Page 18

Wyatt

“I was starting to wonder where my daughter disappeared to.” My mom grins from behind the bar as I slide onto a barstool at Twisted Tap.

“Says the woman who’s hardly ever home herself,” I tease, setting my purse on the counter.

She chuckles, shaking her head as she wipes down the bar. I pull a folded receipt from my pocket and slide it across the counter toward her.

Her eyes narrow as she picks it up. “What’s this?”

“A deposit,” I say simply.

She lets out a long sigh. “Wyatt—”

“Don’t start,” I warn. “I already told you, as long as I’m living at home, I’m paying rent.”

She presses her lips together, but I know she won’t argue. She never asks for help, never complains, but I see the long hours she works—the law firm during the day, the bar shifts at night. I’d hoped she’d use the extra money to cut back, maybe take a damn break for once, but she insists she likes staying busy.

She’s been doing it for years. Ever since my parents divorced, long before my dad passed away.

I always wished she’d find someone—someone who made her happy, someone to take care of her for a change. But she’s always been more focused on taking care of everyone else.

“Fair enough,” she murmurs, taking a sip from her Pepsi before setting it aside. She shifts her weight on her hip, giving me a knowing look. “So, how are things between you and Zane? Or are we still pretending this is a secret from the rest of the world?”

I nearly choke on air. “Wait—you know ?”

She snickers. “Of course, I know. I caught that boy climbing in your bedroom window years ago.”

My mouth drops open. “What?”

Her grin turns smug. “Told him if I found out he was messing around with my daughter, he’d have to explain to his dad and Coach why he had a broken hand.”

“Oh my God.” I bury my face in my hands, groaning.

Down the bar, Brad—one of her regulars—chokes on his beer, barely containing his laughter. “I wouldn’t put nothin’ past her, girl. I’ve seen her scare off grown men twice my size a few times.”

Mom rolls her eyes and points a warning finger at him. “Mind your business, Brad.”

“You seriously caught him?” I ask, still in shock.

She nods, tossing her bar towel over her shoulder. “Years ago. You two were still in high school, and you were way too young to be sneaking boys into your room, Wyatt Lynn.”

“It wasn’t like that.”

“That’s what he said,” she counters. “Swore up and down you were just friends. Best friends . And maybe that was true back then, but you wanna know something?”

I lift a brow. “What?”

She leans in slightly, dropping her voice. “Even if you two believed you were just friends, I saw the way you looked at each other. That boy never looked at you like you were just his buddy.”

Her words send a warm shiver through me. They remind me of what Zane told me last week—how he’d been watching and wanting me for years.

A slow smile spreads across my face.

And that’s all the confirmation my mother needs.

“ That right there,” she says, pointing at me. “That’s why I know it’s more now.”

I duck my head, picking at the corner of my nail, searching for the right words.

“This thing between us…” I pause, exhaling slowly. “It’s new. Uncharted territory. And I think part of me is still holding back, scared that if I let myself have it completely, the rug will be pulled out from under me.”

Her expression softens. She doesn’t press, doesn’t rush me to say more. She just waits.

Because she knows—better than anyone—that sometimes, love isn’t about falling.

It’s about trusting the ground will still be there when you do.

“What’s he say about all of this?”

“Zane?”

She nods. “Have you talked to him about how you feel?”

I shift on my stool, my fingers absently tracing the condensation on my water glass. “Yeah, we’ve talked about it. He assured me that while we’re keeping things private, he doesn’t want me to think of it as some dirty little secret.”

Mom hums, her knowing gaze settling on me as she leans a hip against the bar. She knows the history of Zane’s parents all too well. I remember overhearing my parents talking about it once, back when my dad dropped us off after a weekend at his place. It was right after the news broke about Zane’s dad cheating on his mom. Things had been tense for a long time, and I noticed the way Zane and his brother, Miles, started spending more time at our house, shooting hoops in the driveway or tossing a football in the yard. My mom had told my dad she'd overheard an argument between Zane’s parents, something about another woman.

“There’s a big difference between privacy and secrecy, sweetheart,” Mom says, wiping down the bar. “Any man who dares to keep you hidden isn’t the one for you.”

My phone vibrates in my pocket. Something tells me it’s Zane, probably asking where I am. I told him I’d come over after stopping by to see Mom, but I lost track of time.

“If this is about your brother,” she continues, glancing up at me, “you know he’ll come around. It might take him a minute to wrap his head around it, but deep down, I think he already knows. I don’t see how he couldn’t. Everyone else did.”

Heat rushes up my neck, and I groan, burying my face in my hands. “Was I really that obvious?”

She chuckles. “About as subtle as a hurricane, honey.”

I let out an exaggerated sigh, but I don’t bother arguing. Instead, I reach into my bag, pull out a twenty, and slip it into her tip jar before climbing off the stool. Rounding the bar, I wrap my arms around her, pressing a quick kiss to her cheek.

“You tell that boy I expect to see him at my table for Sunday dinner soon,” she murmurs, squeezing me tight.

“I will,” I promise, inhaling the familiar scent of vanilla and coffee that always clings to her.

With a wave to Brad and the other regulars, I head out into the cool night air. The bar is quiet, not surprising for a Wednesday, and the parking lot is mostly empty. As I slide into my car, I pull out my phone and check my notifications. Just as I suspected—Zane.

Zane: You on your way? Dinner’s ready in 10.

A smile tugs at my lips as I start my car, my stomach tightening with anticipation. Tonight, he told me to plan on staying for dinner. We’d agreed to do something low-key—either play a game or watch a movie—but honestly, I don’t care what we do. Just being with him is enough.

The scent of garlic and herbs fills the air when I step up to his door and knock before letting myself in. Zane doesn’t hear me right away, too focused on pulling a tray of garlic bread from the oven.

I hesitate, not wanting to startle him, but the sight of him—his strong frame, the way his Henley stretches across his back, the muscles in his arms flexing as he moves—leaves me momentarily breathless.

This .

This is what I never thought I’d have, and now that I do, I don’t want to let it go.

He slides the pan to the side, careful to keep it away from the simmering pasta carbonara. The scent of garlic and parmesan fills the air, making my stomach rumble, but the second I step closer to him, food is the last thing on my mind.

I wrap my arms around his waist from behind, pressing my cheek against his back. His body tenses for a brief second before he hums in approval, his warmth sinking into me.

Zane turns in my arms, his palms cupping my face as he leans down, brushing his lips over mine. His kisses are slow and unhurried, like he’s savoring me.

“Finally,” he murmurs between kisses. “I’ve been waiting for you to get here.”

I grin against his lips. “Miss me?”

“Always.”

His mouth parts, tongue teasing against mine, deepening the kiss. His hands roam over my back and down to my ass before he lifts me effortlessly onto the counter. I gasp, my legs instinctively parting to make room for him between them. His fingers map my body—trailing up my thighs, gripping my waist—like he can’t decide where he wants to touch me most.

My heart pounds, but I manage to smirk. “Smells good in here.”

Zane chuckles, his breath warm against my lips before he pulls back, reaching for a fork. Twisting some pasta onto the tines, he steps closer, holding his hand beneath it to catch any drips.

“Open up,” he orders, his voice thick with amusement.

I obey, letting him feed me the bite. The moment the creamy, savory sauce hits my tongue, I hum in appreciation, eyes fluttering shut.

Zane watches me intently, his expression smug. “You like it?”

I swallow, licking my lips. “It’s incredible. Compliments to the chef.”

He grins. “He’ll take all the compliments he can get. Although, we wouldn’t want his ego getting too big, right?”

I tilt my head, pretending to consider it before slipping my hand between us to palm the front of his jeans. “Oh, I think we both know something that’s already big.”

Zane sucks in a sharp breath, his body jerking forward at the contact. The fork slips from his fingers, clattering onto the floor, but he doesn’t even flinch.

“Jesus, Wyatt,” he groans, pressing closer, his hands tightening on my hips. “Easy, baby, or we’ll be eating leftovers tonight instead.”

A slow smile curves my lips as I wrap my legs around his waist, dragging him flush against me. Heat flickers in his eyes as his hands slide beneath my shirt, his palms exploring my skin with a reverence that sends a shiver through me.

“So soft,” he murmurs, almost to himself.

A familiar pang of self-consciousness tries to creep in, but it’s short-lived. Zane’s hands worship my body like he wouldn’t trade a single inch of me for anything else. And with every touch, every murmured praise, he’s teaching me to see myself through his eyes.

And damn if I don’t love the way he looks at me.

For as long as I can remember, eating carb-heavy meals came with a side of guilt. Sometimes for hours. Sometimes for days. I’ve always been active yet carried more curves than most girls, but my doctors never raised concerns—so long as I maintained balance. Still, the lingering pressure to be smaller, to take up less space, has never fully faded.

But with Zane, the way his eyes darken with hunger when he looks at me, the way his body responds to mine like I’m the most desirable thing in the world—I’m starting to appreciate the body I’ve been given. Not just in the way I always knew I was beautiful, but in the way I’m beginning to feel it.

His hand slides higher, brushing over the lace of my bra until his fingers graze my hardened nipple. A shiver shoots down my spine, and he grins.

“So sensitive,” he murmurs, like he’s cataloging every little reaction.

I thread my fingers through his hair and tug, guiding his mouth to mine. He groans against my lips, rocking his hips into me, his erection pressing insistently between my thighs.

“You’re teasing me,” I whisper just as he reaches beneath the fabric and flicks open the clasp of my bra, letting my breasts bounce free.

“Goddamn.” His voice is rough, his hands greedy as he palms my chest, kneading my breasts and rolling my nipples between his fingers. He groans when I arch my back, offering him more. “Just a little taste.”

Zane pushes my shirt up, his eyes devouring the sight of me before his mouth descends, tongue flicking over my nipple. The sensation sends a sharp pulse of pleasure through me. My hands slide over his back, my nails digging into the muscles there.

I press a kiss against his temple, breathless. “More.”

He doesn’t need to be told twice.

His hands tighten around my thighs, spreading me wider as he grinds between them. His fingers slide between my legs, pressing over my panties. Even through the fabric, I know he can feel how soaked I am.

“Look at this,” he mutters, his other hand rubbing the front of his jeans, gripping the hard length there. “You see what you do to me?” he rasps. “I’ve been trying to take my time, enjoy dinner, but fuck, all I want to do is rip your jeans off and bury myself inside you.”

“So do it,” I challenge, a slow smile curving my lips. “Fuck me now. Feed me later.”

His answering groan is pure sin. “Now that’s a deal I can get on board with.”

Zane latches onto my nipple again, sucking hard enough to make my toes curl. My head falls back, my body surrendering to his touch.

His hands slide down, working the button of my jeans, tugging them down my legs until I’m left in nothing but my panties. His heated gaze drops to where his fingers slip beneath the lace, brushing over my clit, and I tremble beneath him.

Bracing my heels on the edge of the counter, I open up for him, silently pleading for more. If he keeps touching me like this, looking at me like he wants to devour me whole, he can have anything he wants.

Then the loud, obnoxious blare of his phone rings from the counter.

“Fuck,” he groans. “Ignore it. I’ll call whoever it is back later.”

His fingers slide lower, teasing my entrance, and my hips buck instinctively.

“Shit, you’re so wet, Wy.” His voice drops, dark and reverent. “Dripping for me.”

My nails dig into his shoulders. “Oh God, please don’t stop.”

The phone finally stops ringing—only for it to start right back up.

Zane curses under his breath. “Fucking hell.”

The call is relentless, vibrating across the counter like it has a personal vendetta against us.

“If you need to answer, it’s okay,” I murmur, breathless.

“No,” he growls, shaking his head. “Nothing else matters right now. Nothing but you and me.”

But just as his thumb circles my clit, sending a wave of electricity through me, the phone rings again.

Zane exhales sharply, pulling back. “Fuck, I’m sorry. I should check in case it’s urgent.”

I bite my lip, frustration pooling in my gut as he reaches for his phone. He barely glances at the screen before muttering another curse.

“It’s my sister,” he says, already pressing accept. “Myla, what’s wrong?”

His brows furrow as he listens, and my stomach twists. Whatever she’s saying, I can tell it’s not good.

“What do you mean you can’t find her?” His voice sharpens.

A knot forms in my throat. “Find who?” I mouth.

Zane lifts a single finger, but my stomach clenches at the sight of it, slick from where he just had it inside me.

His jaw tightens. “Well, she couldn’t have gone far, right? Where are you?”

I strain to make out the muffled female voice on the other end, but I can’t place it.

Then I hear Zane mutter, “Alpha Nu?”

His eyes flash to mine, dark with anger. “I’m on my way.”

My body goes cold.

Zane immediately starts moving, grabbing his keys, his movements frantic.

I hop off the counter, yanking my jeans up. “What’s going on?”

“My sister,” he breathes, still searching for his shoes. “She went to a party, and her friend Katie called—said she lost her. She can’t find her anywhere, and she has Myla’s phone.”

My pulse pounds. “She’s at Alpha Nu?”

He nods, the tension rolling off him in waves. “I need to get there. Now.”

“Do you want me to come with you? Maybe I can help.”

“No.” His voice is clipped, but his hands are gentle as he drags his fingers through my hair. “You stay here. Dish up some food and wait for me. I’ll be back as soon as I can.”

He kisses me quickly, but there’s an urgency behind it, like he doesn’t want to leave.

“I’m sorry, baby,” he murmurs against my lips. “I promise I’ll make this up to you.”

“Zane, don’t worry about me,” I whisper, cupping his face. “Go find your sister. She’s what matters right now.”

His shoulders relax slightly at my words, but the storm in his eyes doesn’t ease.

One last kiss—quick but deep—then he’s out the door, locking it behind him.

And I’m left standing in the kitchen, my body still trembling and my mind spinning.