“What if I ask you to leave afterward?” I demand.
My fingers tremble as I drag his white T-shirt over his head. He takes it from between my hands and tosses it off the bed, where it hits the curtain before falling to the dirty carpet.
“You want to ask me to leave?” He lowers his head, so we’re nose-to-nose. While his thumb strokes my collarbone, he glides the rough pad of his index finger underneath the strap of my striped top.
“Maybe.”
“Then, you can go back to Atlanta and forget this ever happened.”
I consider his words for a moment, and then I shake my head. I don’t want to forget. “I can’t do that,” I say aloud.
He already knows I can’t, or he wouldn’t have come here to begin with.
He pulls my strap all the way down and sighs heavily when my breasts push up over the fabric. He pauses once, and that’s only to make me a promise. “Then, you go back to Atlanta with me.”
***
It’s not until late, right before we fall asleep with our arms and legs entwined, when I ask him the single question that’s been burning in my mind since the last time we spoke. “What’s her name, Wyatt?”
“Who?”
“Please don’t be stupid. You know who and what I’m talking about.” I can’t bring myself to say it out loud yet because it still burns a hole into the deepest part of my chest.
He brushes strands of inky hair out of my face. “Brenna.”
I roll out of his arms and onto my back, squeezing my eyes tight so the tears don’t fall. “I don’t want to ruin things for you.”
“You won’t. When I’m with you...”
He doesn’t have to finish because I know where he’s going. I know how he feels because it’s the reason I came to this hotel of all places. It’s the reason that I let him stay with me tonight. When I’m with Wyatt, I lose myself.
“Do you think we’ll be able to fix each other?” I ask.
The bed squeaks as he rolls over. When I open my eyes, he’s propped up on his elbow, staring down at my chest. He touches the blackbird tattoo that’s a few inches above my left breast, running his finger over it. “What’s it for?”
“Changing the subject?”
“Just until you tell me what the fuck it’s for.”
“You let me down, and I wanted something to remind myself that I shouldn’t be that weak, that I should be careful.”
Releasing a low groan, he drags his palm up and down his face before gazing down into my chocolate brown eyes. He takes me in for a long time, and I meet his gaze, studying the way his Adam’s apple bulges angrily in his throat each time he swallows hard.
“Why do you have to say shit like that?” he demands at last.
“Because I promised you last year that I’d be honest with you. If you want, I can lie to you if that’s what makes you feel better.”
As he shakes his head, I race my tongue over my lips.
“Now, it’s your turn. What’s going to happen to us?” I ask.
He kisses the blackbird and slips his fingers into mine. He frowns when his gaze lands on my other tattoo, the one of my ex’s last name encircling my ring finger. I got it as an act of defiance the day after I married Brad. Now, I regret it like hell.
“First, you’re going to get this fucking thing covered,” Wyatt growls. When I nod, he continues, “And no more blackbird tattoos. Fuck, get a bluebird or something because we’re going to try again, and we’ll get it right this time.”
I bob my head once more because I’m hopeful. I’m so in love with this man that I’ll try a million times to make things work. “Okay,” I whisper, “I’m in.”
Chapter One
Present Day
“Good god, he’s looking at you again,” Heidi says in a hushed voice. Swinging her slim hips to the techno version of Adele’s song pulsing through the nightclub, she sneaks a glance over my shoulder toward the booths lining the far wall.
I refuse to follow her gaze to the guy who’s been eyeballing us for the better part of an hour, and instead, I choose to toss back my drink as I lift my shoulders indifferently.
My closest friend gives me a dark look. “Kylie, he’s looking at you like he wants to peel off your jeans with his teeth. Like he—”
“Like he’s some stranger who’ll probably strangle me to death after we get back to his hotel room.” I lift my hand to my throat, which burns like Hades from the drink I just downed, and rub my thumb back and forth across the delicate bones. “Sorry, babe, not in the mood to get choked tonight.”
Heidi’s perfectly arched eyebrows join together, but I’m not sure if it’s because of what I just said or the DJ’s newest choice of song, “Judas.” She can’t stand that song. She hates it almost as much as she loathes her ex-neighbor who played a repetitive loop of Lady Gaga on maximum volume every morning for months.
“You’re so morbid, Kylie Martin,” she finally moans, emphasizing the last name—she’s been on me for years to change it back to my maiden name. She flips her mane of loose chestnut curls over her shoulder. “You need to have fun and not think about him and his giant—”
“Don’t even touch that subject with a ten-foot pole,” I say sharply. “And I’m not thinking of him.”
Heidi presses her purple-painted lips into a fine line, but she says nothing more. Her gaze refocuses on something else. I follow it, twisting my head a little, to take in an excessively tanned short guy, making his way through the crowd with two bottles of Shiner Bock held high over his head.
Even though I’m glad he’s distracted her from talking about Wyatt, I softly point out, “He’s not your type.” Heidi’s got a thing for ink and piercings—the more of both, the better—and Shiner Bock has neither. But then again, she did say she needed a change of pace this trip. Maybe this guy is it. “More than one beer usually means he’s here with someone,” I add, giving her a warning look.
Heidi lifts her thin eyebrow wickedly. “He’s here with those guys.” She jabs her finger toward a group of men across the club. “So, yeah...”
Before we came out to Bourbon Street tonight, Heidi and I made a deal, promising to come back to our hotel room together. But, by the way Shiner Bock’s face lights up when his eyes connect with hers, I know there’s no chance in hell she’s coming home with me.
And that leaves me alone.
At the risk of sounding like an eye-roll-inducing 1970’s power ballad, being by myself is the last thing I desire tonight, not when thoughts of Wyatt McCrae seem to elbow their way into my brain whenever I have a spare moment to think. At the same time though, I don’t want to stick around with Heidi and be that friend.
I dart my eyes from Shiner Bock to Heidi, and then down to the empty glass in my hand. Be the third wheel in an innuendo-laced conversation that will ultimately lead to a broken headboard?
Or maybe a vodka-infused drink?
Be the third wheel?
Screw that, vodka-infused drink, it is.
“I’m going to get a refill,” I announce loudly.
Heidi dips her head. She’s already dancing with Shiner Bock, grinding her ass against his crotch, before I make it three steps in the opposite direction. Apparently, he’s forgotten about the intended recipient of the second beer.
Heidi generally has that effect on men.
I shove my way through the club, and by the time I reach the bar and sit down, I’ve had so many body parts brushing against my boobs and ass that I immediately ask the bartender for a double shot in my bloody mary.
“You look bored,” a voice behind me says.