Page 61 of The Reason I Married Him
“Doesn’t hurt that you’re a smokeshow either,” he says.
I stop at a stop sign and glance in his direction. He’s grinning like a fool.
“Stop that.”
“Stop what?” he asks as he reaches over to my side of the truck and attempts to place his hand in mine. I quickly retreat.
“Stop trying to flatter me. I don’t need your inflated opinion of my looks to get me to say yes to your foolish idea. I’m comfortable with how I am and what I see in the mirror.”
“Inflated opinion?” he says, his voice changing from easygoing to serious. “That’s not an inflated opinion, that’s facts. You’re hot, Aubree. I have no problem saying that.”
“Please, Wyatt?—”
“Please, what? Tell you more? Okay,” he continues. “You have these very intense green eyes that suck me in immediately because I have to know if they’re real or not. It’s difficult not to stare, not get captured. Then there are your freckles, barely visible to the naked eye, but they darken when you’ve been outside longer. I’ve never been a hair man, but something about those braids you like to wear flips my stomach upside down. And not that I should mention your body, but fuck, Aubree, it’s curvy but muscular, soft but strong. You can hold your own, but you also look like someone I’d like to hold. And last, those lips, like two flower petals, waiting to be explored.”
I pull into one of the town community parking lots and turn off the truck, only to turn toward him.What the hell is he on to say such crap?Even if some of that was nice to hear. “Are you feverish?”
“Nope,” he says.
“Flower petal lips? Really? Is that how you describe your characters’ lips in your books?”
He shakes his head. “Nah, never really focus on that shit.” He turns toward me, his large body eating up all the space in the truck’s cab. “You know, some people who just received as many compliments as you would say thank you, maybe blush, possibly even act a little shy while repaying the favor.”
“Why would I thank you when I don’t believe a word you said?”
“Why wouldn’t you believe it?” he asks, looking insulted.
“Because you’re sarcastic. You run around the farm calling me Mrs. Preston and telling me that I’m a good wife. Why the hell would I believe that you actually think I’m pretty or hot or whatever you said?”
“Good point,” he says. “But I wouldn’t lie to you about something as personal as looks. That wasn’t out of sarcasm or to boost my appeal. Those were cold, hard facts. I thought you were hot the day I helped Clarke and Cassidy move into their house, and I still think you’re hot. Simple as that. Feel free not to repay the compliment. I don’t need any validation.”
And because I grew up in a hostile environment where no one told me I was pretty until my sophomore year in high school when I went to the homecoming game in Cassidy’s brown floral dress, I can’t quite process what he just said to me. My mind can’t wrap itself around the compliments. Instead, I brush them off, not wanting to focus on them.
Not wanting to get caught up in them.
I revert to what I know best—being argumentative. If my dad taught me one thing, it’s that you argue until you get your way.
“Of course you don’t, because you think you’re the hottest man alive, don’t you?” I hop out of the truck, and so does he.
“No, that would be Chris Evans.”
I pause and wait for him to catch up. “You think Chris Evans is the hottest guy in the world?”
“Yeah. He has it all. The slight hint of a Boston accent, good looks, great body, a sense of humor. How could you not?”
“Easy, the hottest guy in the world is Michael B. Jordan.”
“Oooo.” Wyatt nods. “Great choice. He is quite the looker. I might have to change my answer.”
“He’s mine. You keep your Chris Evans, while Michael and I?—”
“Hey, what are you guys doing?” Hattie says.
Startled, I stop right on the spot, which causes Wyatt to run into my shoulder.
“Shit, sorry, babe,” he says, causing the hairs on the back of my neck to stand straight.
My eyes connect with Hattie’s inquisitive expression as she looks between us, a slight smirk on her lips.
