Page 114 of If All Else Sails
“I see how it is.”
“That wasn’t retribution! I swear. I told you—I don’t dance well.”
“I think you’re doing just fine—ow.”
I drop my forehead to Wyatt’s chest after stepping on him again, hiding the flush in my cheeks as I laugh. “How about this? We don’t lift our feet and just sway?”
“You think we’ll be able to handle a small shu?e?” he asks.
“Probably not. It’s weird you’re bad at this when you’re so good on the ice.” I realize my mistake as soon as the words leave my mouth.
His eyes glitter. “Rookie, have you been watching hockey?”
“No.” I’m sure the flush in my cheeks will give me away, so I duck my head. “No more talking. We’re ruining Otis.”
“Otis cannot be ruined by bad dancing or by talking.” With a sigh that sounds more contented than frustrated, Wyatt tugs me a little closer. He dips his chin so his cheek rests near the top of my head. “And I know you’re lying to me, Josie. I heard the videos. I know what hockey sounds like.”
I pull back. “I was wearing headphones!”
His wicked grin does things to my stomach. I drop my head to his chest again so I don’t have to see it. “You are the worst.”
“Not at hockey. You said so yourself.”
I grumble but don’t try to argue. It’s futile. So is, it seems, my resistance to Wyatt.
His hands move ever so slightly, tightening on my hips. I’m practically vibrating with tension, suddenly aware of how small the space in the saloon is, the galley on one side and the seating area on the other. How close Wyatt and I are. How firm his hands feel against my back. How good he smells. The heat of his skin. The way his fingertips flex lightly, as though they’re itching to move and explore.
But what I’m most aware of is the thrum of my own impatience like a plucked string.
I like Wyatt. I trust Wyatt. He’s been nothing but amazing on this trip. The kind of imperfect perfect I didn’t know he could be.
So what if this can’t be long term? So what if he leaves for Boston once we get back and I head home? Why can’t I just enjoy the moment for once?
Maybe Toni was right. Not about the running—she’s wrong there. Definitely wrong. But maybe she’s right about the kissing. What’s the harm in a kiss?
Plenty of harm! So much harm!the same protective part of me screams.
I hit the Mute button.
Tilting my head back, I scan Wyatt’s handsome face, his smooth jaw and gray eyes. His full, frowning lips. That’s when I notice it.
“You’ve got egg on your face,” I say, brushing it away with a fingertip. “Literal egg. Not figurative egg.”
“Can’t have that,” he murmurs, eyes locked on my mouth.
“Your a?iction is catching,” I tell him.
He frowns, and the little divot appearing between his eyebrows is adorable. I want to press a kiss there, to smooth it out beneath my lips.
“What a?iction?” he asks.
“Foot-in-mouth disease.” I pause, tell myself to be brave. Lick my lips. His eyes track the movement. “I’m not very good at saying what I mean.”
“What do you want to say, Josie?” The husk in his voice tells me he knows what I meant to say. Or, at least, he suspects. Hopes.
“I don’t want tosayanything.”
I also don’t know that I’m brave enough to kiss him first. Or that we should be kissing at all. But I’ve passed the point of no return, of letting logical thought steer the ship. I’ve stepped over the edge and am in free fall.
