking into it.” He casts a glance at me, “I’m sorry, Hun.”
