Page 32 of Concealed

No.

What is the matter with me?

“Can we go somewhere quiet?” I ask, my face flushed even though he can’t read my mind.

But based on his smirk and the direction of my gaze, maybe he can. “You mean, not a cop bar?”

“Just… dark and quiet.”

I don’t want to go to a cop bar, but that wasn’t what I meant – exactly. Being out in public still gets my thoughts racing and anxiety building, but going out with Wyatt sounds confusingly good.

When I lived in Vegas, I was also mostly alone, but at least I had my best friend Alex to text. Now, no one can know where I am, not even her.

I haven’t dared to answer her panicked emails because even she doesn’t have my new number. She was the only one who didn’t abandon me, though I’m sure she will now.

But I had to get away.

“I don’t know that much about Sunnyville,” Wyatt admits. “I’ll look up somewhere for us to go while you’re getting ready.”

All I can think about is the almost-maybe-kiss, and while I mentally scream at myself to shut up, the words fly out of my mouth before I can trap them.

“Thanks, Wyatt. Are we… I mean, is this…”

Oh, God, I am going to sound like a total idiot if I ask him whether or not this is a date and it’s not. Of course, it’s not. Why on earth would he want to date me? I’m running from a crazy ex – exactly the kind of girl every guy dreams of getting involved with.

But how do I backtrack? For an experienced liar, my skills are sure failing me right now because I can’t think of any other question to ask him that sounds remotely plausible.

He spreads his hands, palms up. “Just friends. Don’t worry. I’m not hitting on you, and I don’t have time for a relationship anyway.”

So, the almost-maybe-kiss didn’t mean anything to him, and he’s had time to think about what he was about to do and re-evaluate. It’s probably for the best anyway because we’re roommates, and even though being friends with benefits would be convenient, it could also cause a whole slew of problems.

It’s not like he’s looking for a girlfriend – he just said so himself.

“Great,” I squeak, even though it doesn’t sound great. In fact, my heart sinks with disappointment, and I can’t quite understand why.

And then, since it’s apparently my norm, I run upstairs like my pants are on fire.

Wyatt chose a seaside bistro that is only lit by the setting sun and twinkle lights, and it seems to cater to an older clientele and not a young, rowdy party crowd. It’s exactly what I asked for, but even though the make-up hides most of Matt’s sins, vulnerability courses through me.

I don’t even realize I’m trembling until Wyatt casually sets his hand on the small of my back, and my body instantly relaxes. It’s like I can absorb strength from his big, warm hand, not to mention the jolt that electrifies my nerve endings from his touch and proximity.

Wyatt requests a table in the back, and since he wants to face the exit, I get to face the wall – and him.

Jesus.

He changed out of his uniform into jeans that fit him like a glove paired with a white polo shirt that shows off his bronzed skin. The picture Gabe sent me didn’t even begin to prepare me for this man in the flesh.

And Wyatt wants me to believe that he doesn’t dip into badge bunnies who must flock to him in droves?

Please.

“How was work?” This seems like a nice, safe topic and something a normal person would ask her roommate.

That’s what he is.

My temporary roommate.

I need to just forget about the almost-maybe-kiss.

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