Page 24 of The Hearts We Fumble
Zane
I stopped caring about celebrating my birthday the year I turned twenty-one.
The only reason I still go out is because of the guys.
They’d never let me skimp out on a night at Whiskey Sinner’s, tossing back drinks like we’re still kids with no responsibilities.
And every year, without fail, Wyatt showed up with cupcakes or a homemade cake, something just for me. A silent way of letting me know she cared.
She’s never missed a birthday.
Not until last year.
So when I see her stride through the front door tonight, wearing a burgundy skirt, a black long-sleeved top, and knee-high boots that make her legs look even longer than they already are, she steals the breath right out of my lungs.
Damn.
As if she can feel my stare, her eyes find mine from across the bar.
And she doesn’t look away.
She holds my gaze, her confidence undeniable, her stride slow and deliberate as she makes her way toward our group of friends near the dance floor.
One of the girls whistles, teasing her about something, but Wyatt’s bright smile is aimed straight at me.
I swear I feel it everywhere.
I lift my beer, taking a slow drink, grateful for the noise and music drowning out the low groan threatening to escape my throat before Colter catches me staring at his little sister like she’s the only damn thing in the room.
I force myself to focus on Reed and Hayes, pretending to listen while they talk about the upgrades on his Mustang. I nod at all the right times and lift my beer like I’m engaged in the conversation, but my eyes keep aiming back at her.
To the way her light brown hair falls in soft waves, shorter than she used to wear it but framing her face perfectly.
To the freckles dusting her cheeks, faint but undeniable.
I don’t have to look to know they span across her collarbone, trailing over her shoulders and down her arms, a constellation I’ve memorized too well.
They always stood out more in the summertime after she spent too much time soaking up the sun, no matter how much sunscreen she swore she put on.
Her fair skin has always been her one weakness.
Everything else?
She’s as stubborn as they come—the kind of girl who will fight you tooth and nail just to prove a point, who stands her ground no matter the cost.
But her skin? That’s the one thing she can’t control.
And maybe that’s why I’ve always noticed it most.
Because Wyatt Vaughn isn’t the kind of girl you get to control, tame, or claim.
She’s the kind of girl you burn for.
And right now, I’m burning like hell.
Even when she tried to fight it, her body always gave her away.
She could resist the pull between us all she wanted, but I knew her too damn well.
