Page 42 of Tripped Up

“We’re dancing.” I swivel my hips against her ass, my hand trailing up her flank to her ribs, then back to her hip. “Isn’t that what you wanted?”

“I—I⁠—”

Pinching her chin between two fingers, I meet her gaze. “What is it you want, Elsy?”

fifteen

Elsy

Before I know what’s come over me, I rise onto my toes and kiss him. He tastes like the beer he’s been sipping, with an undercurrent of fresh mint and something familiar. It takes me back to that night all those years ago. And where that would usually make me sad or even angry, right now, I’m remembering the good.

Wyatt cups my cheek, deepening the kiss. His lips whisper against mine, telling me something I don’t think I’m ready to hear.

One day, maybe one day soon, I’ll be able to listen. But I’m not ready. I don’t know if I ever will be. All I know is, there’s a gorgeous guy kissing me back, and even though I think I hate him… I also think I don’t. Hate him, that is.

Henry goes away, and I notice the loss only in the faraway corner of my brain. My entire focus narrows in on Wyatt and this moment, this kiss.

Fuck, can he kiss. Did I forget, or did I bury it in the far recesses of my mind?

Wyatt makes a soft noise into my mouth. He breaks the kiss, but he doesn’t go far, resting his forehead on mine. His soft breaths puff against my lips, sending a shiver down my spine.

“I’m sorry,” I say automatically.

“Don’t be sorry,” he says. “I’ve wanted to do that all night.”

It’s my turn to pull back. “What?”

He nods, meeting my eyes. “Ever since I saw you in the stands.”

“Wyatt…”

He looks around at the crowded dance floor. “This isn’t the place to talk. Do you want to keep talking, or do you want to dance?”

I pause.

I want to get to the bottom of this. What does it mean? Is he trying to hook up and bounce? Or, fuck, will he get me naked and then destroy me again?

But as I look at the serious, open expression on his face… I know I have to trust him. Trust myself.

“Let’s dance.”

He nods, pressing a soft kiss to the corner of my mouth before he sets his hand back on my hip. His thick, wide body presses against me from behind, crowding me in the best way. I’m surrounded by him, enveloped in his warm scent, citrus and clove and a little bit of musk. The familiarity of it is reassuring. Surrounded by hundreds of strangers, I know he’s there to protect me.

A few weeks ago, I’d have laughed myself silly at the idea that Wyatt would ever look out for me. He doesn’t give two shits about me. And maybe that was true then. But over the last few days, something has changed. I can’t put my finger on it. I only know that the Wyatt I’ve gotten to know lately is different from the guy who could barely stand to look at me the day I moved here.

That guy never would have kissed me.

Or let me kiss him.

Why did I kiss him?

It’s not the alcohol; I’ve barely had two sips of my drink. Something else must be wrong with me. Maybe it’s a brain tumor.

Or maybe I simply wanted to. Does it have to be more than that?

Wyatt slips his hand from my hip to wrap his arm around my belly, hauling me back against him. “I’m doing some pretty good work here,” he says low in my ear. “What’s going on with you?”

He brushes his nose against my hair.