17. WREN

17

WREN

The lack of light in the room is my first clue I'm not in my dorm room. The second is being surrounded by Wyatt's leather and amber scent. Oh crap . I told him I loved the way he smelled. That's what I get for drinking tequila with Charlie.

My eyes feel like they are full of sand. I rub a hand over them. "Damn contacts." I blink a few times to see if that helps with the dryness. I hate wearing them. It was worth it to see Wyatt looking at me the way he did.

And that kiss.

I pull the covers over my head and squeal. I've never been kissed like that before.

"Birdie," Wyatt says, before knocking softly on the door and cracking it open. "Are you okay in here? I heard you scream."

"I'm fine. My contacts. I didn't take them out last night." I grasp for an excuse. I'm not one to squeal like an excited little school girl. He knows that as well as I do.

I'm still wrapped up in a cocoon of Wyatt's blankets when I realize the other side of the bed was left untouched. "You didn't sleep in here? "

He prowls over to the end of the bed and crosses his arms over his chest. Lust-filled eyes drink in my body. I'm in his room. In his bed . The thought has me rubbing my thighs together.

"Slept in Hart's bed." The muscles in his forearms flex as if he's clenching fists that are currently hidden behind his biceps.

He didn't want to sleep in the same bed as me. Why? Does he think last night was a mistake? He's not looking at me right now like kissing me was a bad judgment call.

"That sounds… cozy ."

He smirks at me. "He stayed over at Lauren's place. You were passed out. I wasn't going to sleep in the same bed as you without your permission."

"What a gentleman." I wrestle myself out of the sheet and comforter. "Stupid sheet. Get off me." I kick my feet until I'm able to set myself free. With a huff, I push my hair out of my face. Wyatt curses under his breath.

"Birdie." My name is a warning.

"What?" I ask. He nods to my chest.

I guess my tank top twisted around my body while I was sleeping. My left boob has slipped out of the arm hole. "It's not like you haven't seen them before." I shrug and straighten my shirt.

"Birdie," he says my name again, with a growl. "I'm barely hanging on here."

"Hanging on to what?" I snap at him, my hands on my hips.

He stalks over to me. "Do you know how good you looked sleeping in my bed?" He pushes a piece of hair behind my ear. "I could have watched you sleep for hours."

"That's a little creepy," I whisper. And sweet.

His lip twitches under his mustache. "Go get ready." He kisses the top of my head.

"I need to get my suitcase and something for my contacts." Suddenly I feel out of sorts and panicky without everything I need to get ready for the day. We are leaving for Rivers Bend today and I'm not prepared.

"Picked up your stuff this morning. I had Charlie throw in something for your contacts." He nods toward the wall by his closet. "Meet me upstairs when you're ready."

"Oh, okay. Thank you." That was thoughtful. How early did he get up? Could he not sleep? I have a hard time going to sleep in unfamiliar places. I didn't struggle last night though. That's because Wyatt is familiar , I think as I make his bed and breathe in his scent one more time.

The routine of showering and getting ready calms the sudden rush of anxiety I feel. Routines are reliable and steady. I need that feeling to counterbalance the wild stir of emotions running rampant through my mind. The next week is filled with too many unknowns.

Too many scenarios where things could go wrong. Too many people who don't know me well and may not understand me. Too much time with Wyatt not knowing where we stand .

Breathe, Wren . This week is a job. I'm helping Wyatt and his family. I can do that. I can focus on the tasks, not the people.

Wyatt's in the kitchen cooking something on the stovetop when I finally make my way upstairs.

"Can I help with anything?" I ask. He tosses me a glance over his shoulder, and his gaze scans my body thoroughly before licking his bottom lip. I'm dressed casually today in joggers and a T-shirt. My hair is thrown up in a high ponytail.

"Do you want to toast the bread?" He nods towards the bread.

"I think I can handle that. Do you cook a lot?" I drop the bread in the toaster, then turn my attention back to Wyatt. He's expertly folding eggs to create the perfect omelet. He's cooked for me a few times but we typically get food on campus.

"Not a lot while I'm at school. There isn't enough time between classes and practice. At home we take turns making meals and cooking for the family." He slides the omelet onto a plate and passes it to me.

The bread pops up from the toaster. I spread butter on them and add them to our plates. I grab a few forks from the drawer and take a seat at the table. Wyatt puts his omelet on his toast and has half of it eaten before I even finish my first bite.

"One of these days eating like that is going to catch up with you," I tell him. Not that he will change the way he chews.

"I'm glad you care." There's a hint of mirth in his tone but also a layer of appreciation for my concern. I focus on cutting a bite of omelet to hide my blush. He wants me to care.

He grins, taking a bite of his eggs at the same time as me. We both chew silently. When I get to twenty, I swallow. He swallows.

I cut another bite. He does the same. I'm about to eat the bite on my fork but stop short of putting it in my mouth. He mimics me again.

"What are you doing?" I ask.

"Eating. What does it look like?"

I eat my next bite, eyeing him suspiciously. He continues to mimic me. He thinks he's so funny. I smirk at him. He wants to be cute. I'll be cute too.

I take what's left of my omelet and place it on top of my toast. It's a massive bite, but doable. I lift the entire sandwich, fold it in half, and stuff it in my mouth. My eyes begin to water as I try to choke down the toast and eggs without gagging.

Wyatt watches with his mouth agape while I chew. I raise an eyebrow and nod towards his plate.

"You're something else, Wren Ellington." The way he says my name with reverence has me slowing my movements like I'm swimming through quicksand at the same time blood rushes through my veins making me feel reborn. I want him to say it again.

"That was child's play," I say, collecting our dishes and bringing them over to the sink. "I can fit a lot more than that in my mouth," I mumble more to myself .

He passes me the dirty skillet from the eggs and pins me against the sink from behind. His warm body sends a chill down my spine. "I intend on finding out just how much that mouth of yours can take very soon." Large hands squeeze my hips. "I'm going to load up the truck. Then we can get out of here."

"Can't wait," I say, a little breathless. I would be lying if I said I wasn't nervous. At this point I'm more concerned about the close proximity to him for the two hour drive. Even more if we get stuck in traffic.

"Hey," he spins me around, "you don't have to go. I know this was all forced on you."

"Do you not want me to go? If something's changed…" my voice trails off.

He searches my eyes for an answer to a question I'm not privileged to know. "I want you there."

"I hope you will still feel that way after I pull out all my sticky notes and make you multiple to-do lists," I joke.

"I will. I love your sticky notes," he says in a tone that leaves no room for dispute. Our eyes lock and linger on each other longer than necessary. For a moment, I think he might kiss me, but he takes a step back for whatever reason.

"Go get the bags. I'll finish up here," I say, shooing him away with a spatula and saving myself from further embarrassment.

"Please stop," I beg. We're an hour into the drive and Wyatt keeps singing so loud and out of tune my eardrum is about to burst.

"I told you I'm not going to stop until you sing with me."

"And I told you, I don't sing." I cross my arms. He gives me his I know you're lying look.

"I've heard you sing, birdie."

"You have not. I know for a fact you haven't." I've been really careful not to sing when I'm around him or anyone except for Charlie. I could have slipped up. Singing is mindless to me. I do it when I clean or when I'm in the shower or making something to eat.

"Just last week when you were rummaging through the pantry for snacks you were singing to yourself," he accuses me.

"I don't like singing in front of people." I never have. It makes me uncomfortable.

"Why? Your voice is incredible." He sounds outraged. It almost makes me laugh.

"I just don't, okay?" I say, ignoring his compliment.

"Tell me."

"You're like a dog digging for a bone. You're not going to let this go, are you?" He shakes his head. "Of course not. Fine. When I was a little girl my mom signed me up for beauty pageants. It was a big thing where we lived. I had fun in the beginning. It was a way for me to feel connected to my mom. I loved singing on the big stage back then. I even won a few times."

I watch the trees blur as we drive down the highway thinking back to how proud my mom was of me as she watched me perform.

"You mean I'm in the presence of royalty?" He gasps.

"Yes. Bow and worship me," I joke back.

"Gladly," he murmurs, his voice deep and rough. He clears his throat and asks, "What does this have to do with you not singing now?"

"Word got around that I had this talent. Soon I was asked to perform at my parents' dinner parties or social gatherings. I started to feel like a trained monkey. I was probably around the same age as Lennon. I told my mom I was finished with pageants and stopped singing altogether. That's when I started spending more time with my dad."

"I'm sorry, birdie. I won't ask again." He pats my leg and I desperately want him to keep it there.

We drive for miles in silence. The radio plays quietly in the background. His thumbs drum on the steering wheel. When one of his favorite songs comes on, he turns up the volume. The music is so loud his voice blends into the background.

He grins at me. That's when I realize he turned up the volume for me, not him. Y ou're safe with me. He says the words without having to open his mouth. A small wave of emotion hits me and I have to blink it away.

When the chorus starts, I decide to join in. I'm on a road trip with my best friend. If I can't let it all go in front of Wyatt, then who? There isn't anyone. He is the only person I feel okay being myself completely around without fear of judgment.

My voice is soft at first, but soon I'm belting out the lyrics along with the radio. His grip tightens on the steering wheel and his whole body tenses making me pause and turn the volume down on the dash.

"Don't stop." He looks at me with sincerity. He covers his hand over mine, forcing me to turn the volume back up. "Please." His plea makes me want to sing to him, only him, every day for the rest of my life. I let these thoughts settle over me. I'll analyze them later.

Time on the road passes quickly. Before I know it we are turning on to the dirt road that leads to the Rivers' farm. I try to take in the land with new eyes. There are green pastures and rolling hills for as far as the eye can see.

With the right resources and vision, they can turn this place into anything they want. They can use the land closest to the road to build a storefront. It's easy access for anyone driving by to stop and grab some of Willow's pies or home grown vegetables.

The front porch is empty as we arrive, unlike last time. I guess my novelty has worn off. I'm not sure if I should be offended or find comfort in that.

"They are all working or they would be here," Wyatt says, putting the truck in park.

"I didn't say anything." I hop out of the truck.

"Didn' t have to."

"I'm not that obvious."

He grabs my hand and I freeze mid-step on the porch. He's standing one step below me. In this position we're eye level. "You're right. You aren't that obvious. But I know you. Your eyes were darting around in a panic. If you'd let me add you to the group chat, you'd already know what everyone is doing right now."

"Don't. I will still kill you," I say.

"Nah, you like me too much to do that."

"You're right. I do," I admit. It's a scary admission but the truth usually is. He blushes under my stare. I really wish he would kiss me or say something. I need reassurance that he's feeling the same way about me that I am about him. He's going to have to make the next move. I'm not brave enough to do it this time.

"Come on. Let me show you our room." He steps in front of me and opens the front door.

Did he say our room ?

"Our room?" I ask out loud as I trail him upstairs.

"It's not exactly a big house, birdie. Colt and Mason moved to one of the old cabins on the property a few years ago. Before that we all shared a room. Ford sleeps in the old guest room and Lenny has Willow's old room."

"I see." We walk into the bedroom that used to house three boys. It's clearly been redecorated since then. The walls are white shiplap. There is a queen bed in the middle of the room with a black metal frame and beautiful white linens. Two side tables anchor the bed on either side and a long dresser sits on the opposite wall. It's simple and classic.

"What's wrong? You don't want to share a room with me?"

That's not it at all. I do. I mean, I don't care. It's fine.

"There's only one bed," I say. He nods and takes a step closer to me.

"It's kind of small." I wave a hand toward the bed. It's the same size as his bed at school but I feel the need to point out this fact because it's going to feel like a twin mattress with him laying beside me. He nods and takes another step.

The thing is, I'm not convinced he wants to share a room with me. I know what he said this morning, but I can't help but wonder if that's the truth. I close my eyes for a moment. I feel him all over me, even without him touching me.

"What's the real problem?" he asks.

"You haven't kissed me again. I'm worried you regret it. I don't want to share a room with you if it's only going to add to the list of things you wish you never did."

He crowds me further until my back is pressed against the door. "I haven't kissed you again because if I do, I won't want to stop until I have you naked and my dick buried inside of you." He rubs his nose against mine teasing me. "Trust me, birdie, I'm just getting started with you. I'm going to ruin you for that future husband of yours."

He backs off and starts nonchalantly unpacking his bag. I collect myself as I watch him take out neatly folded T-shirts and place them in the dresser.

"You better keep your hands to yourself while we're in your mama's house."

"I can't promise that. She's the one who put us in a room together anyway." He shrugs.

"You said it was a small house."

"It is," he says. "But she could have made Lennon sleep on an air mattress in Ford's room or have you room with Lennon."

"But she didn't." I open my suitcase and unpack a few things.

He watches with a smile as I remove all the jeans and sun dresses I brought with me. Once we're all unpacked, he says, "Come on, I think I smell someone making lunch. Let's go see who's made it back home."

I stop at the door looking back over our space for the next week. "Does your mama know something I don't?"

"She knows the same things we do, birdie," he answers before kissing the top of my head and ushering me out the door.