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Carly and Regan had cocktails in hand and were making their way through the throng of people at the bar. They were headed in his direction, and Regan’s smile froze as her gaze slammed into his. The transformation wasn’t subtle in the least, and the woman made no effort to hide her dislike. A lesser man’s balls might have shriveled up right then and there. Luckily, Wyatt didn’t have to worry about that. His balls were just fine. He had this.
Regan’s eyes narrowed.
Wyatt’s smile widened.
“Wyatt Blackwell.” Carly took a sip from her cocktail, tone nonchalant, though Wyatt didn’t miss the look she shot at her girlfriend. “I didn’t know you were back in town.”
“Good to see you, Carly.” He turned slightly. “Regan.”
She nodded but didn’t reply, though he noticed the pulse at the base of her throat. It was beating a mile a minute.
“Are you here for alumni weekend?” Carly waved at someone behind him.
“Just a coincidence. I, ah, took a few weeks off from the track.”
Her expression changed. “Oh, I’m sorry, Wyatt. That accident was awful.” She looked him up and down. “I hope you don’t take this the wrong way, but you look really good.”
Regan snorted. It was subtle, and he was pretty sure no one else caught it, but he did and frowned. He needed to get to the bottom of whatever the hell was up her butt, because the ice queen thing, though challenging, wasn’t exactly the path he wanted to take.
“Regan, can I…”
“Can you what, Wyatt?” There it was. That whiskey-soaked voice he remembered.
“Well, we got off on the wrong foot in November, and it’s kind of bugged me. I’d like to make it up to you.”
“November?” Carly looked from Wyatt to Regan, one of her expertly shaped eyebrows arched imperiously high. “What the hell happened in November?”
“Nothing.” Regan’s tone was dismissive, but her eyes told an entirely different story. There was something there. And that intrigued him. “Wyatt came into the ER, and I discharged him. That’s all.”
Now, as a man who’d lived three decades, he’d had time to perfect his wit and charm. Born with an abundance of both, he’d honed these particular skills without much effort, and they were two weapons in his arsenal that he utilized when needed. Right now, the need was strong. He wasn’t exactly sure of the why of it, but Regan Thorne had no use for him, and she sure as hell didn’t like him. He got that their history wasn’t exactly puppies and rainbows, but still, the fact he’d ditched her on prom night shouldn’t account for her obvious dislike. There had to be another reason.
And dammit, he was going to find out what it was if it killed him.
“Why don’t you ladies let me buy you another round?”
“And why would we do that?” Regan was pretty much shooting bullets at him. And maybe he should have ducked, but that wasn’t exactly Wyatt’s style.
“As a thank-you for taking care of me.”
“I get paid to help people, Wyatt. I don’t need your thanks. Anyway, I didn’t lay a hand on you. Doctor McEachern did. All I did was send you on your way.”
What was it about her voice? Shit. He could spend the entire night watching those pillow-soft lips wrap around whatever the hell she wanted to say.
A hand on his shoulder made him start, and he turned as Daisy Miller sidled up alongside him. “I’m going to pretend that you haven’t been home for days and didn’t at least send me a text message.”
“Daisy.” Hell. Thanksgiving. Accident. Hot tub. She’d taken him home from the ER and, well, things had gotten out of hand.
“You still have my number, right?” She slid her arm through his.
“If you’re still in the mood to thank someone, buy Daisy a drink. She is the one who brought you in and, from the way I understand it, made sure you were good to go after your release.”
Regan grabbed Carly’s arm and pushed her friend past Wyatt without another word, leaving him staring at the back of her head, and yes (he was a man after all), at the soft curve of her butt.
“That was some arctic blast.”
“Yes.” His eyes followed Regan until she disappeared from view.
“She really doesn’t like you.”
