Page 52 of The Order of Disorder
Wyatt takes my hand, squeezing with concern. A sight like that is strange to him. He doesn’t fully realize that to me, it’s normal.
We walk for a bit and then he stops and pulls me in, slow and smooth, lowering his mouth to my ear. To anyone watching, it probably looks like he’s about to say something dirty.
But it’s Wyatt, so of course he’s not.
“This kind of night,” he says, voice low. “Drunk men, loud music, distractions everywhere…If I were going to carve a holein this place, I’d do it under this kind of noise.” He pauses, eyes tracking across the hangar like he’s mapping routes in his head. “And with the race…it’ll be worse than this. Hundreds of people coming and going. Of course, security will be ten times tighter than it is now.”
His voice is all strategy, a man doing complex calculations. But I lean into him as if I’m playing along, feeling his breath hot against my ear and neck, the brush of his body against mine. The tequila makes it easy to get closer to him, to let the smell of him make my breath hitch.
He smells so clean and crisp under the leather, like aftershave and laundry, nothing like this place. I breathe in the warm smell of his neck feeling heady and loose.
He’s still talking, oblivious to the reaction warming my body. “If I could shift the gate schedule by five minutes and disable one camera…maybe we’d have a window to go out the north fence. Late. When everyone’s too drunk to care about…”
I press a hand to his chest, feeling the muscle tense beneath his shirt as I trace the line of it. He goes still, and then he laughs—a warm, rough sound close to my ear.
“What’re you doing?”
I glance up at him, flushed with tequila and shameless. “Playing the part. Aren’t I supposed to?”
He laughs again, low and breathy, but he doesn’t move away. He just stands there with his head still bent over mine, and I become tremendously aware of the rise and fall of his chest under my hand as he breathes.
His hand lifts and settles at my waist. For a second, he just looks at me with soft eyes, a crease forming between his brows. He opens his mouth and closes it, like he wants to say something but stops himself. The smallest smile tugs at his lips. Then he says: “You smell like vanilla and lime,” in a low, warm, unguarded murmur.
“It’s the tequila,” I say with a giggle, and his smile widens, easy and rare.
“I know.”
It’s not often that I see this version of Wyatt—relaxed, playful. Laidback. I haven’t seen it once since we’ve been in the hangar together. He’s been too busy keeping me alive, standing between me and the worst of this world. Looking out for me just like he’s always done. Like he did that first night at Ryder’s house, when he gave me a place to stay and a job. He’s always been there for me—somehow, against all odds, I even found him here, of all places, when I needed him the most.
Wyatt, I realize, means everything to me.
The words leave my mouth before I even have time to think about them.
“I love you, Wyatt.”
His lips twitch into the smallest smile, and his brow knits, like the words surprised him. Not in a bad way. Just unexpected.
He takes a breath, his eyes searching mine for a beat, and then he leans in and presses a gentle kiss to my forehead.
“Love you too, kid,” he murmurs against my skin.
My heart swells and bursts.
For a moment, he just holds me there and I breathe it all in—the warmth of him, the solid weight, the soft joy filling my chest. Then his mouth shifts to my ear and he teases, “I knew you’d be an I-love-you drunk.”
I laugh and swat his chest with one hand. “I mean it.”
“Oh, I know you do.” He pulls back slightly, eyes twinkling. “In vino veritas.”
I hit him again, and something in his expression softens, his smile dimming into something sincere.
“I mean it too, kiddo. You know I do.”
I could stay right here, held in this rare moment, but a lanky blond prospect barrels up to us with a bottle of whiskey, followedby another guy balancing a stack of disposable shot cups. Before I can protest, we each have one in our hands.
“Shots for the captain and his lady!” the blond announces, grinning, and then they move on.
Wyatt looks at the shot. Looks at me. “This is the last thing we need.”
