Page 47 of Summer with My Sexy Ex
I’m right.
Even though I don’t want to be.
At the very least, I need to stop admiring how handsome he is. And ogling all of those stupid muscles. I should probably quit enjoying his smile so much.
Blanche:Make a list!
I should be making a list—things I should not enjoy about Wyatt because I’m supposed to hate him.
Something else I continue to forget conveniently.
Blanche:Don’t admire his bare chest.
Blanche:Don’t swoon at his smile.
Blanche:And for god’s sake. Don’t. Be. Nice.
He raises his arms to slide his t-shirt back on. My eyes naturally gravitate toward the movement, just like anyone’s would. It’s a coincidence that all that deliciousness was still on display. I’m not admiring it.
Nope. Not one bit.
“What’d you think?” he asks.
“You were incredible,” I say honestly. “That performance blew me away.”
Blanche:Were you not just listening to yourself? Keep it together, woman! You’re pathetic!
“Good,” he says. “It was for you. There’s no one else I’d ever do something like that for.”
No. Not the nice Wyatt again. I’m helpless against nice Wyatt.
Blanche:Tell him.
“Stop being so nice to me,” I say.
“Why?” he asks.
“Because it’s weird,” I say.
“Why is it weird?”
“Because we don’t like each other.”
“We don’t?” He laughs.
“No.”
“Who says I don’t like you?” he asks.
“I thought it was understood.”
He shrugs. “Not by me.”
“Well, don’t anyway.” This conversation is making me cranky. I don’t want to be cranky. I want to kiss Wyatt in the streets of Las Vegas and hold hands and win the scavenger hunt.
“Can’t help it,” he says.
“Why not?” I’m pretty sure I’ve forgotten what we’re talking about. But my response is universal; it works with anything.
