I give a nod of understanding, flip back over to turn out the light, and then gather her in my arms. When she's got her head to my chest and our legs are intertwined, my hand rubbing her lower back, I tell her, "I've had more than three days with you, Andrea. I knew you were all three of those things the minute you took on that undercover job. It was validated when you stepped onto that stage, and completely hoodwinked a suspected slave trader. If it weren't for you … none of that would have gone down the way it did. Like I said … you're pretty fucking amazing."
She doesn't say anything, but I can feel her body relax into mine. Her own fingers play across the skin on my stomach.
I start to get drowsy, but then she says my name softly.
"Wyatt?"
"Yeah?"
"I think you're pretty fucking amazing too."
Chapter 20
Andrea
I wake up before Wyatt again and so the pattern has been set. I'm a morning person, whereas he is definitely not. I think about my attempt at naked pancakes and quickly put that thought right back out of my head. We had gone out to the grocery store yesterday and stocked up with a variety of staples. I'm thinking it's going to be naked bagels instead, but I'll wait a bit before I wake him up. I'm sure he's pretty worn out after our impromptu bout of sex we had followed by some pretty awesome pillow talk.
I loved his reaction about me dancing. I loved how it pained him that I had to stoop to that, but I was also grateful for how he admired me. It's sort of how I view myself, and while a lot of people could never understand baring your body for money, I guess the only one I really need to answer to is myself. I've never had a problem looking at myself in the mirror since that time in my past, and knowing that Wyatt still respects me is just icing on the cake.
Rolling out of bed, I quietly slip on my underwear, a pair of shorts, and a t-shirt. Grabbing my phone off the dresser, I head out to the kitchen and make a pot of coffee. After it's brewed, I pour a cup, doctor it up with an obscene amount of cream and sugar-Wyatt's characterization, not mine-and head out to the back deck.
As always, the beauty of the Atlantic always catches me by surprise. I'd never been to the beach growing up, and got my first look at the Atlantic while in undergrad when a bunch of friends and me road tripped to Virginia Beach one weekend. I've since seen the Pacific while on an assignment with the FBI, and the Gulf of Mexico, but for some reason … the Atlantic is what calls to me. I'm not sure if it's the blue-green waters, the low-breaking waves that make the best sound to sleep to, or the way the sun slowly emerges from the horizon each morning. I just know it resonates with me, and I eagerly make my way down the steps of Wyatt's back deck down to the cool sand below.
The sun's edge hasn't even made appearance yet, and the sky is tinged gray. I walk a few feet away from the steps and sink slowly down into the soft sand so as not to spill my coffee, only to have a small shell poke me in the butt. After wedging my mug into the sand, I lean over, remove the offender, and sink back down, burying my toes in the coolness that the evening has brought to the sand. I know by midday, it will be blistering hot.
While I wait on the sunrise to make its appearance, I turn on my phone. I need to call Kyle and check in with him, but it's far too early in Wyoming and he'd never answer. I had successfully avoided my phone all day yesterday and hadn't even brought it out with us to Hunter's bar last night.
But it's a new day … I've got my coffee, a gorgeous guy sleeping just up those stairs to my back, the promise of another spectacular sunrise … and yet, for some idiotic reason, I'm dying of curiosity to see if David has reached out through Facebook since I accepted his friend request.
My curiosity is completely upstanding. I don't have any desire to get back with him, and I certainly don't want to reconnect. But it's killing me not knowing why he is reaching out, especially when he drew a very deep line in the proverbial sand with me. It stunned me then and continues to flummox me now how he could have thrown away everything we had on almost a whim. I want to know if I did something wrong … did I miss something? Was I not attentive enough to him, was I not that great in the sack, or maybe he really just didn't love me the way I thought he did?
I have to know. He never gave me an opportunity to talk about his reasoning and if there is something that could have saved that relationship, it's imperative I know it. I have to know, because if it's truly my fault … I don't want to make that mistake again.