Текст книги "The Singles"
Автор книги: Emily Snow
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Текущая страница: 19 (всего у книги 45 страниц)
Chapter One
Present Day
“Good god, he’s looking at you again,” Heidi says in a hushed voice. Swinging her slim hips to the techno version of Adele’s song pulsing through the nightclub, she sneaks a glance over my shoulder toward the booths lining the far wall.
I refuse to follow her gaze to the guy who’s been eyeballing us for the better part of an hour, and instead, I choose to toss back my drink as I lift my shoulders indifferently.
My closest friend gives me a dark look. “Kylie, he’s looking at you like he wants to peel off your jeans with his teeth. Like he—”
“Like he’s some stranger who’ll probably strangle me to death after we get back to his hotel room.” I lift my hand to my throat, which burns like Hades from the drink I just downed, and rub my thumb back and forth across the delicate bones. “Sorry, babe, not in the mood to get choked tonight.”
Heidi’s perfectly arched eyebrows join together, but I’m not sure if it’s because of what I just said or the DJ’s newest choice of song, “Judas.” She can’t stand that song. She hates it almost as much as she loathes her ex-neighbor who played a repetitive loop of Lady Gaga on maximum volume every morning for months.
“You’re so morbid, Kylie Martin,” she finally moans, emphasizing the last name—she’s been on me for years to change it back to my maiden name. She flips her mane of loose chestnut curls over her shoulder. “You need to have fun and not think about him and his giant—”
“Don’t even touch that subject with a ten-foot pole,” I say sharply. “And I’m not thinking of him.”
Heidi presses her purple-painted lips into a fine line, but she says nothing more. Her gaze refocuses on something else. I follow it, twisting my head a little, to take in an excessively tanned short guy, making his way through the crowd with two bottles of Shiner Bock held high over his head.
Even though I’m glad he’s distracted her from talking about Wyatt, I softly point out, “He’s not your type.” Heidi’s got a thing for ink and piercings—the more of both, the better—and Shiner Bock has neither. But then again, she did say she needed a change of pace this trip. Maybe this guy is it. “More than one beer usually means he’s here with someone,” I add, giving her a warning look.
Heidi lifts her thin eyebrow wickedly. “He’s here with those guys.” She jabs her finger toward a group of men across the club. “So, yeah...”
Before we came out to Bourbon Street tonight, Heidi and I made a deal, promising to come back to our hotel room together. But, by the way Shiner Bock’s face lights up when his eyes connect with hers, I know there’s no chance in hell she’s coming home with me.
And that leaves me alone.
At the risk of sounding like an eye-roll-inducing 1970’s power ballad, being by myself is the last thing I desire tonight, not when thoughts of Wyatt McCrae seem to elbow their way into my brain whenever I have a spare moment to think. At the same time though, I don’t want to stick around with Heidi and be that friend.
I dart my eyes from Shiner Bock to Heidi, and then down to the empty glass in my hand. Be the third wheel in an innuendo-laced conversation that will ultimately lead to a broken headboard?
Or maybe a vodka-infused drink?
Be the third wheel?
Screw that, vodka-infused drink, it is.
“I’m going to get a refill,” I announce loudly.
Heidi dips her head. She’s already dancing with Shiner Bock, grinding her ass against his crotch, before I make it three steps in the opposite direction. Apparently, he’s forgotten about the intended recipient of the second beer.
Heidi generally has that effect on men.
I shove my way through the club, and by the time I reach the bar and sit down, I’ve had so many body parts brushing against my boobs and ass that I immediately ask the bartender for a double shot in my bloody mary.
“You look bored,” a voice behind me says.
When I look back, I’m not the least bit surprised to see the man who’s spent most of the night staring at me. He slips onto the bar stool next to me just as the bartender pushes my drink across the countertop.
Granting the stranger a little smile, I stir the stalk of celery around in slow circles in my bloody mary, clinking the ice up against the glass. “No, just tired,” I reply.
“Tired, huh?”
I lean over and take a swallow of my drink before answering him. “Very.”
It’s the honest truth. The vacation to New Orleans was last minute. I barely managed to book the flight. Heidi and I have been going nonstop since we arrived several days ago. But I’ll take exhaustion any day over having to be around Your Toxic Sequel, my brother’s band, as they record their newest album. Being that I’m Lucas’s personal assistant, avoiding the band would have been impossible if I didn’t remind him he hadn’t given me a vacation in over a year.
“Ian,” the man beside me murmurs, breaking my thoughts.
He extends his hand out to me, but I don’t move to take it.
“Kylie.”
“I’ve been wanting to say something to you, but I...” Ian’s voice trails off as he casts gray eyes down to the bar countertop.
Wrinkling my straight nose, I bite into the celery. “Yeah, instead of staring at me all night, you probably would’ve weirded me out less if you had just talked to me first.“ After I say it, I can’t resist grinning.
He smiles, too, and it’s a sexy one—dimpled with the tiniest gap between his top teeth. The look works for him, and it must have been why Heidi was so insistent that I check him out.
“Look, I don’t—” he starts, but I hold up my hand.
Better get this out of the way before I let him get too far into the conversation.
“I don’t do beads.” I incline my head toward a couple of girls dancing with each other a few feet away from where we’re sitting. Several rows of purple, gold, and green beads are dangling around their flushed necks. “So, don’t ask how far I’ll go for some. And, honestly, I think I’d better get back to my friend.”
I’m already scooting off my stool before Ian’s face falls, and I make a quick getaway before he has a chance for a comeback. When a large and obviously masculine hand touches the small of my back, I spin around, ready to put him in his place regardless of how hot his smile is. “Look, I’m sure you—”
But then I look up. And it’s not Ian’s gray gaze that’s staring down into my brown eyes. These are eyes that I could pluck out of a crowd without even making an effort to locate them, and right now, they make me forget how to breathe just right. The deep scowl on this face literally speeds up my pulse. I tighten my grip around my drink, so I won’t spill it all over my boots and his.
The sharp blue eyes glaring down into mine belong to none other than Wyatt McCrae—the ripped, tattooed, and dirty-blond bass guitarist for Your Toxic Sequel, my big brother’s band. He’s the reason I escaped to New Orleans. I needed to stay the hell away from him, yet here he is, standing right in front of me.
I force myself to keep my voice even. “What are you doing here?”
Wyatt leans down until his mouth is level with my ear. Despite the heat caused by all the sweaty bodies around us, I shiver when the piercing at the corner of his lower lip skims my skin.
“Too fucking loud in here, Ky. Outside.”
Though I know I shouldn’t, I give him a jerky nod and follow behind him. Along the way, I pass my drink to some random girl gyrating on the concrete dance floor and she gladly accepts. Wyatt reaches back, wrapping his hand around my wrist, to keep me close to him as we maneuver through the crowd. I’m unable to stop myself from making a comparison between him and Ian, the man at the bar who’d backed down just as soon as he began trying. Wyatt doesn’t let me go until we’re outside and in the alley. Out here, I can hear not only the upbeat pop anthem playing inside the club, but also the music from a street festival.
Although there’s so much between us that needs to be said, and I know I’m going to have to speak to him eventually, Wyatt’s the first to say something...well, do something. He gives me an appreciative once-over, taking in all five foot four inches of me, starting at my boots and working his way up. He pauses on certain areas—the curvy hips his hands have gripped time and time again, the tiny flash of pale skin between my jeans and green fitted tee, and my small breasts—before stopping at my tousled blue-and-black hair.
“Come here,” he orders.
When I don’t move, his hands flare over my hips, drawing me close to him until our bodies rub together. Wyatt’s touch is familiar—one I’d be able to immediately recognize even if we were in complete darkness. It’s too bad for him, but I’m not having it. I break our contact, stuffing my hands deep into the pockets of my jeans. They dip a little lower on my hips, and of course, his blue eyes takes this in.
“God, it’s been too damn long since I’ve gotten to do that,” he says. “And you’re cutting me off already.”
“Looks like I am, doesn’t it?”
It’s been two and a half months since he’s touched me to be exact. I haven’t seen Wyatt since Thanksgiving, and I close my eyes, letting my thoughts wander back to those last moments. For two amazing days, we did nothing but eat too much pie, listen to music, and make love. Or lust. Whatever the hell it is I should call it.
I didn’t leave him until the morning after Thanksgiving, and I hadn’t felt the need to wake him up to say that I was going. It seemed like we had already said plenty. The night before, I’d told him I loved him, and he had simply stared at me—blankly. Wordlessly. Except, his speechlessness had told me volumes.
I’d been wasting time with someone who couldn’t reciprocate my feelings. And after years of being in love with him, realizing that singed a hole into my chest.
I push the memory aside, opening my eyes, so I can confront his dark blue gaze. “Why are you here?” I demand furiously.
“Why weren’t you in Nashville?”
The muscles in my neck twitch. I take in a noisy breath, so I won’t tell him to go shove the neck of his guitar up his arrogant, perfect ass. “I’m entitled to a vacation, dickhead.”
Wyatt lets out a dangerous chuckle. “Taken the exact moment we were supposed to see each other again? That shit won’t work with me, Kylie. You should’ve known this would happen since you’ve been ignoring me ever since Thanksgiving.”
Because he’s using my full name and not Ky or Bluebird, and since we once agreed to be honest with one another—even if that truthfulness aches like a fist to the heart—I give him the closest thing to a smile I can summon. “I’m entitled to a vacation that gets me away from you because seeing you always results in me losing my head for a few days.” When a sensual grin begins to creep its way across his face, I immediately add, “And those few days always, always end with you letting me down for some reason or another and me wanting to knee you in the balls.”
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.”
Chapter Two
“You 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.
As I lift my chin, he grins, and—damn it—my stomach and chest constrict. “You Foursquare stalked me down to the hotel?” I ask, my voice subdued but hard. “I’ve got to say, Wyatt, your effort this go ‘round is a bit scary.”
He shrugs. “Better me than somebody else. I have good intentions.”
No, he has sweaty intentions.
“It was someone else who did the stalking. Cal,” I point out, rolling my eyes. When I catch the cab driver glancing up at us through the front mirror again, I lower my volume. “What time do you have to be back tomorrow to record?” The sooner Wyatt has to leave, the better, considering my heart and the short remainder of my vacation.
“There’s not going to be any recording for a while.”
“Y’all are finished already?” I can’t keep the surprise out of my voice. The band just started to record. It’s been a long time since Your Toxic Sequel made a new album without a lot of B.S. and delays.
“You’re sexy as fuck when you say y’all. You know that, right?” He bites his lower lip and shakes his head from side to side. Before I have a chance to smart off at him, he continues, “But, no, we’re not. Look, your brother didn’t want to mess up your trip, but Sinjin—”
The moment he says Your Toxic Sequel’s drummer’s name, I know nothing good will follow. “Oh no, what’s happened now?” I murmur.
“We talked him into in-patient.”
I bury my face in my hands. Other than Wyatt, Sinjin is my brother’s oldest friend. Cal didn’t join the band until six years ago after they had changed their name from Falling Anarchy to Your Toxic Sequel. In the fifteen years I’ve known Sinjin—fifteen years where he’s become more like a brother to me than just one of Lucas’s friends—he’s spent half of that time in and out of rehab.
“Was it bad?” I ask.
Even though Wyatt’s mouth eases into a smile, I know this has to be painful for him. I always hate it when he’s hurting because the crazy range of emotions that play out on his face makes everything from my throat to my stomach feel like it’s all tangled up in knots.
“Not as bad as last time.”
My shoulders slump. The last time, Sinjin told me he wouldn’t make it if he had to go away, and it had scared the shit out of me. I start to tell Wyatt how relieved I am, but then I freeze. For some reason, he’s suddenly more interested in his phone than talking about Sin or ogling, touching, or teasing me. He’s holding something back, and he should know me well enough to realize I’m going to ask more questions.
“Okay, spill it, McCrae. What else happened?”
He hesitates for just a moment, but then he looks at me directly. “He went off on Lucas’s girl.”
“Lucas’s girl?” I repeat. “Please tell me you’re not talking about Samantha.” Lucas’s ex-wife, Sam, has been an expensive pain in his ass since they were divorced years ago, and I pray she’s not making trouble for him and the band again. And as much as I’d love to see Sinjin put that bitch in her place, that’s honestly the last thing YTS needs.
Wyatt regards me silently, rubbing the pad of his thumb over his lip ring.
“I’m not going to beg you for information,” I say through tightly clenched teeth, and the corners of Wyatt’s blue eyes crinkle.
He’s laughing at me. We’re having a serious conversation, and this man is laughing at me.
Unbelievable.
“Yeah, Lucas’s girl—damn near six feet tall with red hair. One minute, she’s adjusting her halo, and the next, she’s telling me to fuck off.”
“Sienna,” I say. She’s the girl who’s filling in for me, as Lucas’s assistant while I’m away on vacation.
Lucas had met Sienna a couple years ago on a video shoot, but he’d screwed things up by kicking her out of his house in the middle of a date, right after his ex-wife threatened to drop by. A week ago, when he discovered that the house he’d purchased at an auction in Nashville—a house he doesn’t honestly care for now—belonged to her grandmother, he moved in for the kill. He made her some fucked-up proposition, and he used me to help him. He used me to convince Sienna to work for him for ten days in exchange for the deed to her grandmother’s home. I love my brother, don’t get me wrong, but I despise him for exploiting her weaknesses to get what he wants.
“Okay...what exactly do you mean Sin went off on her? What did he say? Ugh, what did he do?”
Wyatt doesn’t jump to answer me, so I bring up Sienna’s name on my iPhone. Of course, it’s much too late to call her, but it gets my point across.
“Kylie,” Wyatt says. The taxi crawls to a stop just as he closes his large hand around my small one, stilling me. “I’ll tell you upstairs.” He keeps his blue eyes fastened on mine as he digs in his pocket to pay the fare.
“I can’t stay long,” I tell him a minute later as the driver pulls away. He touches the small of my back, leading me inside the hotel lobby, which is eerily quiet. “And I’ll pay you my half of the cab when we get upstairs.”
“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.”
