Page 2 of Deceitful Dreams

There is no way I can put up with this weird nervous electricity humming beneath my skin for a week, especially with him sitting beside me in a small, contained space. My red Jeep Grand Cherokee may have been a guilt gift from my mom at sixteen, but I love it. And the thought of Wyatt sitting in my driver’s seat, his hands touching my steering wheel and buttons on my dashboard makes me feel weirdly jealous, but I also curiously need to watch it happen.

A nudge of my shoulder breaks my thoughts and I look up at the taunting blue eyes that are going to be the star of all my wet dreams.

“You okay?” Wyatt asks.

Twisting my lips to the side and wrinkling my nose, I try to smile at him. “Yeah, I guess. It just feels weird. It’s been my home for the past four years and now I’m leaving.”

He nods, rubbing at his jaw. The white t-shirt he has on flexes under his biceps as well as lifts right above his sweatpants. They aren’t gray, but a solid black, and I’m thankful for that. Because if I get even a glimpse of his cock, I think I will faint on the spot.

“Yeah, but now it’s the start of your life as you know it. That’s exciting, right?”

I can’t withhold the grimace. The thought of starting my forever is so overwhelming that I’ve been putting it off. It’s gotten to the point where I’ve decided to not look for a job at allF because I’m not exactly sure what I want to do. “Sure.”

Wyatt doesn’t pry, instead moving to turn off the remaining lights in my apartment. “You got your bag, right? I don’t want to send the moving truck off without you checking.”

Glancing behind me, I look at my two suitcases and the duffle bag still on my shoulder. I packed more than a week’s worth of clothes and shoes. And then my daily essentials to look presentable. “Yup, just need to carry all that down to my car.”

“I got it. Do a slow walk-through of your apartment. Just in case, you don’t want to miss anything,” he says with a cheerful smile, grabbing my suitcases.

I grimace at his forced, fatherly advice. “Thanks,” I deadpan and leave him at the door. My annoyance is because there’s no way I could ever think of him as a father figure unless he wanted me on my knees and calling him Daddy.

***

“What made you want to drive it back? We could have had your car shipped if you wanted?” Wyatt asks.

We’ve been driving a little under an hour now. I turned on the radio immediately and rolled the window down so his scent didn’t fill up the cab. He is probably fed up with the awkward tension as I try to ignore him sitting next to me.

I push my sunglasses up to rest on my head, and I look at him. “Because I didn’t have the money to.”

His eyebrows crinkle. “Your mom and I could have paid for it.”

“Exactly, my mom and… you. Though I didn’t know you existed till last night,” I say, trying to withhold my contempt. It doesn’t surprise me that she got married and didn’t tell, or even invite me. I probably wasn’t even a thought in her mind that day.

Wyatt shakes his head, his knuckles whitening as he grips the steering wheel. “Believe me, I told your mom how fucked that was. We haven’t been together long, only a few months, but I would think her having a daughter would come up at least once.”

Rolling my eyes, I shove my sunglasses back on my face in case I have the random urge to tear up. It doesn’t happen often, but sometimes talking about my mom hurts. I flash a fake smile. “And you just knew she was the one after a few months?”

His cheeks flush and he clears his throat, not looking away from the road. “Uhh.. no. Signing the marriage certificate was a kind of drunken mistake.” He shrugs. “Figured why not just see how it goes from there?”

“Romantic,” I bite out dryly. My mom has two modes: the tunnel-vision emotionless workaholic robot, or the irresponsible, wild drunk without a care in the world. Growing up, I preferred the former. It meant I knew where I would be every night. Alone in a big house left to fend for myself, rather than dragged to some party and left to fend off random strangers who only had good intentions half the time while engaging in a conversation with a child. It feels unfair that one of her whims would end with her wearing a ring from a man like him.

Wyatt turns the radio down further. “Look, kid. I know your mother is a little absent-minded, but she cares. When I expressed concern about you driving alone, she was stressed.”

I scoff, pointing a finger at him. “First of all, I’m not a kid. I’m twenty-two, so don’t be condescending. I don’t care how much older you are. Second, I’ve known my mother a lot longer than you. Let’s just leave it at that and call it a day, yeah?”

Leaning back into my seat, I exhale loudly to calm my sudden anger. I could have thrown his words back at him. ‘When he expressed concern’ as in my mother didn’t have care in the world about me solo-traveling.

He reaches over, and the warmth of his fingers patting my thigh makes me tense. He pulls his hand away quickly. “You’re right. I’m sorry. I don’t think you’re a kid. You’re just Mary’s kid and it slipped out.”

I pick at the frayed strings of my jean shorts, then I roll my shoulders. My lips pull up in a taunting smirk. “If we’re talking about age, you seem a little young for her.”

Wyatt chuckles. “Not that much younger. I’m thirty-four.”

That makes him six years younger than my mom. He's right… considering it makes him twelve years older than me. I try not to cringe at the thought of a twelve-year-old Wyatt running around when I was born. I’m not sure what I expected a thirty-four-year-old man to look like, but if it’s anything like Wyatt… then hello daddy, are you looking for a sugar baby?

“And you’re ready to settle down?” I ask. A part of me is embarrassed to continue the conversation on this subject, but I just don’t get it. I want to marry someone I love, I want to be sure that’s the person I spend the rest of my life with. Things could happen down the line, but I want that confidence the day I say ‘I do’.

He sighs. “It’s… hard to explain, okay? I’m sure if we had gone about this properly, your mother would have involved you with the wedding preparation. But truthfully, there wasn’t much of a wedding. Just a trip to the courthouse, smelling like whiskey.”

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