Page 115 of Fly Boy
His lips quirk while I stare, slack-jawed. “Expecting someone else?”
My fingers tingle with the need to touch him, my relief palpable, but the signals my brain needs to send to get me to move aren’t firing. Instead, I ask, “What are you doing here?”
“My flight was delayed, and then it got canceled, and I was put on a different one.” He rolls his eyes. “I forgot how annoying flying commercial is.”
That doesn’t answer anything.
“What?” I ask, confused.
He chuckles, shifting his bag strap, the muscles in his forearm flexing. “Well, if you hadn’t interrupted me when I was trying to tell you…”
“Tell me what?” I blurt impatiently, well aware that I’ve cut him off again.
He raises an eyebrow, looking infuriatingly handsome in his dark blue button-down and navy jeans. “Are you going to let me in?”
I blink, snapping out of my appreciative perusal of him, and step back. “Yeah… sorry, come on in—"
“I feel a great sense of possibility in myself.”
Wyatt frowns as he drops his bag by my suitcase. “What is that?”
“Shit.” Darting toward the bed, I snatch my phone and pause the soundtrack. “I was meditating.”
“Meditating?” he repeats, his lips twitching.
“Yes. After everything you said back in France, I did some research into what other athletes do to fight the pressure and anxiety of performing. A lot came back saying meditation and manifestation.”
“And what do you do?” He looks amused as he takes one step forward.
“Both,” I reply, “I found this playlist on Spotify that repeats a whole load of affirmations and then I try manifesting what I want.”
He takes another step, his gaze inquisitive as he creeps toward me. “And what’s that?”
I inhale, preparing to say something I thought I’dneversay. “Well, after how disastrous today went, I’d be happy with third.”
“Third?” He smiles, lifting his hand as if he’s going to touch me, but I bat it away.
“Wait, what would you have told me if I hadn’t left your house?”
Wyatt smiles, unbuttoning the top of his shirt, my mouth instantly watering at the sight of his tattoos. “My boys’ trip was actually me flying to Canada with Bowie and his boyfriend for a business meeting.”
My heart stops as he continues.
“Mason knows this big up-and-coming rock star who’s apparently looking to hire a pilot…”
Butterflies flap their wings. “That’s amazi—”
He holds up a hand, cutting me off. “In the future, not right now. I wasn’t going to say anything officially until after Worlds…” He gives me a pointed look, clearly remembering how annoyed I got the last time we were together and he kept using that as an excuse. “But I didn’t want you to get your hopes up if it turned out to be nothing. Worlds is too important for distractions.”
My face falls. “But that means you could be unemployed for months. Because of me. Because I kept pushing.”
“Baby,” he whispers, clasping my face and peppering my forehead, cheeks, nose in kisses. “It wasn’t because of you. I’m a grown man. I could have said no.”
“But what if you end up resenting me? What if I’ve ruined your career?” I say, voicing aloud my worries that were playing in my head throughout the competition today.
His eyes search mine, their blue gaze filled with so much love it makes my heart squeeze. “One. I could never resent you.”
“But—” He puts a finger over my mouth.
