Page 30 of Wyatt

Wyatt changes hands on the wheel. He uses his left to drive while he pulls the right through his hair, making his bicep bulge against the sleeve of his denim shirt. “Were you playing doctor without me again, Sunshine?”

I involuntarily squeeze my thighs together, but I still manage to laugh. “We got a call a little after three. A mama accidentally kicked her foal and broke the poor baby’s leg.”

“Aw, man, that’s rough.” Wyatt cuts me a look. “But you fixed it, didn’t you? The foal’s leg?”

“I did, yeah. Two plates and six screws later, she should be right as rain.”

“Just another day for you.” Grinning, Wyatt offers me his fist. “Saving lives by screwing.”

God, I love how this man makes me laugh. I give him the fist bump he’s looking for. “Only doing my part.”

“No wonder you brought that.” He nods at the thermos cradled in the crook of my arm. “You deserve a drink. Hell, I do too. Iamyour biggest cheerleader.”

“Thirsty work for sure.”

“There’s a lot about me that’s thirsty, yeah.”

I lift my elbow and nudge him in the ribs. “Gross.”

“I am as God made me.”

“And God will most certainlynotbless the broken road that led us to your thirst traps.”

“What thirst traps? You need to be on social media to post those.”

“Not having an Instagram account doesn’t make you any hotter, Wy.”

Except it does. It most definitely,definitelydoes.

His face splits into a smile. “Then why you blushin’, Sal?”

I decide to ignore that question. “I’m just talking about you. The way you walk into The Rattler like you own it. The way you talk to women. You’re like a live-action thirst trap?—”

“It’s actually cute how red you get.”

“It’s the sun, okay? And being up at three.”

Have we always been this flirty? I feel like we’re usually playful, and yet?—

I don’t know, something feels different between us right now. I could be imagining it on account of my extreme,extremenervousness. But I wonder if our little not-so-fake flirting routine on the dance floor last night amped up the, er,energybetween us today.

Then again, I am in the midst of a very long, very serious sexual drought. Maybe I’ve just reached a critical level of dire need that makes me hyperaware of any male in the vicinity.

Wyatt turns his attention back to the windshield. “You said,wegot a call. You’re talking about you and your dad, right? Like y’all were, well, together? When the call came? Like in the same house?”

I furrow my brow, my stomach flipping.

Wait a second.Wait.Does Wyatt think I left The Rattler with Beck last night?

Why would Wyatt care? And why won’t my stomach stop flipping at the idea of Wyatt being jealous? That’s just ridiculous.

“Of course we were in the same house. Thanks for thelovely reminder that I live with my parents and sleep in the same twin bed I’ve had since I was three.”

“Welcome,” Wyatt says, his expression relaxing.

If I didn’t know any better, I’d say he almost looks relieved.

The scent of the air changes, a clean earthiness filling my head. We climb one last hill, and the Colorado River comes into view, a broad stretch of blue-green water that cuts a meandering path through the arid countryside. The strong afternoon light glints off its rippled surface, and I can just hear the quiet, gurgling rush of the water above the sound of the ATV’s engine.

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