Page 75 of Promise Me Nothing
“How’s Ivy doing?”
He swerves to avoid a young girl on rollerblades. “Why?”
“Oh just, I don’t know… because I like her? Haven’t seen her since that night at the yacht club. You mentioned she has a hard time fitting in.”
“She’s fine.” But that’s all he says and there’s something in the way he says it that makes me feel like I shouldn’t believe him.
I don’t know Wyatt, though, so I drop it, choosing to just ride along in silence. I can still see Paige and Lucas about a football field in front of us, swerving around like idiots, their voices carrying on the beach breeze.
We get to what I assume is the end of The Strand, but everyone turns right, climbing up a small set of stairs, and then continuing on the same path.
Wyatt comes to a stop at the foot of the steps and dismounts, then lifts his bike with one arm. “I’ve got that,” he says, stepping closer and taking my own bike out of my hands.
Then I watch as he climbs up towards the top, carrying both of our bikes like they weigh nothing, his muscles pronounced.
I’ve never been one to gawk at attractive men. I never liked the attention myself, not to mention the fact that the male body hasn’t ever been something I felt like swooning over.
Wyatt makes all of that go out the window.
I watch him for a moment, the trim line of his hips, the strength in his chest and arms, the muscles that ripple and hint at a man who spends time taking care of his body. He is… mmmmm. I don’t even have a word. I just know I like it.
Realizing that I’ve been standing at the bottom of the steps staring for far too long, I scramble to catch up.
“This is Manhattan Beach,” Wyatt offers once I’ve finally gotten to the top. “It’s a pretty cool place. Their high school football team sucks, though.”
I take my bike from where he’s holding it balanced for me, then give him a slightly playful smile. “It doesn’t surprise me that you know that.”
“Oh? And why’s that?”
I swallow something slightly sour, realizing I’m kind of stuck in a hard place if I answer this question.
Ultimately, I realize I have to tell him I admire his body.
Awesome.
Just what afriendwould do.
It takes everything in me not to roll my eyes when I remember that conversation from a few nights ago. How embarrassing was that?
Oh, would you like my number? How about a nice little trip between my legs? Oh. No? You just wanna be friends? Cool, cool, cool. That’s what I wanted too.
Ugh. I was never very popular with the boys when I was younger, mainly because of the whole Hannah The Cactus and Homeless Hannah thing. And honestly, I’m not sure I’ve everwantedto be ‘popular with the boys.’
I’ve always associated that moniker with the blonde girl on all those teenage pregnancy posters at my high school.
But there’s something about my interactions with Wyatt that makes me feel…
I don’t know. There’s a warmth in my soul that doesn’t just come from the sun. So to have him ask me out, then get so cool so quickly left me slightly chilled to the bone.
“You just look like a guy who likes sports,” is what I finally settle on.
There.
That’s safe.
I don’t need to tell him that he’s got nice muscles that pop out at the edge of his shirt sleeves, or that I could see when he stretched earlier before we took off and I caught sight of the tan skin between his jeans and his shirt.
Nah. He just looks sporty. Perfect.
