Wyatt Cocker (Cocker Brothers Book 23), стр. 18
I watch him taking his time, lost in his thoughts, masculine walk dampening me.
It’s hard to pretend I hadn’t made the connection when I’ve known May Cocker for a year and their surname is so recognizable in our city. Could I play dumb and claim I didn’t know they were related? She doesn’t exactly look like a quarterback. Or a rockstar. She’s just a sweet old lady with bright blue eyes and charisma to spare.
If I don’t see Wyatt again, I guess it doesn’t matter how I work this into the conversation.
A feeling rises up in my chest at the thought of never seeing him. I’m suddenly uncomfortable, hot around the collar, lips turned down.
Wyatt stops on a rectangular patch of bright green grass just outside the backdoor. Raking his hair, he checks out the sky, dwindling clouds leaving little evidence of what we all went through. The storm stopped, only drizzle in the air now. Anybody working inside today might not even know how bad it truly got.
He offers his hand. Warm, calloused, strong fingers guiding me to stand with him. I take a step so he can shut the door, but we are still holding hands even though it isn’t necessary anymore.
Wyatt.
I know May.
Have you come to visit her?
I’ve never seen you there.
I would remember.
I have a date because of her.
Tonight.
What would she think about me dating you?
My mouth feels dry so I lick my lips. “Thank you for making sure I was okay.”
Our fingers release and I feel the absence of his touch more than I should.
A cocky smile appears, making him even more irresistible. “We need your phone number.”
“We do?!”
Wyatt raises his voice, too, to be heard through the glass. “You hit her with the car, Wash! Might be a good idea to check on her later? Also, probably should’ve crossed your mind that Chief will want her information in the report.”
Deputy Washington’s enormous body blocks the returning sunlight as he climbs out and offers his hand to me with a smile so sheepish it doesn’t belong on him. “Forgive my manners. I was being impatient with him, not with you. My partner here is popular with the ladies.”
Wyatt chuckles, “Alright, she forgives you,” offering his own phone. “Type in your number.” Throwing a look to his left he warns, “Put that away! My phone is fine! This is purely professional.”
I tap my digits in. “Thank you for the warning about his popularity. I have a date tonight so don’t worry about me, I’m safe. Here ya go.”
Wyatt stares at me with an interested look that drops to the screen before he tucks it away. “We’ll be in touch. Unfortunate circumstance how we met, but at least we saved some ducks today.”
Washington nods, “Gotta call that vet.”
The three of us stand in silence. I’m thinking about that phone and how many numbers must be in it.
Here I go walking up steps I’ve climbed a hundred times, when all I want to do is tell him to call me. “I’ll look forward to you checking up on me.” Was that too much? “Don’t do it too soon! Just some time later would be good. I know you don’t trust me already. But, oh never mind. You get it.”
I am really winning at this whole conversation thing today. Really proud of everything I’m saying. These are my best moments. Yep yep yep.
He strolls around to the passenger’s side, same slow pace he used to help me out. Didn’t he say they had important business to attend to? Cop business? Is he procrastinating because he doesn’t want to say goodbye to me, either?
Deputy Washington dips down with more grace than a man of that size should. Before he shuts the door I hear him say, “Give me that phone number, Wy!!”
“You’re beginning to insult me,” comes a hot smirk before Wyatt locks eyes with me over the hood, his hand on the blue metal doorframe. “Have a good time on your date, Diana,” he casually says, a slam the last thing I hear.
I lift the white tulip planter for our spare key, mind thoroughly distracted. I haven’t thrown cash at pocketed workout-pants, my jogging commitment still wishy-washy. I vowed to buy real gear after a month of daily jogging proved I meant this.
Not there yet.
Especially now.
Damn leg.
Dirty key.
Stubborn lock.
Irritated heart.
How could he do that?
Wish me a nice date?
Or a fun one?
Or whatever dumb thing he said.
Why wasn’t he jealous?
Why am I even going out with Eddie again? Never made me feel this awake, that’s for sure. I wouldn’t have let him go. My leg is in pain yet I barely felt it.
I feel it now that Wyatt is gone.
These wood floors are disgusting. Dustballs under the Chesterfield couch, our velvet chairs, the glass coffee table that never tells a lie about what’s underneath. Why didn’t we buy something dark and thick? I hate that coffee table!
Cleaning I can control.
Wyatt I cannot.
A crush…needs Clorox.
Furniture gets dragged like it’s never been dragged before. At least not by me. I can’t believe I am changing the vacuum bag. Lita has switched this out every other time. There’s dust inside where the bag resides. Even though nobody can see it when you close the compartment, why not clean it, too?
Burners come off the stove.
Food vacates the fridge.
Veggie drawers soon spotless.
Seriously? Did I just get a gift from the Heavens? Is this a button falling off the couch?
I can fix that.
I can fix that right now.
Ever healed a Chesterfield before?
Nope.
A needle and some thread.
That’s all I need.
Where the hell did I put that?
Found some!
Okay. Hmm.
Perhaps it’s not that simple.
How expensive is this thing?
It might be time to search for videos because somebody somewhere has sewn a button onto their antique couch and recorded it for complete