I hop down from my perch on the railing and pull out my phone. Dalton answers my text immediately to let me know he’s on his way to come get me. I slide my phone into my right back pocket and rock onto my toes. Worried I might reach out to touch Wyatt again and never let go, I bury my hands into my pockets and shake the hair from my shoulders.
The brief silence between us is broken by a request from Wyatt. “You could play a few more songs while we wait for Dalton.”
“Oh, you don’t have to wait up with me,” I say, already letting my hand free to wave him away and motion to the house. “Besides, I think they’ve all gone to bed.”
“You wouldn’t bother them, trust me.”
I mull it over. It would probably be better to let my fingers loose on some guitar strings rather than on him. “Only if you’re sure?”
“I’m positive,” he dictates without hesitation.
Grabbing the guitar from the living room, we creep through the darkened house to the front porch. The night is humming with the taste of Texan fall; there’s a gentle breeze coming from the west. It’s certainly an easy place for the creative juices to flow.
The two of us sit awkwardly on the porch swing, the neck of the guitar spans the space between us. My fingers stretch over the strings, unsure, and my mind races a million miles a minute. He’s invited me to play, but what on earth does that mean?
Catching him looking at me, I blush and tuck an escaped lock of hair back behind my ear. “I don’t know what to play. Is there something specific you want to hear?” I ask, somewhat exasperated.
He leans back as if he is completely unbothered. “I want you to play something you’ve never played for anyone else.” Butterflies take flight in my stomach when I start to draft up ideas of what I could play. The only thing that comes to mind are lyrics to recently started songs – lyrics about him, about us. “It doesn’t have to be finished. It could just be a lyric or a melody. I just want something of you that no one else has.”
I test the waters and let him in on a tease. “I have been writing quite a bit lately.”
“Oh yeah?” He smirks over at me.
“I’ve had some good inspiration,” I joke as I start to strum.
The performance is disjointed, words are slurred as I try to remember lyrics, and the tempo is uneven. Worst of all is the fact that Wyatt is watching me just as intently as always, as if he can see every nuance behind every lyric that spills from me.
When my fingers finally still on the unfinished song I’d started this morning in the green room, I feel the air shift between us. To say that it’s a raw take on our relationship and the pressures that come with it is an understatement.
“You wrote that about me?” Wyatt asks.
“It’s just one verse,” I say, setting the guitar aside and trying my damnedest not to look at him. “I won’t ever finish it if you don’t want me to.”
“I want you to.” I’m beginning to think that all this man ever says is sentence after sentence of blunt honesty. Wyatt clears his throat and continues, “I don’t know how you do it, but what you just said… sung … it felt relatable. I wish I could be more well-spoken about how I feel about you.”
“You feel the same way that I do?” I ask, trying to keep my excitement at bay.
“Yeah,” he chokes out. “I think this is worth a serious shot. We might both be insanely busy and under a lot of pressure, but nights like this just might make all that loneliness on the crazy days worth it.”
I let out an anxiety-riddled breath and dive straight into his chest. “Thank God.”
Wyatt pats me on the back twice before gently lifting my chin toward him. “You seriously couldn’t be questioning what I feel about you,” he says with a surly laugh. “Surely the pining I’ve been doing, along with the stolen looks that I know you’ve noticed, gave it away a long time ago.”
He’s right; I’ve felt it since we first met – a spark I’ve never shared with anyone. “You don’t know until you know…” My voice trails off as we shift again. Thigh to thigh, I lay the guitarto the side and gaze up into his viridescent eyes, gleaming with hope. I hate myself for it, but I’m searching for any sign that he might be lying. I can’t fault myself for it; it’s all I’ve ever known.
There’s not enough time to do a thorough investigation because before I can compartmentalize anything, his lips are on mine and his hands are pulling me up closer to him. Throwing caution to the wind, I climb up onto his lap and straddle his thighs. His hands search up my back and finally come to a rest, curling into my hair.
Only pulling away for a much-needed breath, the lights of Dalton’s SUV wash over us. I can’t help but smirk as I bury my face into Wyatt’s shoulder. I’m not even embarrassed; I’m almost proud of myself. Being happy in public is nothing to be ashamed of, even if that happiness is making out with Wyatt Lucas and the public is my head of security.
When Dalton rolls to a stop, I reluctantly pry myself off of Wyatt’s lap. The last thing I want on earth right now is to walk away from the warmth of his arms, but he has a game tomorrow, and I’ve already overstayed my welcome.
Leaving a kiss on his cheek, I attempt to flee down the front stairs, but Wyatt catches me. In his free hand, he holds his mother’s guitar. He holds it out to me. “Would you take this? It will just collect more dust if it stays here.”
My fingers curl around his as I take the six-string from him. “I will, absolutely.”
With a flip of my hair, I’m headed to the car with the guitar huddled close to me. When I reach the vehicle, I let my hand rest on the door handle. Turning to face Wyatt, I find his features blazing with the brightness of the headlights. “Goodnight, Wyatt,” I murmur, turning back to my getaway car.
I place the guitar softly on the seat next to me as Dalton asks, “What were you two up to?”
