“Okay.” God, I hoped my parents or Alyssa didn’t see him drop me off.
He smiled like I’d given him a gift. As we walked out, he tossed money on the bar.
“Heading out?” my brother asked, looking at Wyatt and then me.
“He’s taking me home,” I said, letting Ryder know I was okay with this.
“Do I hear wedding bells in the near future?” Trina asked.
“No bells,” I replied as I walked by.
Wyatt escorted me to the ancient truck. “It’s older than dirt, but it’s clean and well-kept.”
He helped me in and then went to the driver's side. Once in, he started the truck and we headed out toward my parents’ house.
“Your parents still good?” he asked.
“Yep.” I looked over at his profile. “I’m sorry about your parents-”
“Don’t be.” His voice was clipped, making me flinch. He turned to me. “Sorry. It’s for the best.”
I wanted to ask him about that, but didn’t want to put him in a bad mood. I rolled down the window, and with a nice soft buzz from booze, the warm evening summer breeze blowing in the window, and the scent of Wyatt all around, I was quite content.
I replayed my conversation with Wyatt in my head. He hadn’t been someone who’d take to such crazy tactics to get what he wanted before, but of course, there was more on the line now. His farm. His livelihood. His legacy. He’d been gone ten years without a thought, but apparently, now these things were important enough that he’d marry to save them. He’d even hired a lawyer.
Thinking of Jeannette and how she, a senior, dated Wyatt as a sophomore made jealousy flare deep in my gut.
“Was Jeanette your first?” That was the problem with alcohol. Sometimes it had you speaking out loud what you wanted to keep in your head as a thought.
He looked at me with a smirk. “Do you really want to know?”
“No. Yes.”
He remained quiet. Finally, he said, “I didn’t love her. Not like you.”
My insides went all gooey. Again, I blamed the alcohol because it wasn’t safe to go soft on Wyatt.
“Not that I used her. She and I had some fun times-”
“I bet you did.”
He laughed. “Out of the sack too. But you, Sinclair, you were different.”
I smiled. I was sure I looked like a lovesick loon. Tomorrow when I’m sober, I’ll probably be embarrassed.
“Who was your first?” he asked with a quick glance at me again before watching the road.
“Wouldn’t you like to know?” Surely, he already did.
“That’s why I asked.”
I didn’t say anything. Jeez, I was a silly girl again playing coy.
“I like to think it was me,” he said.
“Why?” I asked.
He shrugged. “It’s a macho guy thing, probably. It was different with you. Not just the sex. Everything…” He broke off as if he realized he was heading into a conversation that he didn’t want to have. A talk about the promises he’d made and then broke.