Page 3 of The Hearts We Fumble
And that? That’s exactly why I feel justified in doing the same.
She’s always been my firecracker. And I can already feel it coming—the moment she detonates on me all over again.
Chapter Two
Wyatt
“Baby, where’re you goin’?”
I freeze at the sound of his deep, sleep-rough voice, my fingers tightening around the strap of my bag. Shit.
Gritting my teeth, I force a smile and turn to face him. “My ride’s here. I gotta get to work.”
Lies. Lies. Lies.
Luca exhales a lazy sigh, propping himself up on an elbow. The sheets dip around his bare torso, the early morning light catching on the tattoo that stretches across his ribs. Great. Now he looks even more smug.
“If you would’ve told me, I would’ve given you a ride instead.”
I swallow the urge to roll my eyes. The last thing I need right now is to pay for an Uber, but I sure as hell don’t need him driving me home either. Moving back in with my mom as a sophomore in college is already bad enough. I feel like I’ve backtracked when everyone else is moving forward.
I lift a shoulder in a shrug. “It’s okay. Maybe next time.”
Another lie. They’re rolling off my tongue so easily now, I should be concerned.
Luca’s hair is a disheveled mess, his jawline rough with stubble. He coughs, voice thick with sleep, his heavy-lidded eyes tracking my every move as I hunt for my bag. He’s ruggedly handsome, the kind of good-looking that comes with zero effort and full awareness of its power.
And if his stare is anything to go by, he’s not used to being ignored.
“I don’t know where my phone is,” he muses, stretching lazily before flashing me a smirk. “Why don’t you save mine and text me later?”
Good grief, Wyatt. Why did you let Claudia drag you to this party last night anyway?
Spotting the strap of my purse peeking out from beneath a pile of clothes he must’ve shed the night before, I bend down, tug it free, and sling it over my shoulder. I scoop up my own sweatshirt—the one I wore to the party—and tuck it under my arm. My phone is already in my hand, the screen glowing as I pull up a contact list, pretending to care.
“Go ahead,” I say.
He rattles off his number, watching me closely as I tap it in. When I’m done, I hold up my phone with a sweet, fake-as-hell smile. “Got it.”
He grins as if he thinks this means something, but it doesn’t.
“You want me to walk you out?” Luca swings his legs over the edge of the bed, his muscles flexing slightly as he moves.
“No, it’s fine.” My phone buzzes, and my eyes flick down to the preview of a text from Tatum asking where the heck I am.
Guilt stabs at me. I stopped responding to her texts last night after Claudia picked me up. I was too wrapped up in my own self-pity, wallowing over the fact I had to move back home. Claudia hadn’t let me. She’d shown up, full of fiery energy and no room for negotiation, dragging me off to this party with the excuse that I needed to shut my brain off for a night.
It hadn’t worked. But I appreciate the effort.
Pushing out a breath, I step onto the front porch of the Alpha Nu house, where the aftermath of last night’s party is still alive in the wreckage. Cups litter the lawn. Streamers dangle from the railing. Someone’s jersey is crumpled in the flower bed, abandoned like the dignity of half the people who walked through these doors last night.
Adjusting my bag and sweatshirt over my arm, I jog down the steps, then pause as the world tilts ever so slightly.Ugh.The remnants of last night cling to me, a dull throb settling behind my eyes, my hands clammy, my pulse drumming a little too hard in my temples.
I start toward the bus stop at the end of the street, keeping my head down.
I don’t belong here. Never have.
And if my brother found out where I was last night—or worse, who I was with—he’d never let me hear the end of it.
