Page 31 of Strike Zone

“Great. We’ll start with this.” I snatch the hat off the top of his head.

“Absolutely not. I wore that to my first costume party. It has memories.”

“Wyatt, you do not need to remember the time you dressed up as a disco cowboy. If anything, we should be offering free therapy to anyone who had to witness you wearing this.”

“Fine.” He pouts, looking longingly toward the hat. “But we’re donating it. It’s not garbage.”

“Sure. I would hate for someone to miss out on the opportunity to strut through town wearing that monstrosity.”

“I guess this means I need to donate the matching silver chaps too.”

“Dear God. Why don’t you grab a few trash bags and I’ll get started pulling everything out and sorting it into piles.” I push him out of the closet.

He nods and walks toward the door. “Don’t throw anything out without my approval.”

“I wouldn’t dream of it,” I say. He nods again accepting my answer. I wouldn’t do that to him. “Hey, Wyatt,” I call out to him before he slips through the door. “Thanks for this. It was a good surprise.”

He smiles, but it’s different. His dimples barely register in his cheeks and his lips aren’t turned all the way up. The smile is shy and unsure. Sweet almost. “You’re welcome.”

While he runs upstairs for supplies, I pull the sheets and comforter up on his bed. This will be our sorting area. Then I move all the clothes from around the floor and pile them in the corner. I’m assuming they’re dirty, but you never know with him.

It’s been a while since I’ve tackled an organization job this large. I’m a little giddy over it. I think it’s best to clear it out in small batches. Then sort everything into piles. Keep, toss, and giveaway.

I pull down an armload of clothes he has hanging in the closet and toss them on the bed. Sorting through the stack, I realize he has a lot of nice dress shirts, but I’ve never seen him dress up like this before. My fingers glide over the fabric of the sleeve as I place it in a neat pile.

“We have to wear those for away games. Coach likes us arriving sharp.”

I bet he does look sharp in this. And handsome. And sexy.I’ve been around men in suits most of my life. But there is something about this man, who answers to no one and typically only wears jeans and T-shirts, wearing a suit and tie that makes it sound even hotter.

Stop it, Wren. I scold myself. He likes Charlie and I’m getting married. Maybe.

“They can start the keep pile.”

“I would rather give those away and keep the chaps.” He pouts.

I roll my lips to stop myself from laughing. “I’m sure you would.” I pat him on the arm.

Wyatt helps me sort through the rest of the clothes on his bed, then goes back to get more. We are able to cycle through this portion of his closet quickly. He’s been doing a good job letting things go, and I’m in my element color coordinating everything to be placed back in an orderly fashion.

“I’ve been looking for these,” he says from the back of the closet.

Curiosity has me walking in there to see what long lost treasure, or trash, he’s discovered. Wyatt is sitting on the floor with a feather boa wrapped around his neck and giant glasses on his face.

“You look ridiculous.” I lean against the door frame with my arms crossed.

“What are you talking about? I look fucking incredible.”

“If you say so.”

“I’ll have you know Elton John night at The Armory was a hit. Here, I found one for you too.”

“Why do I need a feather boa?” I ask, as he drapes it over my shoulders and around my neck.

“Because.” He places large pink sunglasses over the glasses I’m already wearing. It’s a little awkward, but it would be anyway considering their size. “We are going to go upstairs and serenade Eli and Nash.”

“We will do no such thing.” I start to remove the boa. Wyatt’s hands clamp down on mine, stopping my movement.

“We are. Come on. We need a break and this will be fun.”

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