3. WREN

3

WREN

WYATT

What are you doing?

I just got out of practice.

You should have seen me.

I was on fire today.

Tonight is the night.

We're going out to celebrate.

The Armory has half price beers and 25 cent wings.

"Who's blowing up your phone?" Charlie asks from the living room. I'm surprised she can hear the incessant buzzing over the reality television show she is watching.

I continue to ignore my phone. I'm sitting at the kitchen island updating my to-do list for next week. I don't want to deal with him and his text messages right now.

"Wyatt Rivers." My phone buzzes again as if I've summoned him from his lair. He has been texting me non-stop over the last forty-eight hours. I knew it was a bad idea to give him my phone number.

"Starting pitcher Wyatt Rivers?" Charlie twists her body away from her show, staring at me in shock.

Starting pitcher? No idea. He's the guy who thinks I can't get a man to sleep with me. Moonlighting as a clown? Really?

"He's on the baseball team. That's all I know."

"I didn't know the two of you were friends. How did he get your number?"

"We aren't. He requested it," I grumble. I was the idiot who gave it to him.

"When have you been hanging out with him?"

"You are asking a lot of questions." She is going to force me to admit the whole matchmaking scheme before it even begins. "I was his tutor." For five minutes. It still counts.

"And you just gave him your number? Why didn't you tell me about this? Do you like him?" She is like a little puppy dog about to be taken on a walk. Her enthusiasm is nauseating.

"Yes. It didn't seem important. Absolutely not." Part of my lunch threatens to crawl its way up my throat. I shudder at the thought of having an interest in Wyatt, romantic or otherwise.

She studies my face looking for a lie she won't find.

"Hmm…then why did he want your number?"

I can't exactly tell her Wyatt is interested in her, not me, as she assumes, and now I'm stuck playing cupid. "In case of a tutoring emergency?" That sounds somewhat believable. "He did invite us to hang out with him at The Armory tonight."

"Interesting." She has a calculating look in her eye. She may act the part at times, but she isn't a fool—she is sharp and will out maneuver you. No doubt Charlie is scheming up a plan of her own as we speak.

"We don't have to go. I'll text him back that we have plans." I would do that with pleasure.

"Oh no, no. Wrennie, we're going. You never want to go out. Had I known I only needed to offer up a good looking specimen of a man on a silver platter, I would have tried this tactic years ago." She giggles to herself.

I spin around, my whole body facing the living room. "He is not why I'm considering going out tonight." It's the fact that he thinks I lack the ability to have any fun. Why that bothers me I've yet to figure out. I shouldn't care what anyone thinks of me, least of all him.

"If you say so," she singsongs. "Text him back. Tell him we'll meet him there. Maybe he'll bring a cute friend with him."

"Why would he need a friend?" I ask, then take a sip from my water bottle.

"For me, silly. You are going to be busy flirting with Wyatt. I'll need someone to flirt with too," she says, as if the answer is obvious.

I choke on my water. "I will not be flirting with him," I say, rubbing my chest. "Why don't you flirt with Wyatt if you think he is worthy of flirting with?"

She rolls her eyes. "Because I'm not interested in him. He's hot but he doesn't want a relationship. I'm looking for something more serious."

My eyes narrow. "And that makes him the right person for me?"

"Yes, because you don't do serious relationships either. You never have. I've always assumed it's because of your engagement but I'm beginning to wonder if there is another reason."

Technically, I won't be engaged until sometime after graduation. I haven't spoken to my parents about it since I left for school in August. For all I know the situation has changed. I refuse to bring it up unless they say something about it.

My mom mentioned keeping in contact with Daniel, my intended fiancé, but I have no desire to reach out to him. Even calling him that in my head sounds wrong. She's under the impression that we chat all the time. When in reality, I've only spoken to him twice.

Once when I was sixteen and a second time at our high school graduation party.

It was my mom who mentioned how wonderful it would be if Daniel and I got married. To this day I still don't understand what she saw happening between us when we were drinking punch and eating cake side by side. Nothing about that screams happily ever after to me. It was awkward and uncomfortable. I couldn't get away from him and that party fast enough.

My mom however jumped at the chance to lock down a husband for me. Our dads saw this marriage as an opportunity to link their firms together and form a partnership. Over whiskeys they devised a plan that would keep both of their businesses successful and well connected.

I should protest, but I don't see a reason to. Who else am I going to marry? I'm not exactly putting myself out there. I haven't met very many men who have been able to handle my abrasive personality or my need for control and order.

"The only reason I don't do serious relationships is because I don't want to."

"Okay, we can go with that. Since you don't do "boyfriends" and have an aversion to catching feelings for a man. He's perfect for you. Y'all could have a little fun and walk away with no harm done."

I wince. While her words are true, they still sting. I'm not naive to the fact I am a difficult person to love. I don't love easily either. I have restricted all of my relationships in college to sex only. I never let emotions get involved. If I keep relationships within the scope of my own rules, they are easier to control. I can't get hurt or let down if my expectations stay relatively low.

I will admit Wyatt and I are similar this way. The only difference being my relationships are monogamous and last more than one night. I don't sleep with a man once and move on to the next. I'm not judging him. He can do what he wants. I'm simply a firm believer in quality versus quantity. I apply the same logic to purchasing pants. The higher the quality, the longer they last. I prefer my sexual partners to last a long time.

Regardless, I need to redirect Charlie in the other direction. Wyatt isn't interested in me. He wants her. And it seems he isn't going to leave me alone until I help him get her.

"Don't dismiss him too soon. Maybe you will have a spark tonight."

She considers me for a moment. "I thought we did a few months ago. The night he came over looking for us and you hid in your room." She gives me a pointed look.

"What? I had things to do. I didn't want to go. I doubt I was missed."

"We were both missed and you know it. Don't talk about yourself like that." Charlie stands and enters the kitchen. "Anyway, Wyatt is fun and nice to look at but he can't give me what I want."

"Finding a husband is overrated," I mutter.

"Maybe for you, but I want one. I look at couples like Lauren and Hart, and I want that."

Our friends Lauren and Hart are sickeningly sweet together. "I'm sure you'll get it. In the meantime, there's Wyatt." I plaster a fake smile on my face.

"Nice try. Not happening. Not when he's right for you," my roommate, who is currently pushing her luck, says with a smirk. I try not to gag.

"Please don't say that again." I close my planner and push it aside. "How about we go out tonight and see what happens?"

Charlie looks me up and down. "Fine. I'll go, if I get to pick out what you wear."

"You already agreed to going. My outfit is not up for negotiation."

"Then I'm not going."

"Perfect. If you don't go, I don't have to go."

Her brow furrows in frustration. "You're impossible." She throws her hands in the air and stomps off toward her room. She stops suddenly at the threshold. "Wear what you want, but we're going."

Once she's out of sight, I smile. After tonight, I can wash my hands of this whole situation. I text Wyatt back letting him know we'll be there.

The Armory isn't the only establishment on campus to get a drink, but it is the most popular. This is where you'll find the majority of the student body who feel the urge to blow off steam, find someone to hookup with, or watch the game on the big screen.

Tonight isn't any different. While it's not as crowded as it was on Halloween weekend, it's still busier than I would like. The draw to cheap beer and wings must be too hard to resist.

"Did you text him we're here?"

"Do I need to do that?" I told him we were coming. Isn't that enough?

"Yes, Wren. How are you supposed to find him in the middle of all of this?" She throws her arms around towards the clusters of students standing in the middle of the bar and around high top tables.

ME

We're here.

"I texted him. Happy now?"

"Thrilled." Charlie's head swivels around the crowded bar. I have a sneaky suspicion she isn't looking for Wyatt. "I'm going to look in the back. Send me a text when you find him."

"Do not leave me here," I hiss. I know Charlie. The back room is where the dance floor and DJ are located. She is going to get lost in the music, the lights, and whatever guy she's managed to sucker into dancing with her.

"I'm going to do one quick spin around the back room. It won't take me but a few minutes. I promise."

"Fine." At least it's not karaoke night. A microphone and tequila shots transform Charlie into what I can only describe as what would happen if William Hung and Mariah Carey had a love child. It's something you have to see for yourself.

My phone vibrates in my hand.

WYATT

I'm at the bar.

In the front room.

Right in front of the tv.

I have wings.

Well I had wings.

I ate them all.

No big deal.

We can order more.

More texts come through as I weave my way through the crowd toward Wyatt. We are going to have a conversation about the rapid fire texting he likes to do.

He is barricaded on all sides by beautiful women. I only recognized him by the worn down Newhouse Knights baseball cap he always wears—it sits backwards on his head and his golden brown hair flows and curls slightly around the bill of the cap.

"Excuse me," I say, to one of the women standing behind him. She gives me a cursory glance before turning back around. "Excuse me," I tap on her shoulder.

"Are you lost?" she asks.

While her question is insulting, my main source of irritation isn't with her. "I am not. If you don't mind, this will only take a moment." If I can't bring Mohammad to the mountain, then the mountain will have to go to Mohammad. I hope Wyatt likes to dance.

The girl pouts, probably afraid to lose her "prime real estate" spot as Wyatt calls it, but eventually steps aside to let me get closer to him.

"Thank you. I won't be long." I steel my spine and brush my hands down the blouse and slacks I'm wearing. Clearing my throat, I take one final step toward Wyatt. He turns and does a double take. "I'm here," I say to him.

His eyes roam over me and land on my lips for a moment. While the rest of me is business as usual, I felt the need to wear my power red lipstick tonight. "Where's Charlie?" he asks, his eyes back on mine.

"Dancing or getting someone to buy her drinks," I answer honestly. It makes him wince. "I'll text her." I begin typing out a message to Charlie. I am not subtle about demanding her presence either. I'm almost finished typing when someone slams into me from behind knocking me into the back of Wyatt's chair so hard my phone slips out of my hand.

With cat-like reflexes, he catches my phone before it falls to the ground. "Watch it," he snaps at the bulldozer as he passes behind me. "You okay? He hit you pretty hard," he says, handing me back my phone.

"I'm fine." I rub the sting out of my forearm and bicep.

"If you say so." He reaches out to straighten my glasses. My breath catches with his attentiveness to me. Wyatt is over six feet tall and built like an ox—wide shoulders packed with muscle. His gentleness seems out of character for someone of his size.

I slap his hand away when I come back to my senses. "Do you mind? I don't need your wing-sauced fingers smudging my glasses," I say, making him chuckle. It's annoying that he is constantly laughing at my attempts to insult him.

"Take a seat, Wren." Wyatt stands from his chair. Then steps to the side, offering it to me. I hesitate for a moment. I didn't want to stay long.

My hope was that I could get him and Charlie talking and then sneak out without him remembering the whole ‘ teach me how to have fun ' part of the evening. Now I have to figure out how to get him to Charlie. This whole situation is giving me a headache.

"If you don't want it, I'll take it," the girl from earlier chimes in. She even raises her hand with a flourish. Her eyelashes flutter as she stares at Wyatt. Give me a break. What is it about this guy that has everyone wanting to barrel themselves face first into one of his various body parts?

When she starts to chew her lip, I sit down. "Sorry, it's mine," I say sharply, scooting around on the seat to get comfortable. I smile back at her, tasting the pettiness on my tongue.

Wyatt looks me over, wide eyed and grinning.

"Yours, huh?" he asks with a glint of pleasure in his eye. I glare back harder, daring him to challenge me. Realization dawns on me. My words could be interpreted as "he's mine" even though I'm clearly speaking about the chair. Only Wyatt and his oversized ego would come to that ridiculous conclusion.

"The chair is mine. You offered it to me," I say. Ignoring the dimpled smile on his stupid face, I turn toward the bartender and attempt to get his attention. I'm desperate for a drink.

Wyatt takes note of my failure in flagging him down. Of course he does . He will likely take advantage of any moment to rub my shortcomings in my face. Little does he know, I'm well aware of all of them.

Placing one hand on the back of my chair, he leans closer, crowding me. His other hand flicks in the air like he's hailing a cab. It must be a secret signal because suddenly there is a bartender in front of us clearing chicken bones off the bar and Wyatt is ordering another beer for himself and a drink for me.

I'm only slightly disturbed he remembers my drink order from a few months ago when we sat in this very spot together.

Turning my head to say thank you, the side of my face grazes his chest. Does he really have to stand so close? I know the bar is crowded, but damn.

His body tenses and muscles ripple against my skin. Wyatt smells like leather, amber, and someone else's bad decision.

I lean back, shifting in my seat slightly. "Thanks for that." I wave a hand toward the bartender.

"No problem." From this position I have a closeup of his face. I can admit that he is handsome in the traditional sense, except for his ridiculous mustache. His eyes are symmetrical and line up with his lips, which are fine if you like them full and well moisturized.

He should apply whatever he is using on his lips to his hands because it is working for him.

It's his nose that makes his face interesting—it has the slightest warp, making me believe it's been broken at least once. I'm going all in guessing he's been punched. I doubt I'm the only person who's been tempted to raw knuckle his nose once or twice.

I take a long sip of my tequila and Sprite once it's set in front of me and let out a long sigh. It's perfect.

"You like it?" he asks, teasing me.

"Yes." I place the glass down on the napkin and maneuver the tiny paper square until the logo of the bar is right side up and legible. Wyatt's deep chuckle has my face heating in anger. "Something funny?"

"Not a thing." He takes a sip of his beer to hide his smirk.

"You text people in excess. I like things to be evenly spaced and orderly." I gesture toward my drink. "We all have our quirks."

"Texting is not a quirk. It's called communicating. My texts are a gift. You should consider yourself lucky to be on the receiving end of them."

"I most certainly do not feel lucky. I feel annoyed." And off kilter. Each chime of my phone makes my eye twitch. It's a nuisance and unnecessary. "There's a texting etiquette. "

"There is not. You are making that up. You can't create all these rules and just expect people to follow them." He takes another sip of his beer.

I stare at his Adam's apple as he swallows, imagining how much fun it would be to karate chop it in half.

"Does your brain not think in complete sentences? Is it really too much to request you type an entire thought before hitting send?"

"I can. I'll do better just for you." He picks at the label on his beer. His nails are short and surprisingly clean after playing in dirt all afternoon.

"It's fine. I'll get used to it." What? No I won't. There will be no more texting with Wyatt. I don't need to talk to him anymore after tonight. "You said you had a good practice today. How so? What made it so great?" I ask to cut off the rambling in my head.

The ice in my glass spins, mixing the tequila and Sprite as I swirl the tiny straw around. I'm going to need another one of these if Charlie doesn't message me back soon. I should have known she would give me the slip.

I am supposed to be pushing her to him. How did she manage to pull a role reversal on me? I need to get this back on track.

Wyatt's eyes are wide, staring at me. The mask of confidence he wears slipping momentarily out of place. He acts like I'm the first person who ever asked him something trivial about his day .

Everyone knows it's common courtesy to follow-up. It would be rude not to ask.

"I did," he says, still looking at me like a curiosity in a cabinet.

"You've given me so many details. It's like I was right there with you."

His hand grips the top of the bar a little tighter making the tendons in his forearm flex. "You have a sarcastic little mouth on you. Has anyone ever told you that before?"

The ruckus of the crowded bar drowns out the loud beats of my racing heart.

"I may have heard it once or twice." I squirm in my seat, putting some distance between us. It could be the other bar patrons crowding around us, but Wyatt keeps inching closer to me the longer we stay talking.

"You're quite perplexing ." His grin is immediate knowing what he just did. "That's my first for the day. How many do you have?"

My eyes narrow. "You aren't playing." I pull up the notes app on my phone anyway. I keep track of my word of the day tally marks here as well as in my planner. "I have two." The satisfaction of beating him feels better than it should.

"Oh yes, I am. I like playing games with you. It's fun."

"Are you admitting another thing I like to do is fun?" I dig into my purse for the list I made earlier with things I'm willing to try in the name of having more fun. There's no way I'm giving him that much control. "If that's the case, we should forget about the whole ‘teach me' part of the evening." I hold up the slip of paper. "We can end this whole thing now."

Shaking his head, he snatches the piece of paper from my hand. "The game itself isn't fun. But getting you angry is a whole lot of fun." He reads over my list, his lip twitching with every word. "Nice try," he says, crumpling up my list.

"Hey! I worked hard on that." I wrestle with his arm, attempting to steal the paper back. He sends it flying into the trash can behind the bar before I even get close.

"Part of the fun is being spontaneous. I'll let you know when it's time to try something new. In the meantime, put my name on your scorecard and give me a mark. Whoever has the most tally marks at the end of the week gets a prize."

"This isn't elementary school, Wyatt. I don't have a treasure box full of prizes you can pick from."

"You sure about that?" His eyes sweep over my body and my face bursts into flames.

"If you're insinuating what I think you are, then fine. I have a world of wonders down there." I lean on the bar. "But that treasure is at my fingertips. Not yours." I wiggle my fingers in his face.

He swallows hard. I relish in the satisfaction of shutting him up. "Perplexing," he says, then nods toward my phone.

"That doesn't count." I practically screech. "You can't say the word by itself and expect a point. That is cheating. You have to use it in a sentence. "

"Here you go with all your rules again, Wren. You can't have a good time when you're tying yourself down with all these limitations."

"Not everyone can be lawless like you." I surge toward him in annoyance.

"And not everyone wants to live their life like it's already over." He leans further into my space until we're practically nose to nose.

His warm breath fans over my face. Brown eyes challenge my blue ones before dropping to my lips. He inhales, siphoning what's left of oxygen between us. I'm finding it hard to breathe but I refuse to move and let him think he's won or has any kind of effect on me.

Because he doesn't. It's the tequila making me feel warm and fuzzy.

His eyes bounce back to mine. They are full of mirth and amusement. I don't know what he saw in my eyes just now, but he's wrong. I turn toward the bartender and attempt to get his attention. Why is it so difficult to get a drink in this place?

Beside me, he chuckles to himself. "I'm glad my frustration amuses you." My glasses slip down my nose, irritating me further.

"Hey, Tony. Can we get another round over here?" Wyatt calls out to the bartender who is mixing drinks at the other end of the bar. Tony raises his hand in acknowledgment.

"Do you always get what you want?" I ask when our drinks are placed in front of us moments later.

"If I got everything I wanted, I wouldn't be sitting here with you. Would I?"

"No, I doubt that you would." I do my best to mask the sting of rejection I feel. Which is silly, because I don't want to be picked by this man. I want him to leave me alone. "Yet, you are still here. Why? I'm not forcing you to stay. You can leave at any time. Don't let me stop you."

I turn towards the bar and pretend to be interested in the basketball game on the television. I know nothing about the sport, or any sport really, but it's better than looking at him.

Wyatt leans on the bar, angling his body in a way that puts him in my peripheral vision. "Then who would get you drinks? You'd be so thirsty without me." The innuendo drips off his tongue.

I hate him. But he's right about one thing. It is fun to verbally spar and play this little game with him. I like that neither one of us is willing to back down from the other.

"You don't think I could get someone else in this bar to get me a drink."

"Oh, I'm sure you could. But that would involve loosening the reins and having a good time. That is where you're going to fail."

"I don't fail at anything," I say with conviction.

"I bet you don't." His words are deep and slow. It rattles something loose in me. As if a part of myself I've been holding on tightly to is trying to break free and follow him off a cliff with wild abandon .

Before I can think too much about why I'm suddenly feeling reckless, my phone lights up with a text notification.

"It's Charlie," I announce.

"Is she coming over here?" He leans closer to read the message with me. His sudden enthusiasm grates on my nerves.

"Do you mind?" I hold my phone against my chest. He backs off but is still close enough to breathe on me like a donkey and view my screen.

CHARLIE

Looks like things are going well. I'm heading home. Give me all the details in the morning.

Attached is a grainy photo of Wyatt and me from across the crowded bar. We are leaning towards each other and it appears as if we are seconds away from kissing. Only I know the truth, we were swapping insults. Again .

"You need to fix this," Wyatt says, pointing at my phone.

"I don't need to do anything. I will however tell her that she read the situation wrong."

"So you didn't want me to kiss you? Because in the photo it sure looks like you did," he says, with a wry smile. We can now add delusional to his list of personality traits.

"Absolutely not." I dig into my wallet for some cash. My extended stay at The Armory is over. If Charlie is going home then so am I. "I'm sorry this didn't work out for you. Maybe it's time to move on."

"This ain't over. Set up a lunch date. You, me, and Charlie." He grips my elbow as I drop money on the bar for our drinks.

"Why would I do that?" I yank myself free from his grasp.

"Because you don't fail at anything." He throws my words back in my face knowing good and well I won't be able to ignore the challenge. Especially not one coming from him.

"Fine. After this, I'm done. You're on your own."

"Deal." He extends his hand for me to shake.

Why do I feel like I just made a deal with the devil?