6. WYATT

6

WYATT

I open the pantry door and immediately slam it shut. Why is there nothing to eat?

I'm not even that hungry.

I needed to get away from Wren.

I'm a man. It doesn't take much to turn me on. I've never met a woman who didn't get my dick at least a little excited. She, however, shouldn't be one of them.

Wren in her cream linen pants and striped blouse.

Wren pressed up against my chest.

Wren on her hands and knees on my bed.

The last straw was her bent over the side table.

I slam another cabinet door.

"You okay in there?" Nash calls out from the living room.

"We don't have any food!" What's a guy gotta do to get some chips around here? Fuck, I'd take a saltine cracker at this point.

"Check the fridge. Hart brought home some kind of chicken and pasta dish Lauren made last night. That shit was good."

"Must be nice to have a girlfriend that cooks all the time. I bet he never goes hungry," I mutter to myself as I pull out the leftovers. I open up the lid and groan. It smells fucking amazing.

I grab two bowls from the cabinet and scoop a few heaping spoonfuls in each one. While I wait for the pasta to heat up, I catch up on my family group chat.

They managed to get the fencing fixed but now one of the stable roofs is leaking and the big tractor broke down. Translation: the farm is falling apart.

Everything my family has spent generations working to build is turning to complete horseshit and there's nothing I can do about it.

Ford would remind me that I'm doing my job. Getting my degree and following "my dreams" of getting drafted. It's not where I want to be. If it wasn't for the promise of a big payday, I would quit playing. My heart isn't in baseball anymore. It hasn't been since high school.

Playing professional baseball was never the end game. I want to be at home helping my family fix our legacy and make it into something that will carry on for generations.

But I'm stuck here. I'm wasting days on women I'll never remember and playing a game that doesn't mean anything to me.

When the microwave dings, I grab a couple of forks and throw them on a tray along with some napkins and the bowls of food. Shit, they're hot . Not as hot as Wren looked on my bed. "Damn it." I've got to stop thinking about that. I shake out my hand to relieve the burn. I find two bottles of water in the fridge and tuck them under my arm.

Taking a few deep breaths, I mentally prepare myself to be in Wren's presence as I walk down the stairs. There is no reason for my body to react to her the way it is. She's here to help me get in good with Charlie for fuck's sake. My dick needs to get with the program. She is not an option.

When I reach the bottom step, it takes me a second to realize the den is empty. I leave the tray of food on the table and check the bathroom. Maybe Wren is in there. The door is cracked open and the lights are off. I bang my head against the door frame.

I can't handle seeing Wren in my room again. As it is, I know I will be going to bed with her wildflower scent lingering in the air. Big mistake on my part inviting her over. I've completely underestimated her. I won't be doing that again.

Standing by the door, I watch as she flies around the room like a little bird. My little birdie . She's managed to fold all the laundry on the bed, organize my shoes that were all over the room, and now she appears to be moving my weights to the corner of the room.

Wren has one of my fifty pound weights in her hands and is attempting to waddle it across the room. The damn thing is probably close to a third of her weight. When the dumbbell almost slips out of her grasps I jump into action.

"Damn it, birdie. Give me that." I take it out of her hands. "Where are you putting it?"

"Over there." She points to the opposite wall. "In the corner by your desk. "

"What are you doing in here?" I ask as I pick the other weight off the floor and move it to the corner with the first one. It's actually the perfect spot for them. I can watch my new favorite murder documentary Lauren has me hooked on and do my reps.

"I couldn't focus knowing what was hiding behind the door." Wren's hands are clasped together in front of her and she nibbles on her lower lip. She's lying . She wanted to see what I would do to her if she wasn't sitting in that chair like I asked.

"I told you to wait for me out there." I step closer and she fidgets under my stare. "I made dinner." Placing my hands on her shoulders, I spin her around and escort her out of my room.

"You cooked?"

"I heated it up. Lauren cooked," I say, taking my seat across from her. I hand her a fork and place a bowl of pasta in front of her.

"Looks good." She takes a dainty bite and chews methodically.

"Are you counting your chews?" I shove a large bite in my mouth and almost swallow it whole. I barely taste it as it slides down my throat.

"It's better for your digestive system if you chew your food at least twenty times," she says meekly. I hate that she's shying away from me. I don't like this Wren. I like it when she battles me back. I like it when she is feisty and breathing fire .

"Uh-huh." I take another bite of my meal.

"You did a really good job heating this up," she says without a trace of sarcasm. It makes me laugh. A genuine compliment about heating food in the microwave. "What? I'm serious. It can be difficult to get even heat distribution in the microwave."

"I know you're serious. That's why I'm laughing." I take another bite of food. She hasn't taken her eyes off the bowl. "The key is to keep the food on the edge of the glass plate so it spins around." I twirl my fork in the air.

"Good to know. For next time."

We eat in silence until my phone starts making noise again. Her eyes twitch with each notification of an incoming text. Is this how she reacts to my texts too?

I respond to my brothers. Damn, I hate not being at home. This time of year is really busy. We are preparing the fields to plant and moving everything from the greenhouses. The equipment breaking down isn't making things any easier.

All the work falls on my family and anyone willing to break their back for a homemade pie baked by my sister, Willow. She makes a mean pie, but I'm not sure it's worth the price of spending hours in the sun.

"Are you sure everything is okay? Your face is really wrinkly."

"You always say the sweetest things to me, birdie."

"I wish you wouldn't call me that."

"Why? "

"It's not my name," she says. I wonder if there is another reason. Nicknames are more intimate. They're personal. Wren doesn't do intimate. I shouldn't either.

At least I shouldn't want to with her, but for whatever reason I'm doing it without thinking of the backlash.

Ever since we've started this makeshift friendship, I find myself craving her dry humor and sharp comebacks. I've become accustomed to people on campus sugar coating their words to make a good impression on me in order to get something from me.

Your dick is everyone's type. Trust me. You are not. I still find myself amused by that one. It was an insult but also the truth. I know why I'm popular with the women on campus.

Wren is right. Most people only get to know me on a surface level. Her opinions are probably accurate based on what I've given her to work with, but there's more to me than good looks and fun times. At least I like to think so.

"It is now." I smirk at her. "You can give me a nickname too."

"You don't want me to do that." She takes another bite of her dinner.

"Why not? I bet you even have something in mind."

"The names I call you in my mind aren't very nice," she says, her focus locked in on creating the perfect bite with her fork.

"I don't believe you."

She shrugs. "Believe what you want. Either way, you won't be getting a nickname."

"Whatever you say, birdie ."

She scowls. "Stop. "

"Nah, I don't think I will." I can't. In the middle of all the problems my family is facing at the farm, having this woman get angry at me makes me happy. It's a feeling I don't want to stop chasing.

My phone lights up again with a new text from Colt. It has me frowning.

"You're getting wrinkly again. What's going on?" Her voice is laced with concern and that unnerves me. I don't want her to worry about me or my family. Regardless, I find myself opening up to her.

"Have you ever heard of the small town Rivers Bend?" Wren shakes her head in response. "It's a couple hours from here. It's where I grew up. My family owns a farm out that way." And most of the land surrounding it.

We used to own the whole damn town.

"Our farm. It's failing and falling apart," I explain. She pushes her bowl out of the way and leans on the table. Of course she would want a front row seat for my turmoil. "We should be plowing and planting but nothing is going right. We're getting behind schedule. I should be there."

"But you can't because you have to be here and you don't want to be." She says the words I've left unspoken. "Are you going back home after graduation?"

"No. I'm going into the draft."

"Why? If your family needs you, why play? You'll have your degree in agricultural science. Go home and put your degree to good use," she says. My eyebrows raise in question. "It popped up when I was researching your stats. "

Nothing about my life at Newhouse is a secret. It's all available on my player bio. Last semester the Newhouse social media team conducted interviews and made a full dossier on each player. If you want to know something about me, you can find it.

"When I'm done playing I will." I've already collected a few notebooks full of ideas that will help us with long term sustainability. We are currently doing what's necessary to scrape by. If I was there every day, I could…still not get it done because we don't have the money to do anything.

"That could take years. It's going to feel like a jail sentence because you don't want to play. You want to be with your family."

"Stop telling me what I want when you don't know me. I do want to play."

She laughs. It's a mocking laugh. Nothing like the giggle she gave me earlier. The sound had me second guessing myself. There was something about the trill at the end that was familiar, like I've heard it before, but I can't quite place it.

"Now it's my turn not to believe you," she says.

Wren is too smart for her own good. I didn't realize she was so accurate at reading people but I am too. It's what makes me such a great pitcher. I can tell what a batter is thinking by the way he grips his bat or how he digs his cleats into the dirt.

We all have a tell. I've figured out a few of Wren's. Like when she's lying she scratches at her wrist or when she's nervous her eyes dart around wildly. What I don't know is why she is preaching to me so passionately about my future.

"It doesn't matter if you believe me or not. I have to do it. There isn't a choice."

"There is always a choice."

"Is that so? Is that why you're getting married? Because you are choosing to marry someone you don't know and don't love?"

"My personal life isn't up for discussion."

"How convenient for you. We've both made our choices then."

"Seems we have," she says and sits back in her seat. "You can always change your mind and pick differently."

Are we still talking about me playing baseball or something else? Why would she care if I play or if I stay home with my family?

"We should probably talk about Charlie," I say, changing the subject. "That's why you're here." I'm reminding myself more than I am her.

"Right. That's why I'm here. What did you have in mind?"

"I think you should plan a movie date at your dorm and invite me." This is what I wanted to do weeks ago when I first approached her but she refused.

"Fine. I'll set it up." She doesn't hesitate this time. That raises my hackles.

"It's that easy? Why are you being so agreeable? You were giving me such a hard time before."

"Do you want me to set it up or not?" Her words are clipped.

"I do." I need this whole situation to be over with already.

"Then don't ask questions. I'm agreeing to do what you want. You should be happy."

She's right. I should. Yet, I'm not sure that I am. "When are you free?" I ask.

We go over our schedules. Wren pencils in all my practices and games into her planner. The image sparks something deep inside of me. Having my name written on the pages of a book that is her entire world makes me feel like I'm a major player in her life.

That we have a real friendship starting.

That there's something happening between us beyond this scheme.

A feeling I can't put my finger on shifts around in my gut. It makes me question the decisions I'm making.

She looks at me across the table and her electric blue eyes rattle me further. There's a slight hesitation hidden in their depths. Wren is holding back. That isn't something she does.

What are you hiding from me, birdie? And why does this interest me more than getting together with Charlie?