Page 76 of Homebound

I’m one lucky woman.

“Goddamn, I wish you had brothers,” Lana says.

“I’ve got Willie,” Wyatt says, keeping his eyes on me.

She grimaces. “I would need a three-day spa retreat with a full-body exfoliation session after sleeping with him.”

“Well, we all know how much you love those spa days, Barbie, so it’s too bad you’ll never find out what it’s like to fuck me,” Willie grunts while casually drying a margarita glass.

Lana’s chest flushes, but she regains her composure quickly. “I wouldn’t fuck you even if you were hiding frat-boy Harry Styles under all that hair.”

Wyatt only chuckles, and then slips behind me, draping his arms around my bare shoulders in a casually possessive move that’s going to ward off all the cowboys in this bar, which I don’t mind. He’s mine for the summer.

“What are you doing here?” I ask, snuggling closer because he’s oh so warm. “Where’s Vi?”

“I love that you always think about her.” He kisses my shoulder, the heat of his lips lingering on my bare skin. “My parents are watching her because I wanted to see you. You’ve been at the gym all day.”

“I know,” Lana huffs. “It’s like she never leaves.”

“I’m getting ready for the Fredericksburg rodeo next weekend,” I say, defending myself despite the ball of guilt in my stomach.

Wyatt’s hand ventures forward, snatching up my nearly empty margarita. He puts his lips right over my lip gloss imprint, licking it right off the glass rim. I had no idea that could be so hot.

“Running low? You want another one, honey?”

The slight drawl, the hint of a smirk, the casual confidence… Wyatt’s aged into quite the man, and I can’t be held accountable if I end up straddling him in a bar bathroom tonight due to the margaritas. All the alcohol has soaked up my nerves, and maybe that’s what I need. To sleep with him when I’m drunk so I stop overthinking this, but no. That’s a crap tactic.

He’s not the man I want to call when I’m drunk; he’s the one I want to call when I’m happy.

“I’m not sure that’s a good idea,” I say.

His breath is a whisper against my ear. “And why’s that?”

I swipe my thumb along his bottom lip, picking up a droplet and sucking it into my mouth. “Because tequila has a tendency to make my clothes fall right off my body.”

His eyes flash.

“You’re right,” he rumbles, brushing his nose against the tip of mine. “Another margarita would be a terrible idea. Your skirt might fall right off, or worse… your panties.” He nips my earlobe. “God forbid.”

Heat simmers in my core at the huskiness in his playful words. Flirty Wyatt’s even better than Friendly Wyatt.

“Exactly.” I take a deliberate, long gulp of the alcoholic beverage in question, draining the whole thing as I play along. “It’d be catastrophic.”

“Apocalyptic.” His tongue traces a fiery path just behind my ear. “Those panties of yours might go up in flames.”

I tilt my head, catching the glint of mischief in his green eyes, and our gazes lock. “I think my panties are a little too wet right now to catch on fire.”

His eyes blaze with heat.

“Oh my god,” Lana exclaims, slamming back a shot of vodka. “If you two don’t tone down this sexual tension, I’m going to self-combust in an orgasm.”

“I’d pay good money to see that,” Willie deadpans across the counter.

Wyatt tugs me back to his chest, and there’s a tenderness in his confident grin that has me melting against him. “Dance with me?”

“All this flirting is making me want to do more than dance, so I have a better idea,” I murmur, wrapping my arms around his waist. “We could go home? Maybe take an outdoor shower together?”

“Hm,” he says, intertwining his arms around my back. “That would be nice, but see you’ve had one too many margaritas, and I want you to remember everything when we’re together, which is why we’re only dancing tonight. You’re still looking a little stiff out there.”