Messy Love(21)

“Marissa?’’

That voice. I froze and looked up to come face to face with Wyatt. I glanced around, sure I’d find Ralph, but he’s nowhere to be seen. “What do you want?’’

He grasped the back of his neck, and the move made his muscles bulge in his arm. The t-shirt he had on didn’t hide much his pecs and tight, defined abs. There’s a gym bag at his feet, and I didn’t know if he’s here on his way to work out or if he’s coming from a workout.

“You won’t accept, but I have to try,’’ he replied and took a deep breath, eyes back on me, keeping me trapped there in front of him. “Would you have a drink with me?’’

I blinked and frowned. “You’re kidding me.’’

“Fuck.’’ He closed his eyes as if in pain, lines etching on his forehead partially hidden by his dark hair. “I made a mess of everything,’’ he mumbled, more to himself than me I imagined.

“You’ve given me enough shit, Wyatt. Let’s not prolong it anymore, okay.’’

I made to walk away, but he quickly grabbed his gym bag and blocked my path, towering over me, his chest so close to my face I got to smell his body wash, something a bit spicy that had me ready to get a sniff.

“I didn’t want to hurt you.’’

I tilted my head sideways and upward to fix him. “Didn’t you though?’’

The guilt striking over his bearded face was answer enough. But of course, it’s soon gone and replaced by a mask of calm. Only his eyes were as intense as usual but less harsh than I was used to when directed at me.

“If I’m honest you’re going to run in the opposite direction and make sure we never cross path again.’’

“It’d show I’m not too stupid or na?ve.’’

“Or that you’re the kind of person who plays it safe,’’ he retorted, voice lower, rumbling in the air around us.

I swallowed then. It’s hard to hold his eyes when they were sucking me in like this. Everything in me was screaming at me for not turning around and walking away, but I was still there. Maybe I had a side of me who’s self-destructive because nothing good could come up from another confrontation with this guy. I was only twenty, but I knew enough to comprehend that someone like him couldn’t be any good, not to someone like me.

“There’s nothing wrong with it. I don’t like going out of my way to meet people who pass their frustrations out on me. But I get it. I understand why you’re like this and I’m telling you now I’m not going to see Lydia again. Not anytime soon, anyway.’’

“Don’t,’’ he said and got closer. The tip of his dirty chucks touched my flats. I couldn’t look at his face anymore. Instead, I focused on the t-shirt stretching over his pecs. “You’re not afraid to talk back to me so don’t do something because of me.’’

“Are you trying to convince me to see your mother again? Wyatt… You give me whiplash.’’

He chuckled and brought a hand to my chin to tilt my head up. His touch was soft, so soft it’s at odds with how harsh our relationship had been and how rough he looked. “I have a hard time following my fucked-up thoughts too.’’

Eyes locked again; it reminded me of that moment at the club when we had stared into each other’s eyes. It’d been intimate, but here, standing so close as he touched my chin softly in the middle of the street where people walked around us, it wasn’t just intimate, it was overwhelming.

“Wyatt—''

“Have a drink with me. Just one. After that, you’ll make your choice.’’

“Okay.’’ I pulled away and looked around, trying to come out of this moment that had me weak at the knees when minutes ago I had considered kicking him in the balls. “There’s a bar a few blocks down.’’

He smirked at me, and he put the hand that had been on my face in his pocket, drawing his jeans lower on his hips. “They’ll let you in?’’

“It’s InkSpired haunting spot. I know the bartender.’’





MARISSA


The silence was thick between us as we nursed our drinks. Sitting at a small table right in the middle of the bar packed with people here for happy hour made the silence between us all the harder to take in without cringing or fidgeting.

I took my hair out of its ponytail and ran a hand through the strands, lightly massaging my scalp. After a day with my hair attached, it’s a bliss to get it down, quite literally. It’d be better if only Wyatt and I had something to talk about.

For someone who cornered me into agreeing to go for a drink, he was reticent. His dark eyes kept going back and forth between the patrons mingling around and me.

I glided my fingertips over the beer bottle in front of me and watched the droplets of water on the cold glass sliding down and coating the top of the small table.

“It took me a while to realize that my adoptive parents were here to stay,’’ Wyatt said out of the blue, his voice hoarse as if he’s reluctant to talk about this.

I stopped any movements, afraid that if I gazed at him, he would retract himself back into his hard shell. Because while I still didn’t like his guts much, I was curious about him. I had no idea what it’s like to be adopted so late in your life, to have gone through foster families for years. In one word, he intrigued me which wasn't in my best interest.