Page 43 of I'll Keep Her Safe

He reaches for the TV remote and turns on Schitt’s Creek, and I sink into the sofa with a happy sigh. I’m completely unprepared for the way he absently rubs my feet through my fluffy socks as we listen to David complain about Alexis. I’ve never been much of a foot-rub girl, but there’s something about the way he gets his knuckle right into the arch of my foot that sends a shiver of pleasure through me.

He glances over at me when I let a moan escape. “Is this alright? Is it helping?”

“Can’t you tell? I’m putty over here.”

He chuckles in response, turning back to the screen. His thumb does something to my heel that makes me melt, and I let out another moan, one that sounds a lot less sweet than the last one. His nostrils flare and a muscle tics in his neck.

Suddenly, nothing about this moment feels innocent. I can’t put my finger on how, but the atmosphere in the room shifts. The air pulls taut with electricity, and Wyatt swallows, breathing hard as he kneads my foot.

Oh my God. Is it possible I’m turning him on?

And then, as if offering confirmation, he shifts in his seat, moving my feet closer to his knees. My heart jumps as he stares intently at the screen, somehow both touching me and ignoring me at the same time.

Well, this is ironic. I finally have him right where I want him, and I can’t do a damn thing about it.

There’s a knock at the door and Wyatt leaps from the sofa, shoving my feet out the way. I blink at the sudden turn of events, my face hot.

What is wrong with me? The man is trying to do something nice when I’m in pain, and all I do is make him uncomfortable.

Pull yourself together.

I pause the TV, then sit up properly on the sofa, tucking my legs under me so Wyatt can join me without having my feet in his lap. I should never have put them there in the first place.

“Pizza,” he announces, dropping a box on the coffee table.

“Thanks.” I pop the box open and grab a slice, the smell heavenly as I take a huge bite. Melted cheese drips down my chin, and Wyatt chuckles. I blush, wiping it away. “Sorry,” I mumble on instinct, but he gives me a funny look as he lifts a piece to his mouth.

“Why are you apologizing?”

“I…” I chew for a moment, thinking. WhyamI apologizing? Kurt always said I wasn’t ladylike when I eat pizza, and I guess I’m self-conscious.

I hate that he’s still in my head, even if he’s not in my life. It doesn’t feel fair.

I swallow, picking at the pizza toppings. “My ex—Kurt,” I amend, remembering Wyatt knows all too well who he is, “used to tell me sometimes that I eat like a pig.”

God. I hadn’t meant to use his exact words, they just slipped out.

Wyatt lowers his slice, face twisted with fury. “Are you fucking kidding me?”

I duck my head in shame. “Uh, no. I’m not kidding.”

“Jesus.” Wyatt drags a napkin across his mouth, brows pulled low. “I wish I’d clocked him when I had the chance.”

Despite my embarrassment, a laugh squeaks out of me.

“I mean it, Poppy. There’s nothing wrong with the way you eat. It’s good to see a woman enjoying food.”

I fight a smile as I nibble at my pizza crust.

“Is that why you left culinary school?”

“Partly,” I admit, picking off a mushroom and chewing slowly. “He kind of… made me feel like there was something wrong with loving food as much as I do.” I pause, wondering how to phrase it. “I was kind of chubby as a girl, so I’ve always been aware of what I eat, how I look. But I’ve always loved food. And Kurt…”

“Made you feel like that was wrong?”

I nod. “He did. He was at business school, and convinced me it was better. That I was wasting my time at culinary school.”

Wyatt stares at me, and heat stains my cheeks.

---