Page 43 of Concealed

He advances on me, and there’s so much heat in his gaze that my mouth goes dry.

“I don’t care what we watch,” he murmurs. “The perfect part of the evening is being with you.”

It’s impossible to swallow, and I’m fairly certain my motor functions are slowly shutting down. “In that case, we’ll watch Twilight.”

He chuckles and the moment evaporates, letting me catch my breath. Damn, I’m not used to this flirting business – at all.

“I’ll just go shower and then meet you on the couch? I want to wash that shift away.”

If he had a bad day, he’s not showing it. His movements are easy and limber as always. But that likely comes from being a man who is comfortable in his own skin and knows how to move his body with precision and purpose no matter what he’s doing.

Like me.

He could be doing me.

Jesus.

“The task force?” I ask, trying to clear my foggy, Wyatt-filled head.

He nods but doesn’t elaborate.

“Do you ever get used to it?” I ask before sliding the nachos into the oven.

“No. And if I ever did, I’d find a new job. Being used to it would mean I didn’t give a shit anymore. That’s not to say I didn’t learn how to cope with the hard stuff. I had to, or I would have burned out in a year. But sex trafficking and hanging out with pedos will never be just another routine day for me.”

And answers like that one are partly why I like this man so much.

“Good thing I made strawberry shortcake earlier. We can both eat our feelings.”

He laughs and the sound comes from his gut. I love being able to transform his face and set him at ease. “You’re pretty fucking awesome, you know that?”

“Right back at you,” I reply, and then wonder what the hell I’m even saying right now. What is this, the third grade?

“See you soon.”

Watching him leave will never get old. He has the perfect, tight ass and tree trunk legs that prove without a doubt that Wyatt knows the importance of leg day. He’s tapered at the waist, but his shoulders could carry the world for someone.

And tonight, that someone is me.

Wyatt isn’t a television guy.

I’m not surprised because he doesn’t like to be still, so sitting and watching other people do stuff doesn’t come naturally to him. The dude must really like me to tolerate The Bachelor of all things, and the thought almost makes me inappropriately giggle-snort.

He has a million questions as he tries to catch up on the admittedly strange concept.

“So… These random women are all competing to… What? You’re saying they want tomarrythis clown? They don’t even know him!”

“Have you honestly never heard of The Bachelor?” I demand, partly wondering if he’s pulling my leg. This show has been around for ages.

“I mean, I think I’ve heard about it in passing,” Wyatt admits. “I just didn’t realize it was so insane. And they call this reality television? Whose reality?”

I laugh. “I’m sure it’s all staged and choreographed, but at least it’s a mindless escape.”

He frowns. “It’s melting my mind, that’s for sure. But hey, at least the food is amazing as always.”

As always.

Something about his comment is so damn domestic, like sharing dinner together is just what we do now. It’s pretty incredible to have someone casually compliment what I cook – even if it is just loaded chicken nachos paired with Sauvignon Blanc – rather than criticize me.

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