Page 33 of Wyatt

Awful, painful silence that rings with my best friend’s judgment.

The shame that fills me as Wyatt stares me down is unlike anything I’ve experienced, ever. I am hot and prickly all over. Sweat breaks out underneath my arms and along my scalp. He looks…not disappointed exactly. But certainly not pleased.

And do I detect a hint of that jealousy from before? Thatcan’t be right though. Why would Wyatt ever be jealous of who I’m hooking up with?

I knock back the cider with a shaky hand. “You know what? Forget I asked. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to offend you or make you uncomfortable?—”

“Sally—”

“Please forget I ever mentioned it, okay?” I somehow manage to refill the cup. “Friends don’t ask you to fake date them. And I want to be a good friend to you, Wy.”

From the corner of my eye, I catch his expression soften.

“You’re the best friend. Literally.”

“Ha.”

“Why this sudden need for, well,that?”

The urge to be honest—truly bare it all—grips me. I blame the whiskey.

I already told Wyatt how I was feeling about going back to New York. If anyone found out I was having doubts, my parents especially, I’d be in hot water.

But no one is going to find out because Wyatt can keep a secret.

“It’s been a while since I was able to have fun with a guy, whether it’s at a bar or in bed.” I swallow, hard. “My mind is just this jumble of panic when I’m around men. I end up chasing them away, which sucks but I figured whatever, I’ll just focus on work for a while. But now…God, Wyatt, I feel like I haven’t been touched in forever. Touchedwell, you know? And going without that for so long, it makes you…” I struggle to come up with the right word to describe how I’ve felt lately. “Sad. Anxious. I doubt myself constantly. I need to make a course correction, reverse the momentum, or I’m afraid…”

“Afraid of what?”

I swallow hard. “That I’ll believe the worst about myself—the lies my doubt tells me when I hit a low, or I’m feeling especially lonely. That Ideserveloneliness.”

More silence.

I pass the cup to Wyatt, and he takes a long, thoughtful sip before running his tongue along his upper lip. The movement is slow, deliberate, and my body pulses when I imagine how that tongue would feel on my own lips.

How it would taste.

I blink, looking away. Honestly,whatiswrongwith me today? Maybe I really am fifteen again, awash in hormones and haunted by the desire for a deep, good kiss.

Speaking of goodness—I was a good student. I am a good veterinarian. I’ll be a good employee. I’ve always been a good friend and a good daughter.

But what do I have to show for being so damn good for so damn long? A job I’m not sure I want and a raging case of whatever the female version of blue balls is.

I blink at the familiar press of heat in my eyes.

“You’re spiraling, aren’t you?” Wyatt’s voice is different.

Deeper and yet somehow softer too.

My nipples pebble. “No. Just questioning all my life decisions and wondering if I should live off the grid and raise alpacas instead.”

“Assuming makes an ass out of you and me, you know.”

A bark of laughter escapes my lips. “An ass joke. I get it.”

“I do have a nice ass.”

Don’t I know it.

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