Page 75 of Win Big

“Who was that little boy I saw you with? New Year’s Day...”

I stiffen, then force myself to relax. Since she’s pressed up against me in her bed, she probably noticed, though. I’d forgotten that day I ran into her at the pier. “He’s a friend’s kid.”

“Oh. I was wondering if you had a son.”

“Jesus! Uh, no, he’s not mine. I have no kids.”

“That you know about.”

I groan. I made that joke on New Year’s Eve. No wonder she thought Owen was mine. “Seriously. And if I did, I sure as hell would know.”

“Okay.”

We lay snuggled together. A few minutes later, I ask, “Why do you have to be perfect all the time?” I stroke her arm.

She sighs. “I don’t really want to talk about it.”

“I know your secrets. I know about your volunteer work. I know you’re worried about your dad. You can tell me.”

After a pause, she says slowly, “When I was a teenager, I got in some... trouble. I wasn’t arrested or anything,” she adds hastily. “But it was a potential scandal that had my parents really upset. They were so disappointed in me. My dad had to... well, he got involved and saved my ass, and I guess I feel like I owe them. Ever since then I’ve tried to make it up to them.”

I think about this. When I was sixteen, I got caught with having alcohol underage. The cops called my parents and told them. I didn’t get arrested or anything either, but I knew my parents were disappointed in me. “I think every teenager goes through that. Every teenager screws up somehow.”

“I suppose. But not every teenager is a Wynn.”

“That makes it worse?”

“Well, some teenagers get in trouble and nobody ever knows about it. With us... it’s hard to keep stuff like that out of the media.”

“That’s a lot of pressure on a kid.”

She lets out another short sigh. “Yeah. It can be. There are a lot of benefits that come from wealth and privilege, but there are some negatives too.”

I call her princess. And in a way she is. But she’s a lot more than that.

She volunteers at the shelter. Nobody knows who she is. She does that for no reward. Nobody knows about it. She helps clean up the beach.

She grew up with a shit ton of expectations and pressure and now I’m starting to see why she’s so perfect... she thinks she has to be.

But nobody’s perfect and it worries me that she puts that much of a burden on herself.

I roll her under me and kiss her, slow and sustained and sweet. “You don’t always have to be perfect,” I murmur against her cheek. “Around me. I just want you to know that.”

“Oh.” Her eyelashes flutter and her bottom lip quivers. “That’s the sweetest thing anyone’s ever said to me, I think.”

Holy shit. What doesthatsay?

“I like you when you’re not perfect... when you’re messy and aching and wet. I like messing you up and having dirty, messy, fun sex with you.”

She wraps her arms around my neck and kisses me again, a deep kiss full of emotion. My heart expands hard against my sternum at the vulnerability she just revealed to me. I want to protect her. Take care of her. And... fuck her.

15

EVERLY

I’m sittingin my office Monday morning with Murray.

Pictures of Wyatt and me are all over TV and social media. Sitting courtside at a Cougars game will do that. And Wyatt’s antics helped; him dancing with the mascot provides entertaining clips. The sports commentators on the big networks are getting a kick out him cheering on the Cougars, and other blogs are posting a picture of him kissing me. That one’s being retweeted and shared on Facebook and Instagram over and over.

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