Good for You: A Novel (49)

“Called? Doesn’t she still?” Aly had seen his phone light up with her name several times since she’d bumped into him at the café. Each time, he had declined the call.

“Yes, but we’re not talking right now. I needed . . . some space,” he said with a pained smile. “It was ugly when I left banking and left Chicago—my father basically told me I was a disappointment, so I decided to stop being around to disappoint him. I hate cutting them off, but it was the only way to get them to stop attempting to micromanage me; they literally wouldn’t stop telling me what to do with my life. Anyway, it’s not the same as you and Luke, but . . . I thought you should know that about me.”

“Except it is the same.” Worse, maybe. Aly had been lucky enough to live thirty-three years with Luke, and Wyatt had only had eight with Ruby. She suddenly felt like an ungrateful jerk. “Thank you for telling me,” she repeated.

“I should’ve sooner.”

“You did when you were ready.”

Now he smiled broadly. “You surprise me sometimes, Aly Jackson.”

“Oh yeah?” she said, raising her eyebrows. “How do I do that, exactly?”

“I have no idea, but feel free to keep doing whatever you did last night.”

“Which time?” she said saucily.

“All of them,” he said, leaning toward her.

He was really good at kissing. And . . . a lot of other things, too. Was that why she’d had such a strong aversion to him—because deep down, she knew that the moment she gave in to his magnetic pull, she wouldn’t want to do anything else?

But as he pressed his body against hers, she decided that just for this one time, she was going to focus on the present, rather than the past or the future. Because although he’d opened up about Ruby, she couldn’t help but think that there was something else Wyatt wasn’t telling her—and that if she tried to find out what it was, this little fling they were having would end long before she hightailed it back to New York.





TWENTY-FIVE


“Do you want to go out this evening?” Wyatt said to Aly. They’d just finished lunch and were stretched out on lounge chairs on the porch.

“Out?” said Aly blankly. Wait—was he talking about a date?

“You. Me. An activity that requires being fully clothed,” he said, winking at her. “I can’t promise the evening will end that way, but we could at least start with conversation and good company.”

Aly liked spending time with him; she couldn’t pretend she didn’t. But going on a date was something else entirely. “What do you have in mind?” she ventured.

“Well, we could rent a boat and go up and down the river, then go out to dinner somewhere.”

Her spine stiffened. “No boats.”

“Right,” he said, cringing. “That was stupid of me.”

“No, it’s okay. I’m just . . .”

“Not crazy about being on the water.” He reached over to squeeze her hand lightly. “I get it. I should have thought it through more before I suggested it.”

“Really—it’s fine,” she said, and she meant it. “But what about a hike? There’s a state park nearby that’s supposed to be nice and leads right to the lake.”

“I’d love to do that, but for tonight, I was thinking maybe something where we could sit and talk?”

So there it was. But one date wasn’t exactly a proposal. She could do this. “Okay—that sounds good,” she said, and it was at least half-true.

Wyatt must have detected the other half because he leaned forward and lifted his sunglasses to examine her. “You feeling alright about this?”

She wasn’t sure if his definition of this was the same as hers—and she wasn’t about to ask. He’d just barely gotten away from people who wanted to control everything about him, right down to the most inconsequential details. Whereas for Aly, opening a new planner would forever feel like Christmas; deciding on the particulars of a trip excited her as much as the experience itself. She was who she was. But when it came to Wyatt, there was no need to define their affair, let alone discuss it at length. Especially since it would be so short-lived.

“What about it?” she said nonchalantly.

“Well, we’ve now slept together four times.”

“Four, huh? Didn’t know you were counting,” she said. Her stomach dipped as he grinned playfully at her. Just being around him made her entire body buzz, and it was hard to focus on much of anything other than him. Aly had heard about this kind of passion—but now she understood why people composed sonnets and songs and entire symphonies about it. Though she’d never gone skydiving or surfing, she was still willing to bet the rush of really, really good sex was the most alive a person could feel. It was such a revelation that she wasn’t even upset that it had taken her thirty-four years to experience it. (Poor Seth! Maybe he would eventually discover it for himself one day.)

Still, passion had the shelf life of a basket of berries. It could not, and would not, last.

“That’s right,” he said.

“That’s a lot, given you thought we shouldn’t be doing this,” she teased, already grateful for the turn their conversation had taken.