Page 47 of Strike Zone

I don’t do casual well. I managed to find a pair of olive green pants that are casual enough. I paired it with a white tee and comfortable footwear. Wyatt still managed to tease me about it. Because he’s so fashion forward.

All he wears are jeans and T-shirts. He’ll claim his wardrobe has variety because all of the logos are different. I’ll give him that. Wyatt advertises everything from the Newhouse Knights to farm supply companies on his chest. It doesn’t however give him authority to be the fashion police to me.

“Can’t wait.” I pout.

“Give me a few minutes to get ready and we’ll get out of here.” He grabs his clothes—jeans and a T-shirt—and heads toward the bathroom down the hall.

“He’s going to make me do something awful. I just know it. I’m going to look like an idiot,” I grumble to myself.

Too antsy to sit still, I start to organize his desk. I’ve been dying to get my hands on this thing. There is no way he does anything productive in this mess. I set his phone to the side and begin gathering up all the writing instruments.

I only have a few pencils in my hand when his phone starts buzzing. I do my best to ignore it. He’s always texting with his siblings in their group chat. I can’t help but wonder if it’s Charlie, though. He hasn’t mentioned anything about their date.

I haven’t asked either. I’m not sure I want to know what happened.

It’s been a few days. If he wanted to talk about it, he would. I asked Charlie how it went when she got home and she just grinned. I figured that meant it went well.

Which is good. I’m happy for them. They make a good couple. They are both happy go lucky people who enjoy going out and letting loose.

I bet Charlie wouldn’t have sweated through her clothes at the thought of singing and dancing in the kitchen with Wyatt. She would have led the way.

It makes sense that he would like her.

Wyatt’s phone buzzes again. I glance at it even though I shouldn’t. But I have to know. Unknown number. Stupid spam. I decline the call for him. Before I can drop all the pencils and pens in a cup, his phone is lighting up again. Read the room. I decline the call again.

Wyatt’s phone lights up for the fourth time with an unknown number. Seriously?

Phone in hand, I walk to the bathroom. “Hey,” I say, knocking on the door. “Your phone keeps ringing. Do you want to answer it?” I ask through the door.

“Nah, it’s probably just my stalker.”

I inhale a sharp breath. “Your stalker?”

“Yeah, they call all the time. I can’t get rid of them.”

“You’re serious?” I need to see his face. He has to be lying. Who would be stalking him? A fan? A classmate? I’m tempted to open the door but he said he was getting dressed. Not something I want to walk in on. Now who’s the little liar?

“What are you doing in there?”

“Shaving.”

His phone rings for a fifth time. Another unknown number. I’ve had enough of this. I swipe right and answer the call.

“I don’t know who you are but you need to lose this number. Stalking is illegal. And creepy.” The door clicks open. Wyatt’s staring at me with shaving cream and a big grin on his face. He needs to take this seriously. Someone could be trying to hurt him. “Don’t call this number again. If I find out you are still bothering my friend, I won’t hesitate to get the authorities involved,” I say, hanging up before they can reply.

Taking a calming breath, I straighten any hair that got ruffled in between my threats.

“You really took care of them. I doubt they’ll ever call again.” Wyatt barely gets the sentence out before his phone is ringing.

“Unbelievable. Give me that.” I hold out my hand.

“I got it,” he says, pushing my hand away and answering the call. My eyes travel down his body and I realize for the first time that he’s shirtless. How did I miss that? I must have blacked out while I was reprimanding the unknown caller.

My eyes zone in on his chest and abs. I find myself leaning toward him and counting each row of packed muscle. Eight. Is that how many you’re supposed to have? I don’t think I have one. I’m going to make a note and ask my doctor about it.

“Hello.” Wyatt’s deep, southern twang pulls my attention back to his face. Which appears to be quite satisfied with the fact that I was checking him out. “Hold on a second,” he tells the person on the phone. “See something you like?”

I cross my arms over my chest. “I was looking for research purposes.”

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