7. WREN

7

WREN

The campus cafeteria is bustling as usual. I weave my way through students congregating around tables until I reach the line for my favorite Mediterranean cuisine.

The Newhouse cafeteria is set up similar to a mall food court but on a smaller scale. They have everything from pizza to Asian fusion. After three years here, I have a favorite dish at each restaurant and keep them on a rotating schedule.

My phone buzzes a few times in my bag while I'm waiting in line. What does he want now? I've been attempting to put some distance between Wyatt and me the last few days.

Not that he took the hint.

There was something about the last conversation we had that left me feeling out of sorts. I know Wyatt isn't attracted to me, nor am I him. He isn't my type.

But I can't deny the way I feel around him. My body begins to hum below the surface and becomes hyper aware of his proximity.

The fact that he is interested in Charlie should be reason enough to shut down these irrational thoughts. Not to mention that I find him annoying and reckless .

Then I see the way he stresses over his family and I wonder if I've misjudged him some. It makes me want to help. But helping will bring us closer together.

That's the last thing we need.

Once my lunch order is ready, I secure a table in the very back of the dining area. It's much quieter in the corner away from the main thoroughfare and the students who prefer to socialize over eating.

I remove all the food from the tray and pull my planner out of my bag. My phone continues to buzz. I'm not ready to see him. As it is, I have to plan a movie day for him and Charlie. He will be in my personal space this time, and I don't know how I feel about that.

"Did you leave your phone at home?" Wyatt drops into the seat across from me. His tray is loaded with a giant cheeseburger and a basket of French fries. "I've been texting you."

"How did you know I was here?"

He rolls his eyes. "You eat in the cafeteria every Thursday. Mediterranean this week. Nice. Here." He pushes the basket of fries to the middle of the table so I can reach.

Wyatt shakes pepper on to the fries, while I squirt ketchup into the side of the basket.

"Do you think it's weird you know my schedule?"

"No. You know mine too." He waves a fry in my direction.

"You gave it to me. I didn't follow you around campus like a weirdo memorizing it."

He tilts his head. "That's not what I thought you'd say. I'll take it."

"Why are you here?" I dredge a fry through the ketchup and take a bite.

"Lunch."

"There are a million other tables. Why are you here ?"

"A million? That's a stretch, don't you think?" He eats a fourth of his burger in one bite.

"You're going to get indigestion eating that fast."

"I appreciate your concern, but I've been eating like this since I was five years old. Ain't nothing going to bring me down." He takes five French fries and stuffs them in his mouth whole. "I'm here because I have something fun for us to do after we eat." He wiggles his eyebrows.

He's not wearing a hat today. He looks…handsome. His hair cascades in layers down the side of his head until it blends into the longer hair in the back. Without the bill of his hat getting in the way, I can see his eyes more clearly. They are brown, but every now and then they catch the light and transform into a warm caramel.

"What is it?" I ask.

"It's a surprise. Trust me. You'll like it."

Funny enough. I do trust Wyatt.

We finish eating our lunch and he escorts me to his pickup truck, which seems to be on its last legs.

When he parks the truck at our destination, I stare at him. "We're at your townhouse."

"I know. Come on."

He opens my door and I hesitantly take his hand and allow him to help me down. Pride wants to take over and push him out of the way. I've always done things on my own.

Maybe it is the only child in me. I never had a sibling to partner up with or even a close friend to lean on. Charlie is the closest thing to a best friend I've had besides my dad. I sometimes wonder if it's by default, that maybe if she wasn't my roommate freshman year, she never would have given me a chance.

We stuck together over the years because, why change what's working? Lauren and Sydney are my friends because of the same reasons. We were all together on the same floor in the dorms our first year. We've stuck together ever since.

Then there's Wyatt. A man who has been pursuing my roommate for a couple of months. He's getting what he wants in a few days. Yet, he still texts about random things that have nothing to do with the whole Charlie situation. He also shows up out of nowhere to walk me to class or eat lunch.

What will happen once he gets what he wants from Charlie?

You get to have your life and your personal space back. Why does that thought make me feel sad and empty?

"Don't be scared. I promise you'll like this," he says as we enter the house. Nash and his behemoth of a friend, Eli, are eating at the dining table while they study. Wyatt says hello then excitedly ushers me downstairs .

I follow him down the hall toward his room. It looks a little bit better than when I left it a few days ago. There's a new pile of laundry forming, but the weights are still in the corner and his shoes aren't scattered all over the floor anymore.

"Ta da!" he yells, gesturing toward his closet which is practically bursting at the seams.

"I don't get it." I stare at him blankly.

"I'm going to let you organize my closet."

"Why would you do that?" I realize to some people this would seem like a punishment. To me, it's a dream. I walk inside the small space and run a hand over the shirts he has hanging up. His cologne sits on a shelf which explains why his scent is stronger here.

"I knew you would like it. I also thought it was time to get rid of some of this stuff. I'll be moving out before I know it. I need the head start," he says, picking up a plastic cowboy hat that's covered in glitter and placing it on his head.

"Are you sure you want to do this? It's going to take a few hours."

"I know."

"Once we start, we can't stop until we're done." I take a step in his direction.

"I know."

"You will have to throw things away or donate them." I take another step.

"I know . I'm ready."

"Great. We'll start with this." I snatch the hat off the top of his head.

"Absolutely not. I wore that to my first costume party. It has memories."

"Wyatt, you do not need to remember the time you dressed up as a disco cowboy. If anything, we should be offering free therapy to anyone who had to witness you wearing this."

"Fine." He pouts, looking longingly toward the hat. "But we're donating it. It's not garbage."

"Sure. I would hate for someone to miss out on the opportunity to strut through town wearing that monstrosity."

"I guess this means I need to donate the matching silver chaps too."

"Dear God. Why don't you grab a few trash bags and I'll get started pulling everything out and sorting it into piles." I push him out of the closet.

He nods and walks toward the door. "Don't throw anything out without my approval."

"I wouldn't dream of it," I say. He nods again accepting my answer. I wouldn't do that to him. "Hey, Wyatt," I call out to him before he slips through the door. "Thanks for this. It was a good surprise."

He smiles, but it's different. His dimples barely register in his cheeks and his lips aren't turned all the way up. The smile is shy and unsure. Sweet almost . "You're welcome."

While he runs upstairs for supplies, I pull the sheets and comforter up on his bed. This will be our sorting area. Then I move all the clothes from around the floor and pile them in the corner. I'm assuming they're dirty, but you never know with him.

It's been a while since I've tackled an organization job this large. I'm a little giddy over it. I think it's best to clear it out in small batches. Then sort everything into piles. Keep, toss, and giveaway.

I pull down an armload of clothes he has hanging in the closet and toss them on the bed. Sorting through the stack, I realize he has a lot of nice dress shirts, but I've never seen him dress up like this before. My fingers glide over the fabric of the sleeve as I place it in a neat pile.

"We have to wear those for away games. Coach likes us arriving sharp."

I bet he does look sharp in this. And handsome. And sexy.I've been around men in suits most of my life. But there is something about this man, who answers to no one and typically only wears jeans and T-shirts, wearing a suit and tie that makes it sound even hotter.

Stop it, Wren. I scold myself. He likes Charlie and I'm getting married. Maybe .

"They can start the keep pile."

"I would rather give those away and keep the chaps." He pouts.

I roll my lips to stop myself from laughing. "I'm sure you would." I pat him on the arm.

Wyatt helps me sort through the rest of the clothes on his bed, then goes back to get more. We are able to cycle through this portion of his closet quickly. He's been doing a good job letting things go, and I'm in my element color coordinating everything to be placed back in an orderly fashion.

"I've been looking for these," he says from the back of the closet.

Curiosity has me walking in there to see what long lost treasure, or trash, he's discovered. Wyatt is sitting on the floor with a feather boa wrapped around his neck and giant glasses on his face.

"You look ridiculous." I lean against the door frame with my arms crossed.

"What are you talking about? I look fucking incredible."

"If you say so."

"I'll have you know Elton John night at The Armory was a hit. Here, I found one for you too."

"Why do I need a feather boa?" I ask, as he drapes it over my shoulders and around my neck.

"Because." He places large pink sunglasses over the glasses I'm already wearing. It's a little awkward, but it would be anyway considering their size. "We are going to go upstairs and serenade Eli and Nash."

"We will do no such thing." I start to remove the boa. Wyatt's hands clamp down on mine, stopping my movement.

"We are. Come on. We need a break and this will be fun."

"They're going to laugh at me."

"So what if they do." He shrugs one shoulder and pulls me out of his room. I drag my feet, attempting to delay our progress. "It's just Nash and his football buddy. I bet they'll even join us."

Wyatt pauses at the bottom of the steps. "Let your hair down, birdie." He reaches up and pulls the elastic band out of my hair, unspiraling the tight bun I had my hair twisted in and shakes it out with the pad of his fingers.

My eyelids flutter and I have to bite my lip to keep from moaning. He slides his fingers down a strand of my hair, grazing the top of my breast. His eyes raise to meet mine and gauge my reaction to his touch. Maybe it's the rose-colored glasses I'm wearing, but he looks very kissable right now.

He exhales a slow breath before encouraging me upstairs again.

"I'm not singing. I don't sing," I say. I don't like singing in front of people. Not anymore.

"At least say the words. You know "Bennie and the Jets?" That's what I sang for the karaoke party. It's the only one I know."

"I know enough," I answer, once we reach the top of the stairs. I'm crossing my fingers and toes that Nash and Eli left the house. My face and chest are warm to the touch. Sweat is building in my under arms, and I alternate waving a hand under each armpit.

He chuckles. "You'll be fine. Relax. It's all for fun. I'll start us off. Follow my lead."

Easier said than done. I wipe my hands down the back of my shorts. Wyatt nods to Eli and Nash, who are still sitting at the table. Nash does a double take, a slow grin spreads across his face .

Wyatt takes my hand in his, gives me a nod. I nod back. I'm not really sure what I'm agreeing to exactly. Suddenly, Wyatt is sliding across the kitchen floor on his sock covered feet, pulling me along for the ride.

"Hey kids…" he starts off singing. I don't know the words well enough to sing along to the verse. Not that I would be able to anyway with Wyatt spinning me around, pulling me close, then pushing me away. He has us dancing around the entire kitchen.

When the chorus hits, he jiggles my arms encouraging me to sing with him. I'm not that brave but I do say the words. It will have to be good enough.

Wyatt beams at me while he sings. I realize I'm smiling too. By the second verse Nash and Eli have given up on homework and joined our impromptu dance party. Nash takes the boa off my neck and throws it to Eli. Then he steals Wyatt's from him too.

I pass Eli my glasses. When he puts them on, he transforms into full performance mode. His voice is amazing. I look at Wyatt and his eyes are as wide as mine.

Nash grabs my hands and spins me around. Laughter spills out of me. He passes me over to Eli, who sings, while we do the twist. There's no music. Just the guys singing acapella. It's enough to make me forget where I am and who I am. I'm not the girl who dances carefree in the kitchen. I'm the girl who believes the kitchen has one purpose—to prepare food.

I don't know where that girl is, but she isn't here right now.

Dropping Eli's hands, I jump around and let everything go. I close my eyes and twirl and twirl until I'm dizzily falling into Wyatt's arms. He's taken his glasses off. His brown eyes dance over my face, taking in every detail.

"I like seeing you like this," he whispers.

Like what? How do you see me?

"I'll admit, you were right. It was fun," I say, catching my breath. His hand slips to the curve of my back. I clear my throat. "We should, uh, probably finish cleaning downstairs or you won't have anywhere to sleep tonight."

"Yeah, we should," he says in a way that makes me think there is something else he wants to do instead. His eyes drift to my lips for a moment. I step out of his hold. We are too close. Not that I think he would kiss me in front of Nash and Eli. Not that he would kiss me at all. What am I even thinking? Get a grip.

"Nash, Eli, thank you for joining our fun. You can keep the accessories. They look good on you."

"Hey, I wanted to keep those." I ignore Wyatt's protest and walk toward the basement door. "I want everything back," Wyatt says. He tells Nash something else but I can't make it out from where I'm standing on the basement stairs.

The next few hours we dig through more memories of Wyatt's first years at Newhouse. While I found him irritating at times when he would get distracted by a costume or a crazy hat he had stuffed in a corner, I also laughed more than I have since I was a child.

Is it wrong for me to hope that he doesn't sleep with Charlie? Because if something happens between them, and Charlie gets hurt, I'll lose him as my friend. I can't believe I'm actually saying this, but I don't want that to happen.

Wyatt is quickly becoming someone I can't live without.