Page 150 of Shy Girls Can't Date Celebrities
“It’s okay,” I murmur, fanning my face. “We have all night.”
Wyatt flattens the paper out and stares at it blankly.
I nudge him. “Where are your glasses?”
He shrugs. “I dunno. I haven’t used them since I left the clinic.”
My chin drops. “Wyatt. You just signed a legal document. Why the heck wouldn’t you have your glasses with you?”
He shrugs again, purposefully turning his face away from me. “I dunno. Raymond explained it all to me. Felt like I didn’t need them.”
I click my tongue. “No, you didn’twantto use them. What’s with the vanity?”
Wyatt groans. “Ugh. They’re just another thing wrong with me. It’s bad enough everyone keeps tossing that walking cane at me. I don’t need them shoving reading glasses on my face too.”
I rub his arm, hoping to ease his tension. “Hey, they’re not a mark of failure. They gave them to you to help with your headaches and strengthen your focus. It’s okay if I go look for them?”
Wyatt shrugs. “They’re in the bedroom somewhere. Hubert unpacked my stuff.”
I stand from the couch and crane my neck toward the butler’s quarters. “Hubert?”
Determined footsteps march our way. “Yes, miss?”
I smile at him with gratitude. “Would you know where Wyatt’s reading glasses are?”
Hubert nods and moves toward the bedrooms. “I’ll retrieve them at once.”
“Joze, I really don’t need them.”
“Would you stop? The clinic wouldn’t have given them to you if you didn’t need them.”
He frowns. “I used them while I was in there.”
“So, why stop? I don’t get why you’re being so fussy.”
He huffs. “I’m not being fussy.”
Hubert returns with the glasses, but Wyatt doesn’t make an effort to take them.
As the room oozes with awkward tension, I take the glasses from Hubert and thank him. He leaves, telling us to call him if we need anything further.
I hand the glasses to Wyatt. “Stop being a baby and put them on.”
Wyatt groans. “You know I hate them. They pinch behind my ears.”
I smirk. “I thought it was your nose they pinched?”
Wyatt rolls his eyes, sliding them on. “Either way, they suck.”
I kiss his cheek. “No, they’re adorable.”
He gives me a disagreeable look.
I grin at his framed eyes and clap. “Yay. Now you’re ready to learn your lyrics.”
He fiddles with the earpiece of the glasses and glances at the paper. “Why do you love me?”
Like a vacuum, his words suck the air from my lungs. I bang on my chest and cough, searching for oxygen. Blinking hard and refilling my lungs, I then croak, “What?”
