Page 42 of Triple Play
Then he pulls back.
His eyes are wide, shocked, like he can’t believe what he just did.
“Fuck.” His voice is rough, wrecked. “I shouldn’t have—”
“But you did.”
My heart is trying to break out of my chest, galloping like it’s running a race it can’t win.
He drops his hands, steps back, and puts distance between us like I’m dangerous.
Maybe I am.
“That was—” He runs a hand over his face. “That was a mistake.”
The words should hurt. After Grant, after Jordie, I should be used to being called a mistake.
But coming from Wyatt, they hit differently.
“Was it?” I keep my voice steady, even though I’m shaking.
“Because you’re my roommate. Because I don’t do this. Because—” He stops, won’t look at me. “Because I can’t.”
“Can’t or won’t?”
“Both.”
He moves toward the stairs, fast, like he’s escaping.
I watch him go, not trying to stop him.
His footsteps fade, and his door closes.
I stand in the too-bright kitchen alone.
My lips still burn from the contact. My heart still races. My brain tries to catch up with what just happened.
Two kisses in two days.
Both ending with the guy running away like I’m contagious.
I touch my mouth, can still feel the press of Wyatt’s lips, the desperation in the way he kissed
me—like he was testing whether I was real.
Or maybe testing whether he was still capable of feeling anything at all.
I turn off the kitchen lights, one by one, plunging the space into darkness.
Upstairs, I can see light blazing under Wyatt’s door.
He’s awake, probably hating himself, wishing he could take it back.
I climb into bed, pull the covers up, and stare at my own ceiling.
Three roommates, and I’ve kissed all of them—one very complicated situation.
And I still have no idea what I’m doing.
