Page 44 of Concealed

Matt could always find something I did wrong, and being scared to make a mistake only caused me to make more of them.

And then pay for them.

“Who has dates like this?” Wyatt complains, as the couple on screen parasails over the gorgeous turquoise ocean.

His arm is resting on the back of the couch, and he’s absently playing with a strand of my hair. I’m trying not to obsess about what the gesture could mean.

It doesn’t exactly scream roommates, and it’s such a huge milestone that touch can be spontaneous again without making me jump through the roof.

“I mean, they’re in St. Lucia!” Wyatt exclaims. “I bet none of these relationships last with a foundation of unrealistic nonsense. I’m sure going home to mundane jobs and the suburbs doesn’t quite compare.”

“Some people just want their fifteen minutes of fame.”

“Not me. None of these women even know him, and they’re throwing themselves at him – fine – but they’re also saying they love him – no.”

I laugh and pass him the remote. “Here, why don’t you choose something?”

“I’m sorry,” Wyatt says with a rueful grin. “I’m ruining your show.”

“It’s okay. I’m mostly watching it just because I can now.”

Matt only wanted the television on if he could watch professional sports. Like anything else I showed any interest in, he ridiculed whatever I suggested. He mocked and embarrassed me whether I wanted to watch The Bachelor or a Civil War documentary.

It was so much easier to be voiceless and invisible. But eventually, even that didn’t work.

It’s so different with Wyatt.

He’s teasing me, but it’s good-natured. He isn’t calling me a stupid, useless bitch or insulting me as a person. He’s focusing on the premise of the show, and it makes me happy that he isn’t impressed by the superficial.

Maybe he wants his real-life relationships to have substance, too.

Wyatt goes to the kitchen to grab the bottle of wine, and then returns to refill our glasses. But when he sits down again, he’s a lot closer to me this time. In fact, he’s so close that our legs touch, and my skin immediately tingles from the contact.

“Thanks for making me dinner,” he murmurs, so close that his breath tickles my ear.

“Thanks for finally coming home to eat it.”

Wyatt chuckles. “So, it’s true then? You really did miss me?”

If my body temperature is any indication, my face is flushed scarlet. He uses a thumb to turn my head toward him, giving an expectant eyebrow raise.

“Yes,” I squeak.

The grin that makes his eyes crinkle is worth the mortification. “For what it’s worth, I missed you, too. Work has been–”

“Wyatt?”

“Hmm?”

“Shut up.”

“The last time you told me to shut up, we ended up kissing. Is this a pattern, or you just don’t like it when I talk? You have very pretty lips, so don’t tempt me to guess. There are some cravings it’s impossible not to indulge in.”

I actually love when he talks. He has the smoothest baritone that sends rumbly shockwaves along my spine no matter if he’s complimenting the nachos or my lips.

Wyatt is a man that I crave, and it’s not just sex. I want it all – his scent, his vibe, his company, his…

“I like patterns,” I whisper.

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