Page 76 of Fight For Me

What the hell do you expect?I chide myself.You think he’s going to give you bedroom eyes in front of half his family?

But I can’t shake the low thrum of dread that’s settling into my belly. We didn’t talk last night. I have no idea what he’s thinking, what he wants from this. What if one night was enough for him to get me out of his system? What if the threat of the family finding out is too much and he decides he doesn’t want me anymore?

I know that it’s silly to let myself get so worked up without even talking to him, but I can’t seem to help it. Not being able to confide in Everly—who I tell everything—isn’t helping.

There’s a mad rush for everyone to get ready to leave. Judging by the amount of grumbling and terse exchanges I overhear, I must have been right about the hangover situation. Even Eva, who’s usually sweet as peach pie, snapped at Will when he dropped her carryon bag on the pavement while we waited to load into the cars.

Wyatt follows his brother into the first SUV without looking at me once. I get into the second vehicle with Everly, Bodhi, Leo, and Rose. Bodhi wants to give a play-by-play of every single thing that happened on the trip, chatting loudly and happily with Everly, and I’m having a hard time keeping it together.

“You okay?” Rose whispers, leaning into me.

“Tired,” I lie, then immediately feel bad when worry etches her face. My history of insomnia makes “tired” an awfully convenient excuse. It also makes the people who love me and know my history concerned, and that makes it a shitty thing to throw around.

I manage a smile. “I actually got quite a bit of sleep last night,” I tell her honestly. “But it kind of feels like it had the opposite effect of what I wanted.”

She nods. “That used to happen to me when I was in school,” she says. “I’d work so hard all week and then when I could sleep in on the weekends I would end up feeling more groggy. Like a sleep hangover, or something.”

“Exactly. Which I much rather prefer to the real hangover most of you seem to be sporting this morning.”

That’s a good segue for her to tell me about their evening—much more calmly and quietly than Bodhi and Everly—and I pass the ride to the airport trying to insert enough questions to make it seem like I’m paying attention.

By the time we get to the condo, Iamtired. I’m mentally and emotionally exhausted from spending the day walking on eggshells, trying not to look at Wyatt. He was perfectly polite to me at the airport but we didn’t have a moment alone, and his seat on the airplane was two rows ahead of me. Luckily, Everly insists on going to check out the progress on the store—since we’ve been gone for four whole days and she’s having withdrawals—and that gives me a break from the constant second guessing. When we get back to the condo, Wyatt is gone, a note on the counter telling us he went to pick up George.

At this point my worry is fast turning into anger. He couldn’t at least text me? All day? Even if he did think it was a one-time thing, pretending like it didn’t happen at all is shitty.

I grab a quick sandwich for dinner and go to bed early, determined to get my mind off Wyatt Asshole Warner.

Around nine thirty, I’m reading in bed when there’s a light rap on my door. Before I can reply, the door is pushed open, Wyatt’s head appearing. I’d been expecting Everly, so I’m too surprised to do more than gape at him as he slips into my room, George right at his heels. The dog immediately runs to my bed and tucks in at my side while Wyatt shuts the door behind them.

“Hey,” he says, smiling. “What, uh, you got going on there?”

It’s only then that I remember that I’m in full sleep-hygiene mode. White noise machine going, candles lit, essential oil diffuser pumping the musky scent of vetiver into the room. All of that wouldn’t be so bad if it wasn’t for the blue light blocking glasses.

“Fuck,” I mutter, pulling them off then blinking as my eyes try to adjust to a suddenly non-amber world.

“No, no,” he laughs, coming closer. “Please put them back on. That’s a good look for you.”

I glare at him. The glasses are the opposite of cute and we both know it. First of all, they’re bright orange—the only way to fully block out the blue light that can screw up sleeping patterns. They’re also shaped more like goggles, since the point is to keep any blue light from getting to my eyes. The damn things cover my face from above my brows to the top of my cheekbones. Giant, orange googles. Totally sexy.

The laughter falls from his face, replaced with concern, as he studies me. “You’re not really that upset that I saw you in those?”

“No,” I say as icily as I can manage—difficult when my dignity has taken such a hit. “I’m just not very happy to see you.”

His eyes widen. “Did something happen between last night and now?”

I gape at him. “You mean besides for you ignoring me all day?”

“I wasn’t ignoring you!”

“Well you weren’t talking to me either.”

He comes closer and I wish I wasn’t lying in bed for this conversation. Even without the glasses on, I still feel vulnerable and exposed in my jammies with him towering over me. I pat George’s head, trying not to show the storm of emotions swirling in my chest.

“What was I supposed to do?” Wyatt asks. “We were surrounded by people. Then you went to the shop and I had to get George—”

“You could have texted me!”

“I didn’t want to talk to you through text,” he shoots back. “I’m sorry, but the first time we slept together, I would prefer to have a conversation in person.”