The Singles (37 page)

Grasping at his chest dramatically, he stumbles backward in the alley and winces, causing me to glare at him. “You’re scary when you’re pissed, Wolfe.” As I open my mouth to correct my last name—since I never changed it back to Wolfe following my divorce seven years ago—he presses his lips flat. “Don’t even fucking think about it.”

“Or you’ll what? Spank me?”

Running his gaze suggestively up the length of my body, he says softly, deliberately, “That’s coming anyway, Ky. You know how I feel about your ass.”

Choosing to ignore that particular comment, I pull my hands out of my pockets, grab the cigarette tucked behind my ear, and slide it between my lips. Wyatt quickly produces a lighter from his pocket and holds it a few inches from my mouth. As I lean forward, I stare up at him from beneath my lashes.

“How’d you find me?” I ask. Taking a long inhale, I straighten my back and support my weight against the brick wall. “Well?” If he says Lucas told him, I’m going to deck my brother in his famous mouth. He hasn’t taken it upon himself to butt in for a long time, but nothing Lucas does surprises me.

“Disable the Foursquare, or I’ll do it for you,” Wyatt warns in that possessive voice that had me tripping all over myself just a few years back. “Anyone can find you with that shit.”

“Funny, thought I took you off my friends list.”

“Didn’t take Cal off it,” he says, referring to one of his and my brother’s band mates.

“Nice.” That single word sounds like poison rolling off my tongue. I take another drag of my cigarette, drop it to the black asphalt, and crush it beneath the heel of my boot. “Guess I see where Cal’s loyalty lies. So, why’d you come?”

“Didn’t want to think about anyone else’s hands digging into that hair.” He reaches out to me, sifting a few short strands through his fingertips. When I release a frustrated groan, he comes closer to me. “Couldn’t stand the thought of you getting drunk and wrapping those legs around someone else.” Everything about that—the words, the way his voice deepens when he says it—makes the pit of my stomach tighten, but I ignore it along with the sudden weakness in my legs.

“Why does it matter to you what I do in my downtime?” I question, my voice on the verge of breaking, of giving myself away. Lord knows I don’t need him pointing out how obvious he’s effect on me is. “We’re not exclusive, babe.”

“Maybe not, but it still won’t stop me from wanting to keep you all to myself.”

As if to prove his point, he squeezes my thigh, flicking the tip of his thumb back and forth across the V between my legs. My snug black jeans absolutely suck as a barrier. As heat speeds through my body, I bite my bottom lip and try to continue breathing like a normal person.

“Damn you,” I finally say through my teeth.

He groans. “Don’t be like that, Ky.”

“Like what? Irritated that you have so little faith in me.” This isn’t the first time he’s doubted me. I clear my throat to get rid of the dryness in the back of my mouth. “And now that you know my legs are safely locked at the knees?”

“I’m not leaving until you talk to me.”

I narrow my chocolate brown eyes into thin slits. He swallows, making the tattoo across his throat appear as if it’s moving. I don’t need sunlight to know what it says. I was with him when he got it.  

All Does Not End Well.

What’s especially sad is that’s exactly how things will go down if I go anywhere with Wyatt tonight, or any other evening, for that matter.

So, why the hell do I still want him?

“If I leave with you, you’ll have no reason to find me through your friends anymore. I mean, isn’t that your forte? A big jealous showdown followed by an even bigger letdown?”

The edges of his lips twitch up into an almost apologetic grin. “You forgot what happens between that showdown and letdown, Ky,” he says. “And you can’t for a second tell me that lets you down?”

Ugh ... he would be that arrogant.

I dig my nails into my palms, so I won’t slap him. “Nah, I just didn’t see a reason to mention
that
.” And
that
would be the angry mind-fucking sex usually fueled by one of our more epic arguments.

Shoving my palms up against his muscular chest, I push myself away and walk around him. He grabs my wrist, the one with the nearly invisible scars racing across it, and spins me back around.

“Talk to me.”

“You want me to talk? Well, here it is. I don’t want you here. In fact, I’d rather be the third wheel to Heidi and the guy she just met,” I say.

He shrugs off my words.
So much for talking.

“You’ve got no fucking choice, beautiful.”

“Of course I do.”

But when I try to shake free of him again, he pushes my hands over my head, pausing when his gaze locks on my ring finger.

“Jesus, get that thing covered already,” he snaps, his voice low but audible even over the sound of Cajun music pouring from the festival in the streets. “It’s been seven years.”

“Your point?” I skim the pad of my thumb over the tattoo of my ex’s last name. “If you weren’t here, you wouldn’t have to look at it,” I respond calmly despite the familiar harsh flash of pain in my rib cage. I want to choke this man. I want to curl my fingers around his freaking neck. I want to slap him and scream at him for all the times we’ve done this same thing.

But after the storm is over—because I’m a glutton for punishment—I want him to kiss me. I want those feelings, the love, from Wyatt McCrae that I’ve been chasing for years. But that is the precise reason I’m here in the first place. I’m over chasing him. I’ve been over it since the holidays, and I have successfully stayed away from him for the last couple months.

Until now.

The tiny lines at the corners of his brilliant blue eyes tighten as he backs me up against the brick wall. The air leaves my lungs for all the wrong reasons.

“Do you really think I need to be with you to remember you let some fucker put his name on you?” He nudges my legs apart with his knee.

“You should’ve done it first.”

“I’m doing it now.”

“That would require a little more commitment than you telling me you want to take me back to your room and—”

But then Wyatt’s mouth comes down on mine, shutting off my last few words. He lets go of my hands, and I drop them to his shoulders. I dig into his flesh because I don’t want to let go. Because like so many times before, I’m so lost in him that it causes physical pain to every inch of my body.

I need to end this now.

I need to move on just like I planned.

“Wyatt,” I start, but he rubs his thumb against the center of my lips and shakes his head.

“Just let go, Ky.”

He replaces his thumb with his mouth, skimming his labret across my lips. The sensation of the metal makes me shiver, and I feel his slow smile. He thinks he’s got me right where he wants me.

“I couldn’t get you off my mind.”

It must come as a shock to him when I pull back and put my index finger over his lips. “Glad you finally started to think about me after I left your bed.” I zero my attention in on a piece of lint on my green T-shirt, taking my time to pick it off, so I can gather my thoughts. Finally, I look back up into his eyes. “But I’m still not fucking you tonight, babe.”

“Y
ou think that’s what I came here for?”

Cocking my head a fraction so that my hair falls sideways over my face, I shove my hands deep into my back pockets. “Isn’t sex what you always come to me for?”

He looks at me,
really
looks at me, and I can practically feel the heat from his disappointment seeping through my skin, burning its way through my body. That’s the thing about Wyatt, about love in general. It always finds a way to get under my skin, scorching the hell out of me.

I glance away and squeeze my eyes shut, but he touches my chin gently, redirecting my face.

“If I only wanted someone to fuck, I would’ve just done it back in Nashville.” A grin that somehow straddles the line between cocky and sheepish spreads across his face. Because I know precisely what he’s going to say next, I flinch beforehand. “Instead, I declined.”

So, there was someone else. What a load of crap.

I tell myself to forget that thought because it’s wrong. In order for there to be somebody else, Wyatt and I would have to be something to begin with.

I match his sarcastic grin with my own, and I pray that it makes him just as infuriated as he’s made me tonight. “Telling her you won’t spend a second night with her isn’t declining.” When I laugh, there’s a jagged edge to it. “I—”

“I didn’t go through with it at all, Bluebird. Believe it or not, I’m capable of not fucking everything with a pussy.”

Silently, I tilt my head to one side and then the other, giving him a look of disbelief. He said nearly the same thing to me several months ago, a week before Your Toxic Sequel started their last tour. We weren’t sleeping together at the time, and he sure as hell wasn’t mine to lay claim to, but I desperately wanted to believe him.

Wyatt only lasted three days into the tour. I can’t remember her name now—because there’ve been too many during our breaks and bullshit—but she was beautiful, and my exact opposite physically. And though I shouldn’t have felt anything because I’d already expected the worse, it was impossible not to hurt when I saw her leaving his hotel room.

The tour was one of the last major blows, and the following Thanksgiving firmly secured what I already knew in my mind.
No matter how hard we try, there’s no place for me whatsoever in Wyatt’s life.

I rub my right hand over my left shoulder. “I never said you screw everything with lady bits. Actually, I’m pretty sure you’re damn selective. All I’m trying to—”

What I’m on the verge of saying is cut short by another couple wandering drunkenly into the alley. They’re falling all over each other, laughing and groping. They don’t seem to notice that we’re here at all.

Shrugging away from Wyatt, I start in the direction of the club, and he follows right on my heels.

“At least
they’re
having a good time,” I say under my breath.

Of course, he hears me and snorts. “We’ll have better once we’re together again.” He pauses, giving me time to counter or look up at him. When I do neither, he walks backward, speeding up so that he can face me. “But we won’t be like them. I’m going to fuck you everywhere, Kylie, but not where anyone else will see it.”

I’m at a loss for words, completely flustered, so I edge around his tall body, keeping my gaze directed at the blur of people on the sidewalks. Our bodies brush, and he turns around to walk next to me. His fingertips find one of my belt loops, tugging me just a touch closer to him, but I still don’t budge. Instead, I meet his stare. Wyatt’s eyes—they’re the reason we’ve been on this merry-go-round so many times. They carry all his emotions— the beautiful and hideous and heartbreaking.

“I’m exhausted,” I say, faking a yawn as the entrance to the warehouse nightclub comes into view. A long line is zigzagging around the club, and I realize there’s no way we’re getting back inside. I wrench my iPhone out of the pocket of my jeans to send Heidi a message to let her know what’s going on, but she’s already beaten me to it. I have two missed FaceTime calls and a text from just five minutes ago.

1:48 a.m.:
Saw you leave with HIM, so I came back to the room. Don’t tell me Lucas ratted you out. You coming back after you’re done? Finn might be stopping by later, so text me if you do.

As I read, Wyatt stifles a noise that sounds suspiciously like laughter, and I cock my eyebrow. He’s rocking back on his heels and working his thumbs together in front of him like a diabolical asshole.

“What?”

He shrugs his broad shoulders. “I know that look from anywhere. Somebody said something that pisses you off. And I bet you the panties you’ve got on that it’s about me.”

Pressing my lips together, I run the tip of my tongue along the roof of my mouth. Even my best friend assumes that when Wyatt McCrae shows up, the probability of me falling into bed with him as soon as he snaps his musical note–tattooed fingers is pretty damn high. “No, but I
am
sleepy as hell. So, we’ll have to do this another time, and I’m going to respectfully keep my panties in place tonight.”

“You sure know how to kick me in the balls, Ky, but I call bullshit.” Ignoring my sharp intake of air, Wyatt runs his hand down my forearm. He doesn’t stop until our palms touch, and he connects his fingers with mine. “I’ll get us a taxi. We need to talk, and we’re going to do it in my hotel room.”

“I can get my own cab.” When his grip on my hand tenses, I release a sigh. I can stand here all night and argue with him, but it’s just going to make the situation worse.
Wyatt wants to talk? Fine. I can handle conversation.
“No trying to talk me into bed when we get to your room. And afterward, you’ll let me enjoy the rest of my vacation?” I have only one more night left after this one, and damn it, I want to spend it in peace.

He nods almost convincingly, and a moment later, he flags down a taxi. I climb in and slide to the far left side of the car, and he comes in right after me, intensely gazing across the seat at me all the while. Judging by the hungry look in his eyes, I’d think I was sitting on the other side of a bed, naked and jutting out my B-cups while begging him for round two. Instead, I’m scowling in a cold, dark cab.

“Stop picturing me without my clothes.”

Smirking, Wyatt lowers his mouth until it touches my cheek, and my shoulders lift up involuntarily. “Not naked, Ky, but fully clothed,” he drawls softly enough so that only I can hear. “I’m thinking about how creative we’d have to be to get it in right here.”

I give him an incredulous look. “What happened to the whole ‘not where anyone else will see’ spiel?”

“Emphasis on the word
creative
, beautiful.”

I’m damn lucky that the cab driver chooses this second to clear his throat a few times, letting us know that he’s waiting for a destination. The moment between us is ruined, and Wyatt and I break apart, glancing up to meet the man’s gaze in the rearview mirror. “The Veranda,” we say in unison.