Page 69 of Strike Zone

And that kiss.

I pull the covers over my head and squeal. I’ve never been kissed like that before.

“Birdie,” Wyatt says, before knocking softly on the door and cracking it open. “Are you okay in here? I heard you scream.”

“I’m fine. My contacts. I didn’t take them out last night.” I grasp for an excuse. I’m not one to squeal like an excited little school girl. He knows that as well as I do.

I’m still wrapped up in a cocoon of Wyatt’s blankets when I realize the other side of the bed was left untouched. “You didn’t sleep in here?”

He prowls over to the end of the bed and crosses his arms over his chest. Lust-filled eyes drink in my body. I’m in his room. In his bed. The thought has me rubbing my thighs together.

“Slept in Hart’s bed.” The muscles in his forearms flex as if he’s clenching fists that are currently hidden behind his biceps.

He didn’t want to sleep in the same bed as me. Why? Does he think last night was a mistake? He’s not looking at me right now like kissing me was a bad judgment call.

“That sounds…cozy.”

He smirks at me. “He stayed over at Lauren’s place. You were passed out. I wasn’t going to sleep in the same bed as you without your permission.”

“What a gentleman.” I wrestle myself out of the sheet and comforter. “Stupid sheet. Get off me.” I kick my feet until I’m able to set myself free. With a huff, I push my hair out of my face. Wyatt curses under his breath.

“Birdie.” My name is a warning.

“What?” I ask. He nods to my chest.

I guess my tank top twisted around my body while I was sleeping. My left boob has slipped out of the arm hole. “It’s not like you haven’t seen them before.” I shrug and straighten my shirt.

“Birdie,” he says my name again, with a growl. “I’m barely hanging on here.”

“Hanging on to what?” I snap at him, my hands on my hips.

He stalks over to me. “Do you know how good you looked sleeping in my bed?” He pushes a piece of hair behind my ear. “I could have watched you sleep for hours.”

“That’s a little creepy,” I whisper. And sweet.

His lip twitches under his mustache. “Go get ready.” He kisses the top of my head.

“I need to get my suitcase and something for my contacts.” Suddenly I feel out of sorts and panicky without everything I need to get ready for the day. We are leaving for Rivers Bend today and I’m not prepared.

“Picked up your stuff this morning. I had Charlie throw in something for your contacts.” He nods toward the wall by his closet. “Meet me upstairs when you’re ready.”

“Oh, okay. Thank you.” That was thoughtful. How early did he get up? Could he not sleep? I have a hard time going to sleep in unfamiliar places. I didn’t struggle last night though. That’s because Wyatt is familiar, I think as I make his bed and breathe in his scent one more time.

The routine of showering and getting ready calms the sudden rush of anxiety I feel. Routines are reliable and steady. I need that feeling to counterbalance the wild stir of emotions running rampant through my mind. The next week is filled with too many unknowns.

Too many scenarios where things could go wrong. Too many people who don’t know me well and may not understand me. Too much time with Wyatt not knowing where we stand.

Breathe, Wren. This week is a job. I’m helping Wyatt and his family. I can do that. I can focus on the tasks, not the people.

Wyatt’s in the kitchen cooking something on the stovetop when I finally make my way upstairs.

“Can I help with anything?” I ask. He tosses me a glance over his shoulder, and his gaze scans my body thoroughly before licking his bottom lip. I’m dressed casually today in joggers and a T-shirt. My hair is thrown up in a high ponytail.

“Do you want to toast the bread?” He nods towards the bread.

“I think I can handle that. Do you cook a lot?” I drop the bread in the toaster, then turn my attention back to Wyatt. He’s expertly folding eggs to create the perfect omelet. He's cooked for me a few times but we typically get food on campus.

“Not a lot while I’m at school. There isn’t enough time between classes and practice. At home we take turns making meals and cooking for the family.” He slides the omelet onto a plate and passes it to me.

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