Page 108 of The Reason I Married Him
Don’t go down that path, Aubree.Think . . . outlandish, alpha-ish, and overbearing.
A part of me wants to test his theory and see if he truly means it, but the other side of me is tired and just wants to pretend this night is over. From the hard day to the conversation in the truck with Hattie to Wyatt bombarding me with this new living arrangement, I’m ready to shut my eyes and look forward to a new day where I can establish some semblance of order.
So I settle into the untouched side of my bed and attempt to get comfortable. He already set up my charger and everything else that was on my nightstand over on this side, which is thoughtful, and I can tell he gave me the pillow I was using as well.
I will say this about Wyatt—he might be sarcastic and a jokester—and treads the thin line of annoying me and wanting me to push him off a cliff—but he’s nice, he’s considerate, and he’s thoughtful. The only other guy I’ve known who is like him is Ryland . . . well, and I guess Hayes.
Every other man in my life has been a major disappointment.
Wyatt moves out of the bathroom, and I avert my eyes so they don’t wander over his chest and below his waist. I don’t need any thoughts of his body inside my head before I go to bed.
He slips under the sheets and blankets with me, and when I think he’s going to pick up his book and start reading, he turns toward me and lifts on his elbow. “Hey,” he says softly.
I keep my eyes fixed on the ceiling. “Hello,” I answer awkwardly.
He tips my chin so I’m forced to look at him. “You don’t have to avoid eye contact with me.”
“I’m not,” I say.
“You are. This doesn’t have to be awkward, Aubree. We can mutually enjoy this.”
“What does that mean?” I ask, nervous as to what he’s alluding to.
He rolls his eyes. “Nothing like that. I’m just saying if you’re someone who likes to cuddle or likes to be the big spoon or little spoon, I can accommodate. You don’t have to lie stiffly, staring up at the ceiling like it’s your first night in prison.”
“Wyatt, I don’t even hold your hand. Do you think I’m the type of person who cuddles?”
“Have you tried it?” he asks.
“Of course,” I say even though Matt wasn’t much of a snuggler—probably because I wasn’t.
Because I’m rigid.
Because I’m emotionally detached.
Cold-hearted.
Reserved.
Aloof.
All my father’s words and descriptions that Matt echoed.
“Have you?” Wyatt asks again. This time, he scoots closer.
“Uh, what are you doing?” I ask him.
“Humor me for a second, Aubree.”
“Humor what?” I ask, scooting away, but he stops me by looping his arm around me and gripping my hip so I can’t move away anymore.
“I just want to try something.”
“What do you want to try? I’m not some science experiment.”
“I understand that, but please, just for a few seconds, and if you hate it, you can push me away. Okay?”
“Will you leave me alone after?” I ask.
