Page 10

Chapter Ten

I think I got used to the clutter.

Now that my boxes are unpacked and I’m looking at the stacks of clothes lying on our bed, at the plastic tumblers for margarita night in the kitchen—all eleven of them—and my perhaps excessive collection of yoga mats, maybe I should have donated a lot of this stuff before Wyatt and Whiskey spent the morning moving it.

I finish tying up an extra-large plastic bag stuffed with a couple dozen competition sweatshirts from when I was fifteen as I hear Wyatt come through the front door. Not wanting to spoil the excitement of our first night in our apartment by asking for help hauling down to my Jeep three full bags of clothing and random fitness doodads I just had Wyatt move into this place, I push this bag to the far corner of the closet, along with the other two, and promptly close the door. I spin with my back to the door a second before Wyatt enters our bedroom.

It takes me about a half second to read the despair on his face.

“What happened?”

I move to him as he drops his gear bag at his feet and moves to swallow me up in his arms. His body is still damp from his post-practice shower, his T-shirt sticking to his stomach and chest, his hair damp and smelling of his cedar shampoo. He exhales a heavy breath into the crook of my neck, and then his body shakes.

“Baby,” I hum at his ear.

Wyatt doesn’t cry. Even when they had to cut his pads from his body when he broke his collarbone last season, he didn’t shed a single tear. His face went stoic. His jaw locked. He ate the pain, and he processed the setback almost immediately. This man in my arms right now is hurting in a different way, and I think I know why.

“Saturday’s game?” I swallow as I wait for his response.

His head nods against me, the cold tip of his nose burying deeper into my hair. I walk backward a few steps toward our bed. Wyatt loosens his hold on me, turning to sit on the mattress and scooting to the middle, pulling me to his chest and holding me between his legs. I lock his hands in mine against my chest, and together we breathe. Long inhale, then slow exhale. I wait patiently for him to feel ready, and eventually his chin lands on my shoulder, then his lips on my neck for a soft kiss.

“Coach is running two quarterbacks.”

His revelation isn’t as bad as I thought, but I’m sure it’s bad enough to him. I was prepared for the worst—for Bryce to fully get the start. After seeing him putting in the work this morning, I realize he’s here to fight for his legacy. Bryce’s dad never made it in anything, peaking on his high school football team. For Bryce, being a college quarterback is a major fuck you to the man who abandoned him. Getting drafted has always been his dream. Somewhere along the way, he realized he didn’t simply deserve it but would have to earn it.

“You’re still the best,” I say, wincing at my own words. His chest quivers against my back as a soft, breathy laugh tickles my neck.

“That was cheesy,” he says.

“I know. I’m not sure what to say. I mean it, though. You are the best quarterback my dad’s ever seen. This school has the program it does because you came here. Everything Coach is building is on your back. Bryce only came here because he knows where the competition is, and where he’ll get the looks. Those eyes are on Arizona because of you, Wy. Nobody else. And if he’s lucky enough to share a few snaps with you, he better not waste the chance to show off, because he won’t get many. We can’t afford for you to not be out there.”

Wyatt’s hands pull mine in tighter, his hold on me intense, almost desperate. I bend forward and press my lips on his knuckles.

“If it wasn’t Bryce, it would be someone else. You made this the place to come—to be . The best want to follow the best?—”

“But it was Bryce. It is Bryce,” he interjects.

I suck in my bottom lip, thinking about my interaction with him today. Before I can mention it, though, Wyatt shifts slightly to his right, reaches into his pocket, and hands me his phone.

“One of those stupid campus gossip socials got a pic of you two at Catwalk.”

I twist my head enough that my nose touches his, and I blink a few times.

“You know it was nothing?—”

“I know. They made it look like something, but I know.” He clicks his screen and pulls up the app, opening the search box where I see he’s searched for my and Bryce’s names a few times already. My stomach churns.

“Why were you looking for us?” I ask as I stare at the first photo that comes up. It’s blurry, as if it’s one of those sketchy TMZ shots. Worse, it was taken by some drunk student who wanted to perpetuate whatever rumors were fueled from the football press conference days ago. The angle makes it look like Whiskey and Tasha aren’t in the picture, though they were mere feet behind us on our way out of the club. Bryce’s hand is on my back, and I admit it gives off flirty couple vibes, but he was simply getting me out of the crowded bar without causing a bigger scene.

“Bryce told me about it. Of course, I had to see it for myself. Stupid, I know. But?—”

“And why did Bryce tell you about it?” My eyes squint at the image for another second before I click the screen off and toss Wyatt’s phone to the side of the bed. I shift in his arms, moving so my legs wrap around his waist and my hands hook behind his neck. He looks exhausted—his cheeks and the tip of his nose red from the sun.

He grimaces at me, and the longer he stares at me without speaking, the tighter my chest gets.

“Did he say it to be mean? To flaunt it?” Fucking Bryce, after that grand speech he gave me today.

Wyatt’s shoulders rise, and the corners of his mouth pinch tighter.

“Wyatt?” I tilt my head. “Did you guys get into a fight?”

His eyes squint. I shift my hands around to his cheeks and bring his forehead to mine.

“I maybe didn’t react so great to the splitting time at QB talk with Coach,” he admits.

“Oh,” I murmur. I close my eyes and roll my head against his.

“Was it in front of Coach?” Please say it wasn’t.

“No, I’m smarter than that.”

“Are you?” I tease.

He breathes out a soft laugh.

“Periodically.”

I lean back, my hands still caressing the sides of his head as I stare into his dark blue eyes. God, the way this man can look like a storm all on his own. Dark hair, heavy brows, stubbled beard, and the ocean in his eyes.

“We kind of worked it out. Well, I mean as much as you can work out shitty things like competing for something you love.” His eyes flicker, then settle on mine. I bite my bottom lip, and he does the same.

“I hope you don’t mean me. Because there’s no competition there. Ever.” I run my hand through the side of his hair, and he leans into my palm, turning to press his mouth on my wrist.

“I let it all boil over inside. I feel like I’m being replaced out there,” he confesses. “And it’s turning me into something I don’t want to be.

I nod and utter, “I know.”

“I don’t want to be a man like that. Someone you wouldn’t want because he’s jealous and angry all the time.”

“And you won’t be. Ever.” I believe every word to my soul. Wyatt is built differently. I wish I knew his dad because from all I’ve learned about him, he’s so much like his father.

“Do you want to own me, Wyatt Stone?” I bring his forehead back to mine, his bottom lip out enough for me to nip at with my teeth. He nods against me and lets out a ragged breath.

“Then do it. Right now.” I pull back and hold my arms up over my head. He pulls his Arizona sweatshirt from my body; the only other thing I’m wearing is a tiny pair of white sleep shorts. In one smooth movement, he sweeps his right arm behind me and pulls my body to him, his mouth covering one of my breasts, sucking my nipple into a hard, raw peak that he catches between his teeth.

“More of that,” I rasp, and he moves both hands to my back, pulling me into him harder, his mouth moving to the other breast and torturing it just the same.

“I fucking love you. You’re everything to me. You, it’s just you, Peyton,” he says, scooting back and sitting up on his knees, lifting me with him, his mouth never leaving my breast.

Wyatt lays me on my back and continues to drop kisses down the center of my body, pausing at my belly button as he works my shorts over my hips. I kick them away, lying beneath him completely naked, my skin shivering from the apartment air and the ceiling fan above. Every part of me that chills, Wyatt quickly warms with his mouth, tasting my ribs and then my breasts again as he slips his hand between my legs.

I reach to touch him, the tip of his cock peeking out of his sweatpants, but he moves my hand away, holding it to the bed as he moves above me and shakes his head.

“Tonight, it’s nothing but me serving you. I want you to come so many times that you fall asleep dreaming about it and wake up to me making you come again.” He drops his mouth to my pussy and suckles my clit.

“Oh!” I barely get the tiny word out of my mouth before the first wave hits.

“All. Night. Long,” he says, flicking his tongue against me and sending me over the edge. I lift my hips out of need, but he presses them down, forcing me to take every tease and lick at his pace. It’s no sacrifice, and I feel spoiled that I’m the one getting this attention after the day he had.

But when he utters, “I love you so fucking much,” against my sensitive skin, waking every nerve to life once again, I realize this is what makes him strong. Pleasing me. No matter what form of happiness I want or need. And right now, I need this. I need this so fucking badly.