Page 14 of Tripped Up

“No offense, but I don’t see a three-year-old interested in learning to play the violin.” Experts advise starting after the age of five, and usually after piano lessons to learn to read music. I can teach piano, but it’s not my specialty.

Wyatt frowns as he breaks off a hunk of bread, setting a piece on my plate before pushing the basket toward Anastasia. “I think some of them have older kids.”

“Thanks, but no thanks.” I shake my head, tossing my hair over my shoulder. It smacks Wyatt on the shoulder, and he flinches. “Besides, I’d rather not have any involvement with your team.”

Henry lifts his eyebrows. “Why not? The team is awesome.”

Most people are champing at the bit to get closer to the professional athletes in my social circle. And yeah, some of them have egos bigger than the solar system. But when you spend time with them, you realize they’re actually normal human beings who don’t want to be celebrities. Nine guys out of ten only want to play hockey, regardless of the money or fame that comes with it.

Anastasia looks between them. “What team?”

“We’re on the Austin Aces,” Henry explains. “Whitney and I are hockey players.”

“Oh.” Her mouth turns down in distaste. “Sports.”

The hurt look on Henry’s face makes me laugh. “Not everyone is obsessed with you hockey players,” I tease him. “Some of us have lives outside of watching other people chase a puck.”

“Oh, like your patrons?” Wyatt cuts in. “You’re performing, same as we are. The only difference is you wear a gown and your violin when we have skates and sticks.”

I frown. I can’t read his tone. Is he teasing, friendly, or is he taunting, mean-spirited? I hate that I can’t tell with him.

The waiter interrupts, at long last bringing our drinks, while Henry and Wyatt order their own, along with our food. I suppose there’s no getting out of eating dinner with them.

Wyatt reaches across me for Anastasia’s menu, his arm brushing featherlight across my breast. He goes still, his face red.

Fireworks light up my body at the innocent contact. Inside my bra cup, my nipple pebbles, and heat flares through me to coil deep in my belly. At least I’m wearing a cardigan over my blouse. Hopefully, nobody will see it.

“Sorry,” he mutters.

I try to pretend like I’m unaffected. “What’s a boob graze between enemies?”

His face falls. “Is that what we are?”

“Well, it’s not like we’re friends,” I point out.

Wyatt doesn’t look happy about that, either. A muscle clenches in his jaw. “So you default to enemies?”

How do I tell him I have every reason to despise him? I honestly can’t decide which part makes me hate him more: that he was an insensitive asshat while publicly discussing our sex life, or that I was so meaningless to him he couldn’t remember who I was.

It’s not like the sex was life changing. It was good. He was attentive and took care to ensure I had a good time. Multiple times, if I remember correctly.

But the cruelty of his comments the next morning wiped away anything good about our night together. And that, I can’t forget.

Maybe one day, I’ll be able to forgive, but I won’t forget.

six

Wyatt

I fucked up.

I don’t know what I did, but I know I fucked up.

Elsy and I lead very different lives, but considering I’m the only person she knows in the city, I thought she’d be reaching out to do something.

But I should have known my butterfly would spread her wings and fly. It’s difficult to keep her down for very long.

I try to text her half a dozen times, but everything I type seems stupid. I don’t want to come on too strong, but I don’t want to scare her off, either.