Page 3 of Forging Legacy

Emboldened by his warm facial expression, I charge ahead. “Any interest in me pouring drinks at your place? While you read … or whatever?”

Wyatt rubs a hand on his chin, considering. I’m not great at this, but I sense a look of combined surprise and desire on his face. He’s quiet for a long time, long enough that I worry I blew it and ruined everything. Oh, god, what if he’s gay? Or taken? As if he can read the panic on my face, he blows out a breath. “You’re gorgeous, Fern. But are you sure? There’s a lot of guys here who can maybe …” He looks around like he’s trying to decide what a guy should be able to do for me.

I place a hand on his and meet his eye, drawing on confidence I had no idea lurked inside me. Desperate times, I guess. “Wyatt, I don’t want a guy who can do anything other than get me off. I don’t have time for more than that.”

He takes a sip of his drink, chewing one of the ice cubes in his glass. I reach past his fingers and pluck the cherry back from his soda, biting it from the stem and hoping I don’t look like an idiot. He leans back in his bar chair and I’m pretty sure he adjusts himself before he crosses his arms and squints at me. “Did my cousin put you up to this?”

“What? No. I don’t know you. How would I know your cousin?”

Wyatt bites his lip and looks behind him, evidently spotting the cousin in question among the crowd of rowdy, laughing athlete guys. Wyatt pulls off his hat and rubs at his hair, which is a little long on top but shaved on the sides and back. Suddenly, all I want to do is run my hands through it, learn the shape of his haircut, and feel those sweaty strands between my fingers. He’s hot. I look pretty good. This has to happen, right?

Wyatt nods, like he’s finished having a similar internal monologue. “Your place or mine?”

I rip the apron off my waist and make eye contact with Thora, who claps a hand over her mouth and jumps up and down and makes the okay sign with her other hand. “Yours. I have to leave here through the back door. Meet me in the alley?”

Chapter3

Wyatt

On one hand,this alley is pretty private, and I feel a sense of calm knowing nobody is going to run up to me to ask about my season, my prospects, or my parents.

On the other, it’s dark as hell and I hate that Fern was going to head out here alone in the middle of the night. I lean against the warm brick wall, waiting anxiously for her to emerge, questioning my decisions. What am I even doing, bringing a woman home for a one-night stand?

I’ve had teammates do this and wake up to find pictures of their ass plastered across social media. Something in my gut tells me Fern isn’t going to do that. I get the feeling she’s all business, all the time. And for some reason, she decided tonight her business is me.

The door opens with a burst of light and loud noise, and Fern slips into the alley, shivering a bit in her coat. I catch a brief look of hesitation on her face, but then she smiles and approaches me. “So, where do you live?”

I extend an arm for her to walk ahead of me down the alley and toward Forbes Avenue and my stellar parking spot. “I’m just a few blocks away, but my cousins made me drive.” I glance at her and unlock the Rover. “Heated seats!”

Her eyes widen, seeing the car. I sort of like that she doesn’t seem to know who I am. She clearly wasn’t expecting a nice car like this. “Wow.” She climbs inside and runs her hands along the leather arm rest. I close her door and walk around to my side, climbing in and turning on the engine as Fern massages my interior. Our hands brush when I reach for the gear shift, and I feel a jolt of electricity running through my body that has nothing to do with the V-8.

I clear my throat and flick on the button to warm Fern’s seat. She smiles and settles in. “Wow. That heated up so fast. Okay, I’m never leaving this car.”

I turn around to check behind me as I back out of the parking spot, catching her staring at me when I pull onto the busy three-lane street. “So, you’ll be serving me sodas from the passenger seat?”

I sort of like cracking jokes with her. I relax into the idea of getting naked with this woman, getting up close and personal with her incredible curves. But when I glance her way, she seems tense, so I reach for her hand, running a thumb across her knuckles. “Just ‘til graduation,” she clarifies. “After that, I’ll move out.”

“Upgrade to an RV?” I turn through Schenley Park so I can loop back around to Atwood Street. Out of habit I give a wave to the dinosaur statue, feeling a bit dumb. My parents often took me and my sister to the history museum and joked about the dinosaurs playing soccer with their eggs.

Fern sighs. “Hopefully, I’ll upgrade to a lorry. Or whatever counts as a luxury vehicle in England.”

I nod. “I’m trying to move abroad myself. Do you have a job lined up?”

She shakes her head and closes her eyes, continuing to rub her palms along the now-warm seat. “I applied for a few fellowships. If it all goes to plan, I’ll live in a van by the river Thames and get a PhD.”

There are no spots near our apartment, of course, and I grit my teeth as I prepare to circle the block and look for parking. “You might be better off with an apartment you can walk to and from.”

Fern sits up straighter. “Didn’t you say you were your cousins’ ride? How will they get home?”

I growl in frustration, turning onto a street two blocks from my door. “They’ll have less of a walk than us now that all the parking is gone. I should have made them hoof it, to begin with.”

Fern points to a spot on the left side of the street. “There’s one!”

I nod and parallel-park while she stares at me again. Maybe I back up an extra time, just to be sure. I grin and unbuckle, turning to face her. “If you can stand the walk, I have the heat on in my apartment. No leather, but the couch isn’t too bad.”

Fern opens her door, catching me off guard. I run around the side of the car in time to at least close it for her. She smiles. There’s heat in her gaze, and I take her hand, making our way down the street. She looks up at me, blowing her dark hair from her eyes. “You never said why you’re leaving the country. Grad school?”

I shake my head, incredulous. She has no idea. This is amazing. “I’ve got some job prospects in Mexico.” A half-truth, a small omission. I can be anybody I want tonight. I can be Wyatt Moyer for real, with a woman who hasn’t memorized my stats or searched the internet for my parents, or bookmarked news stories from when my bio dad was arrested for leaving me in a hot car while he went into a bar.

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