Page 79 of Fly Boy
I let my mouth fall open, speechless. “Hell has frozen over.”
“It must have.” Evan’s gaze snags behind me, his eyebrows rising up his forehead. “Don’t look now, but Mr. Sexy Pilot Man is here.”
I whip around to see Wyatt standing at the edge of the rink. My stomach swoops, excitement, nerves, joy all tumbling together at once.
“Damn, he looks good. I almost didn’t recognize him without his uniform,” Evan says, playfully fanning his face with his hand. I let my eyes trail down Wyatt’s body, at his tight jeans, his white sneakers, hands shoved into the pockets of his thick coat. It’s a thrill to see him like this, a version of him that’s only for me. “How did he even get in here? The facilities are key card access only.”
“I asked reception to let him through,” I tell him, before skating toward my pilot.
“You’ve got it so bad,” Evan calls after me, and I raise my hand and flip him the bird as I reach the boards.
Leaning over, I press my lips to Wyatt’s, loving how freeing it is to do this without the fear of getting caught. “You came.”
“It was hard not to when I was being bombarded with multiple texts from you until I relented.”
I grin. “I can be very persuasive.”
He hums against my lips, the vibration going straight to my clit. The cold air in the arena is gone, replaced by this heat that’s only stoked by Wyatt Grant. There is something so innately attractive about seeing him here, in my “world,” supporting me like this, that makes me want to tell Evan to close his eyes and let Wyatt have his wicked way with me on the ice.
And I know it would be the best kind of filthy wickedness.
Since that night with the bow lingerie, Wyatt has tried to be more gentle, unwilling to unleash the primal side of him that I absolutely love. It’s another facet of him I had no idea he hid. Along with heartache and pain the woman who calls herself hismothercauses him.
I move back, breaking our connection, needing to curb the lust that threatens to flood my veins. Especially when Evan and I aren’t finished practicing today.
“Take a seat,” I tell him, pointing behind him. Unlike in Lake Placid, Wyatt doesn’t look irritated at my command. Instead, he turns and walks up the stairs so he’s a couple of rows up but close enough to see everything clearly.
“I take it things are going well with you two?” Evan asks when I skate back over to him. My cheeks ache from my smile, my skin prickling with embarrassment as I try to turn my head, hiding it from his knowing stare. But he grabs my face, a shit-eating grin on his lips. “My little baby’s in love. This is far too cute.”
“Shut up,” I groan, shaking out of his hold.
“Wait,” he gasps. “If he’s here now, does that mean he came to the Championship the other week?” Pressing his hands together like a prayer, he holds the tips of his fingers to his lips. “Does this mean he’s our good luck charm?” He waves, wiggling his fingers at Wyatt, and I suck my lips between my teeth, biting back the laugh that wants to erupt as Wyatt scowls at my partner.
“I don’t think he likes me,” Evan pouts dramatically.
“Then don’t annoy him.”
He takes my hand, skating backward. “I’m basically your cupid. The least he can do is smile when I wave.”
I roll my eyes. “I’ll tell him to be nicer. Happy?”
Moving so I’m in front of him, Evan’s hands latch onto my waist as we skate around the rink, our legs moving in perfect synchronization. I focus on the sound of our bladessnickingacross the ice, on how Evan holds me in a way that creates the perfect balance for our lift, on the next element we have, rather than the man with blue eyes watching my every move.
“Yes,” Evan says, taking me by surprise. I’d actually forgotten I’d asked him a question. “I can’t have my bestie’s boyfriend staring daggers at me whenever he watches us skate.”
I almost trip on the word boyfriend.
That isn’t what he is.
Is he?
Our one-night-only has turned into an every-Saturday-after-Lake-Placid for the last two months. Over two months, actually. And we text every day when I’m in Colorado, and I miss him like crazy when we’re not together and… and…
Shit.
Is he my boyfriend?
That night after Christmas, he told me he doesn’t do relationships, but then he also said he gets possessive over me. I’ve never had someone say that before, and while that should be a red flag, the only color I can wave is green. I want his possessiveness, his hunger, his need for me.
