With a Twist (Last Call #4)(46)

Oh, this was such a bad idea.

Bad, bad idea.

I glance down at my watch for the fourth time in about four minutes, and admit to myself that every minute that goes by, worry and self-doubt are taking over my psyche.

I tap my foot against the wood flooring of Wyatt's front porch, thankful he has two comfortable wicker chairs with plush cushions decorated in blue and yellow stripes. My ass has been parked in one of them for the last hour and a half.

I'm sitting on Wyatt's front porch because I had made the split-second decision yesterday to fly to North Carolina so I could see him. This came on the heels of me deciding to take a vacation.

When I had flown back to Pittsburgh last week, I was back at work the following day, much to my SAC's surprise. He tried to talk me into taking some time off, as he had read my report and knew just what I had been through during this operation. I declined, telling him that I wanted to get back into the thick of things.

He didn't argue and much to my surprised delight, even amended his written recommendation to my application at the BRIU, updating them with everything I did on this operation. I couldn't help but get my hopes renewed all over again that I might get accepted into that division of the FBI.

I went straight back to work because I needed to keep my mind busy. Busy with important stuff like catching criminals and doing federal background checks. As always, some of it scintillating and some of it downright boring.

Regardless, being back to work didn't help occupy my mind at all. Several times throughout the day, my mind would drift off and I would think about Wyatt. I'd think mostly about what he did to me in the locker room the evening before I left Raleigh, but that would lead me to think about him saying it was a mistake, and him declining to take it further. Honestly, it was a bit of a blow to my self-esteem, which had already been knocked down a few pegs when David broke off our engagement. I got down and low, wondering what was wrong with me. Why did men kept leaving me?

I had a pity party one night with two pints of Ben & Jerry's Chocolate Fudge Brownie ice cream, drank four beers, then made the mistake of calling my brother Kyle and unloading on him. 

In typical Kyle fashion, he told me I was a dumbass. I had told him all about the operation, and while I did not tell him specifically that there was anything sexual between Wyatt and me, I did tell him that I had some feelings involved that felt unresolved.

The most important thing he reminded me of is that I am one badass chick and that I was not one to piss and moan over my fate. He reminded me that yes …  while it was sad that David broke off our engagement, I had actually bounced back pretty well. He reminded me that I helped to take down a sex-slave ring. He reminded me that once, while I was in the FBI Academy, I took one of my sparring partners down to the mat, and he outweighed me by almost eighty pounds.

He didn't need to remind me that I had tackled and brought down a fleeing Simon Keyes, a memory that had me puffing my chest out a bit and demanding my bruised ego to get its act together.

The next morning at work, I asked Dale Lambert if I could have that vacation he had suggested to me a few days prior, and he gladly granted my request.

And so, here I am …  sitting on Wyatt's front porch, waiting for him to get home.

Bad idea, I tell myself again.

And for so many reasons.

First, Wyatt has done nothing to ever lead me to believe he would want to see me again. He flat out refused to come to my room that last night, knowing I was offering sex. Yes, that bruised my ego a bit, but since Kyle bucked me back up, I choose to believe it's not because I'm not attractive to Wyatt, but rather that he has some misplaced sense of duty or morals that he believed were conflicting.

Fine …  good enough reason I should stay away, but another very important reason why this is a bad idea swarms me with unease.

What if Wyatt is involved with someone? I'm sitting on his porch, waiting for him to get home from wherever he is-work, I assume-but the next person to pull into his driveway could be his girlfriend. Or worse yet, his wife.

While my gut tells me that Wyatt isn't the type of guy that would have made me come with his mouth in the locker room of the Raleigh FBI field office if he was involved with someone, I can't discount that it's a slight possibility.

Finally …  and probably the best reason of all, is that I'm not even sure what I'm hoping to accomplish by being here. Is he my rebound from David? Is this just sexual tension at its finest that needs to be popped and then we go our separate ways? Or are the feelings and connection I've imagined with this man real and need to be explored?

Yes, this is a bad, bad, bad idea and finally, my cowardice breaks through.

I stand up from the wicker chair and take one step away from it when I hear the crunch of car tires on gravel. My eyes raise and I see a champagne-colored Chevrolet Suburban pulling into the driveway. The windows are slightly tinted, but I can see through them clear enough to make out Wyatt's handsome face semi-covered by his mirrored aviators.