The Bad Boys of Summer Anthology(6)

“No—to everything you said.”

“Asshole.”

He pretends he doesn’t hear the insult as he pulls me into the elevator with him. He chooses the fifth floor, leans back against the wall, and lifts his eyes to the glass ceiling.

“I’ve got to say that I’m a little shocked you’re not on the second floor. You know, since you tracked me all the way to this hotel. Guess I just figured you’d be on the same floor as me, too.”

The elevator stops, and he lowers his chin so that we’re face-to-face. “I can move rooms, Ky.”

The door slides open to a few college boys who look stoned out of their minds. I step out first, barely missing the roving hands of the guy with the floppy hair. Wyatt comes out behind me, muttering a string of threats to the boy, and he grabs my waist to steer me in the right direction.

His suite is at the end of the hallway. As soon as we get to the door, he slides his hands into my back pockets and places his chin on the top of my head. We stay quiet for what seems like a long time as he breathes me in while I listen to the steady rhythm of his heart. The only other sound in the hall is a woman who creeps out of her room with an ice bucket, and she stops for a moment to give us a sleepy smile.

“What’s this for?” I ask him.

“Because I told you I wouldn’t try to fuck you if you came here,” he says. Arching my body back, I look up at him and twist my lips to the side skeptically. “And because like I said earlier, I’ve missed you like crazy since you left.”

But I didn’t leave. You just weren’t there when I needed you afterward, and I gave up.

“I left because it wasn’t going anywhere, because things are holding you back. The reason I didn’t show this week is because I needed to…” I count backwards from ten. “I’ve held on to you for so many years—through Brenna and the tours and all the other bullshit. I just need a chance to catch my breath.”

Smiling sadly, he lets me go. As he turns to slide his room key into the card reader, I have to lean in close to him to hear his response. “You mean you needed a chance to fucking forget me.”

Yes.

“No,” I say.

“You’re a bad, bad liar.”

Despite my burning cheeks, I shiver when I step into his room. Whenever Wyatt stays in a hotel, as soon as he enters the room, he always adjusts the AC to its absolute lowest temperature, and this time is no different.

I sit on the end of the only bed in the room and play with the edge of the white cotton duvet. “So, tell me what happened with Sinjin and Sienna.”

He sums it up quickly, explaining to me how Sin got so messed up that he not only talked shit to my temp, he threatened her, too. Since Lucas is hell-bent on possessing her, I have a feeling he was furious. By the time silence falls between Wyatt and me, my hands are balled into tight fists, leaving fingernail marks in my palms.

“And you’re sure she’s okay?” I finally ask.

Wyatt touches the side of my face. “I promise, okay? You can call her tomorrow. Stop trying to take care of everyone, and think about yourself this time.”

I close my eyes. That’s what he doesn’t understand, what he doesn’t want to acknowledge. I was thinking about myself when I came here. “I’m trying,” I say in a strained voice. “I’m trying to do what’s best for me.”

“I’m not talking about what your head tells you is right.”

“Don’t tell me you’re going to say to think with my heart.”

“You said it. I didn’t.” He drops his hand from my face and lifts my fingers to his chest. “I need you around.”

“I work for Lucas, so I’m around all the time.”

He puts pressure on my hand, pressing it firmly against his chest, so I can feel how fast his heart is racing.

God, why is he doing this to me? Why can’t he just let us fall apart this time for good?

“Fuck, then just give it one last time.” Before I can speak, he moves both our hands to cup my cheek and then rests his forehead to mine. His naturally tan skin is hot to the touch. “I know why you came here of all places. You can lie to me all you want, Ky, but New Orleans is really where it started for us, not Texas like you always claim. Let’s end it the right way. Spend the rest of your nights here with me, and when you go back to L.A.…”

The last few words are broken off, leaving me to mentally fill them in for him.

I won’t bother with you again.

You can finally forget me.

We can pretend like you never loved me.

I wrap my fingers around his as if I need to hold on to him to stay upright. My chest is cold, and I try to figure out why. Am I scared of what will happen if I spent tonight and tomorrow night with him? Or do I fear that he’s agreeing to what I’ve already settled in my mind—to let things between us go after we’re done here? “And here I was thinking that you’d keep your word about not trying to get me into bed.”

“Shit happens.” When he grins, I smile back, but mine is shaky and unsure. “You in or not?” he asks.

Maybe it’s because I still want Wyatt, and this might be the last time I can act on that desire before I move on. Or maybe it’s because, not even a week ago, I convinced Sienna Jensen to take a chance on helping the man who screwed her over in the past. Either way, I know that I have to do this. I need to get this man out of my system.

“Yeah,” I say. “I’m in.”

Because Heidi soon texts me that she and Shiner Bock—or Finn as she calls him—are having “drinks” in the hotel room that she and I are sharing, staying with Wyatt tonight becomes inevitable anyway, unless I want to cough up the fee to get another room.

To my surprise though, when he comes out of the shower with a towel slung low on his hips, he says, “Night, beautiful.”

“You’re going to bed?” I ask, surprised.

He stands on his side of the bed with his back turned to me, but glances over his shoulder to cock an eyebrow. “Thought you were tired.”

“Well, I am, but—” He drops the towel, revealing his incredible ass, and now, it’s my turn to lift an eyebrow. “Really, Wyatt?”

He pulls on a pair of boxer briefs before turning around. Grinning, he jerks back the bedspread and stretches out on the oversized bed. What the hell is he doing?

“Come to bed.”

I keep my eyes trained on him as I shimmy my jeans down, pull off my boots, and step out of them. I drag my T-shirt—which smells like booze, cigarettes, and my Betsey Johnson perfume—over my head and drop it beside my pants. “Got a shirt I can wear?”

His gaze dips to the tattoos on my shoulder and then to the big star in the center of my underwear. “Bag on the chair.”

I grab the first thing I can find—a plain white T-shirt that smells like the Tide detergent his housekeeper washes his clothes in—and climb into bed with him as I finish pulling it on. When I move to lie down, he stops me, squeezing my hips gently between his hands.

“What?” I whisper breathlessly.

“How many of those things do you have now?” he asks, a serious expression on his face.

“What things?”

“Those goddamn blackbirds.”

Unconsciously, my hand flies up to the left side of my chest to the tattoos, blackbirds in several different sizes. His T-shirt is covering most of them, but a few are still clearly visible. “Eighteen.”

There’s one for each time things have gone to hell between us and for every time I’ve screwed myself over. Even though they’re not all because of him, my tattoos feel like eighteen tiny reminders of why accepting his challenge to stay with him for tonight and the next is as much of an omen as the ink itself.

Seventeen too many tattoos.

Wyatt inclines his head, and I almost expect him to say something else about the blackbirds, but when he speaks, it’s about sex. How typical.

“I want nothing more than to wrap your legs around my shoulders and fuck you for the rest of the night.” He pulls me on top of him, one leg at a time. “But in all the years we’ve been doing this, not once have I ever just slept with you. I figure if we’re pulling the plug, we might as well do it just once.”

The change of subject is like a fist to my stomach. It’s so painful that it comes damn close to knocking the air out of my lungs. It’s hard for me not to react, but I maintain my composure as I grip his shoulders tightly and lower my face down to his. Our lips graze briefly, softly, and I can’t help but want for more.

“Sweet dreams.” I don’t give him time to respond. I roll off of him and curl up on my side with my back turned to his body.

We’re quiet for several minutes before he makes a noise deep in his throat. “Come closer, Ky. I need to touch you.”

His body finds mine in the dark, and he wraps his arm around my waist. He presses his lips against the tattoo between my shoulder blades—the caged bluebird. He picked it out for me a few years ago when I went with him to Atlanta for his father’s funeral. It was supposed to symbolize happiness, a new beginning, but it hasn’t done me much good.

“This, Kylie, this is how I need to remember you, if you’re not bullshitting about being done with me.”