Page 183 of The Reason I Married Him
“No, I’m just going to stay here.”
“Great,” he says in a chipper voice. “Then I’ll stay too.”
“Wyatt, come on.”
“Come on, what? If you’re going to be stubborn, then I want to be stubborn, which means you get to have me here in the office with you while you attempt to figure out your issue with the numbers. Oh hey, is that a pencil?” He picks up a pencil off my desk. “Wow, haven’t seen one of these in a while. You know, I like to use pens when I take notes and plot. My favorite is?—”
“Oh my God, fine, I’ll go to lunch,” I say, standing up and unplugging my laptop. “I’m not going to sit here and let you annoy me with your drivel about pencils.”
“How did you know it was drivel? I didn’t even get to tell you what my favorite type of pen is, which is a big thing in my world. Pens matter, and writing materials matter. Ever consider that, Aubree?”
He follows me out of the office, and I hop into the four-by-four, which he quickly gets in as well.
“Hello, I’m talking to you,” he says.
“And I’m ignoring you.”
I start the four-by-four and take off down the dirt road toward the guest house.
“Why? You know, if you paid attention to what interests me, maybe you could get me a nice gift for our wedding, like a bouquet of my favorite pens.”
“My gift to you is saying I do,” I say.
“Solid gift, but I think I’d like something a little extra.”
“I don’t dry heave while saying it,” I reply.
“Mmm, solid response, but I was thinking more along the lines of pens . . . or, I don’t know, some lingerie that you could show me later.”
I glance over at him and catch that teasing smirk of his. You know, when he says stuff like that, it makes me believe that he might possess feelings toward me other than me being the key to his cabin, but then he tacks on that smile of his, and I know it’s Wyatt just being Wyatt.
“Why does the woman have to be the one who wears the lingerie for the man?” I ask. “Why can’t it be the other way around?”
“Baby, if you want me in a thong, all you have to do is ask. I have no problem strutting around for you.”
“Dear God, please don’t.” He laughs some more as we pull up to the guest house. “Just going to change real quick.”
“Why?” he asks. “I think you look good as you are.”
I glance down at the hole in my shirt and then back up at him. “Your standards are low for looking good.”
“Nah, Mrs. Preston, you set the bar high.”
I don’t bother to respond to him. I just hand him my computer and then move into the guest house, where I find a pair of jean shorts that have been freshly washed. I pull those on and trade out my holey shirt for a Hayes Farrow Stadium T-shirt. Hattie found a bunch in his house and asked if I wanted one. Of course I’ll take anything free. It’s really soft and one of my favorite shirts now. I move over to the bathroom, where I throw on a bit of mascara just for the show, then I slip on my Birkenstocks and loop my pack containing my wallet over my shoulder and head back outside, where Wyatt waits by his car. When he spots me, I catch his eyes scanning me, taking me all in.
“That was fast,” he says.
“Did you want me to put on my ballgown and curl my hair for you?”
He opens my door for me and says, “Curling the hair would have been too much, but the ballgown I would have immensely enjoyed.”
I get into his SUV and say, “Not sure you’re at ballgown status.”
“I’ll get there, babe.”
He shuts the door and then moves around to his side. When he gets in, he sets my computer on my lap and then buckles up and starts the car. When he pulls out, he puts his hand on my seat and then backs up, using one hand to turn the wheel and straighten out. I don’t know why I think that’s hot, but I do.
What’s even hotter is how he rests his hand on my leg when he drives down the road. Not sure why he’s placed his hand onmy leg, but I like it. Therefore, I don’t tell him to move it. It’s probably one of those things where he tries to get me used to him, used to his touch.
