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“I want you to like me.”
That was the last thing she’d expected to hear come out of his mouth. She licked her lips nervously. “Why does it matter so much to you what I think?”
He pulled into her driveway and put the truck into Park. For a few seconds, Wyatt sat with his hands on the steering wheel, and when he looked her way, his dark eyes were unreadable—gone was the lightness in his voice.
“I’m not exactly sure.” His brutal honesty made her mouth go dry. He shrugged. “Could be my ego, but I think it’s more than that. I want us to be friends.”
“Friends.” She was missing something. She could feel it.
“Yeah. Friends.” He smiled then, a dazzling, curl-your-toes-and-punch-you-in-the-stomach kind of smile. “The kind of friends who invite each other inside on cold, blustery, winter days. You know, for a coffee.”
Again with the smile, but she wasn’t falling for it. “It’s not that cold out.”
“But it is blustery.” He paused. “What are you afraid of?”
“Auntie Regan, I really have to go.” Jordan was squirming in his seat.
Regan would have been an idiot not to acknowledge the fact that Wyatt Blackwell confused the hell out of her. On one hand, he seemed genuine. On the other? She didn’t trust him. She still saw the arrogant, self-involved, man-boy who walked on clouds, while she trudged along in the trenches. And yet…
She was wavering.
Don’t do it.
He winked. And smiled. And holy hell…she was wavering.
“I only have decaf,” she said abruptly, getting out of the truck.
She didn’t wait for Wyatt. She grabbed the twins and headed for the front door, totally aware of the man behind her. He hadn’t lost one bit of his charisma. Not. One. Bit. In fact, his masculinity seemed more potent than ever, and his charm? He had it in spades.
She shoved her key into the door, muttering and calling herself every name she could think of. But she wasn’t eighteen anymore. She was a grown-ass woman. She could do this. Coffee with Wyatt. It wasn’t as if she’d invited him over for sex.
Shit. Sex? Where the hell had that thought come from?
What am I doing?
She was crazy. Had to be. She’d taken leave of her senses and crossed to the dark side. She would regret inviting Wyatt Blackwell into her home. She knew this. The man was a player and didn’t commit to anything but racing. He scored just as many wins off the track as he did on it.
No way would her name end up on his scorecard.
She took a deep breath and opened the door, moving aside as Jordan rushed past her. Sh
e would give him a coffee and kick him out. They weren’t friends. Hell, she didn’t even like him.
She just had to make sure to remember that.
Chapter 5
Not much surprised Wyatt Blackwell. The NASCAR scene alone was enough to open his eyes to a world not many of his friends knew. As one of its rising stars, he’d seen and done just about anything and everything. He’d learned early on to observe and to know each and every person’s number that he crossed. Ninety percent of the folks he came into contact with wanted something from him. A win. An autograph. A night between the sheets, or a smile to sell their product.
His life was about being a winner and keeping his ass in the winner’s circle. It was no secret that once you stopped crossing that finish line first, all the other stuff faded away. It was an illusion, really—none of it was real. None of it would last.
The world he lived in could destroy a weaker man. But Wyatt supposed his ability to disconnect helped his sanity. That, and the fact that up until a few weeks ago, his ass had been in the winner’s circle.
Of course, there were those who would argue that point. Some would say he was an arrogant, narcissistic bastard who only cared about himself and winning. He didn’t pay attention to any of that. He had his own reasons for doing what he did. His own demons to outrun. As far as Wyatt Blackwell was concerned, most people could think what they damn well wanted to. If someone didn’t like him, so what.
Except…
Except for Regan Thorne. She was the kicker. The surprise in his otherwise orderly world.
