Page 24 of One Pucking Secret
“Deadly,” I say, winking at her. “We only ever worked on one class project together, but I remember you mentioned you loved dancing. I never got to see you in action. Unless you’re bad at it…”
“I’m not a bad dancer.”
“Then dance with me.”
Chloe takes my hand, her grip warm and steady. We move together, slowly finding the rhythm. The song builds—a melody from years ago—and her steps falter as recognition dawns. It’shersong, the one with the haunting guitar riff she loved back then.
“Is this the Three Angry Ladies?” she asks, her eyes wide with surprise.
I chuckle. “Sure is. I thought you loved them.”
“I haven’t listened to this song since that night—” She hesitates, her voice catching slightly, like she’s not ready to go down that road.
We continue to sway, the music wrapping us, pulling memories to the surface. After a long pause, her voice softens, almost blending into the melody. “I didn’t want to remember it, Wyatt. I didn’t want to remember you.”
Her words hit harder than I expect. “Why?” I ask quietly, my pulse quickening with the need to understand.
She bites her lip, her eyes dropping for a moment before meeting mine again. “Because I was hurt. You didn’t return my calls. After everything… you just disappeared. Then you got drafted, and that was it. I never saw you again.” Her voice is thick with frustration and the weight of the past, the question hanging between us like the last note of a song.
My gaze locks onto hers, a thousand explanations fighting to rise, but the words stay lodged in my throat, frozen on the edge of revelation.
Chapter 9
Chloe
“Chloe,” Wyatt starts, wettinghis lips. He exhales, as if he needs a moment to compose himself. “The reason I disappeared after we hooked up was because I got a call that morning informing me that my parents had died in a car accident.”
My lips part. His confession hangs heavy in the air, his words a sudden weight that pulls me deep into a sea of remorse. I never knew—how could I have? I learned over time that his parents had died, but I never made the connection that it happened that day. The weight of the anger I carried, it crumbles, leaving me bare and vulnerable in his hold.
“I know I should have called,” he says, his voice a low rumble against the shell of my ear. “But my entire world shifted after that morning. I know my parents weren’t the best people, but hell. They were my parents.”
My head dips, chin nearly grazing my chest, as shame flushes through me. All this time, anger was my shield, a barrier against the hurt of his silence. Yet now, hearing the raw edge of pain in his voice, how can I confess my own secret? The other calls, the ones where I tried to reach him, to tell him about the life we created—they go unmentioned.
“Can we have a do-over?” he whispers, and the question catches me off guard, stirring something deep inside me. A do-over? After everything?
Before I can fully process it, Wyatt leans in, his gaze locked on mine. My breath catches, but I don’t pull away. His lips meet mine, softly at first, testing, then deepening with more urgency.
His touch is warm, his fingers tracing the edge of my blouse, sending sparks across my skin. I respond without thinking, leaning into him, my pulse quickening as his hands move up my back, pulling me closer.
A soft moan escapes me as the heat between us builds, his lips traveling down my neck, leaving a trail of fire in their wake.
“Chloe,” he murmurs, his voice husky and full of longing.
I feel like I’m falling, and I don’t want to stop.
“Wyatt,” I breathe back. Each kiss he plants along my throat is like a star igniting in the night sky, bright and consuming.
“Fuck, that’s so good,” I whisper, my lungs working hard under his touch.
“Tell me about it. Your skin is softer than I remember.”
“I upped my skincare routine.”
He chuckles, his fingertips tracing my breasts. Suddenly, my blouse is too much fabric.
Leaning forward, his lips caress my collarbone, then plant a trail toward the top button of my blouse. I’m almost certain he’s going to remove it with his teeth, but instead, he begins unfastening it with his fingers.
I give him some assistance, exposing my black lace bra. “These are bigger than I remember them.”
