“What the fuck’s your problem, man?”
“I don’t have a problem,” Wyatt said. “Keep your hands off the lady, and I have no problem at all.”
“Ain’t no lady. And I gave the bitch a twenty.” He looked over Wyatt’s shoulder. “I want a lap dance, sugarbuns. Do it good, and I got another twenty for you.”
Wyatt didn’t turn. Didn’t look at Kelsey. Didn’t even think about what he was doing.
Instead, he simply lashed out, his fist saying all the words he didn’t bother to articulate. One punch and the drunk went down.
The bastard looked up at Wyatt from his new perspective, his eyes wide with surprise, a trickle of blood oozing from the corner of his mouth.
“What the fuck, man?” He started to sit up. “You hit me over a goddamn whore?”
Whore?
That was the last straw. Wyatt launched himself, practically falling down onto the guy, who cowered back, real fear shining in those beady, bloodshot eyes. Wyatt grabbed his arm, then twisted it back and up, putting pressure on the joint, pushing it almost to the breaking point.
“Apologize to the lady,” he demanded as Kelsey yelled for him to stop, and the bartender made noises about kicking them both out of the club.
Wyatt tuned it all out. “I said apologize, you worthless piece of shit.”
“Dammit, Wyatt, stop!” Kelsey called. “You’re going to break his arm.”
At the moment, Wyatt didn’t care. But he looked at the guy’s face, saw that he was turning green, and backed off. The guy sucked in air, his face a mask of fury so greenish-red it seemed like Christmas.
Wyatt climbed to his feet, then hauled the drunk up beside him. The guy wobbled, unsteady on his feet. Wyatt didn’t much care about that either. “Get the fuck out of here,” he insisted, as he gave the guy a push. For a moment, it looked like the drunk would fight back, but then the vigor seemed to drain out of him, and he backed away, pausing only long enough to shoot Wyatt the finger.
“And you,” Wyatt continued, pointing at Kelsey. “You’re coming with me.”
Her eyes went wide. “The hell I will.” She lifted her chin, obviously digging her heels.
He took a step toward her, so damn frustrated he was seriously considering scooping her up over his shoulder and hauling her the hell out of there.
The bouncer was on the stage now, and he stepped in front of Wyatt. “You need to leave, too, sir.”
“Not a problem. I just need the lady to come with me.” He looked past the bouncer, his eyes hard on Kelsey’s. “Now.”
The bouncer shifted his attention toward Kelsey. “You with this guy?” he asked, then stood silently, obviously waiting for her answer. Honestly, Wyatt wasn’t sure he wanted to hear it. She looked ready to explode. Her cheeks were red, and when she opened her mouth to answer, Wyatt wasn’t sure if she was going to let out a howl of fury or actually answer the question.
Finally, she spoke. “My stuff’s in the dressing room.”
“Then go get it and meet me at my car.”
“I’ve got my own car.”
“Dammit, Kelsey, quit arguing.”
The bouncer took a threatening step toward him. “The lady says she has her own car.”
Wyatt ignored him, his attention on Kelsey. “Will you just do this? Please?”
For a moment, he thought she was going to keep up the fight. But then she nodded, and relief flooded through him, so potent it almost knocked him over.
“Good,” he said. “Fine.” He swallowed, then added, “Thank you.”
She nodded, then turned her back on him. He lingered a moment, watching her walk away. And hoping that, unlike twelve years ago, this time she’d come back to him.
8
Twelve years ago
Wyatt watched her leave, the pretty girl with the dark hair that flashed sparks of red when the sun hit it just right.
He’d noticed her earlier when he’d been at the pool. She’d been cleaning some tables, and he’d pretended like he was watching the other kids climb the diving board. But he’d really been sneaking glances her way.
Something about her had captured his attention. Her looks, sure. But it was more than that. She had a sweetness about her. A purity. But he couldn’t help thinking that her wholesomeness was marred by a few rough edges. As if she were a little girl in a pristine white Easter dress who couldn’t wait to slosh through the mud.
In other words, she was a contradiction. Someone different from the girls he usually met. And he made up his mind right there on the sun bleached pool deck that he was going to ask her out.
So when he’d literally bumped into her as she rounded the corner of the rec center, it was like he’d been handed a gift. Not that it had worked out the way he’d hoped. The bad news was that she’d flat out turned down his offer to buy her some french fries.
The good news was that she seemed to genuinely regret having to leave to go get her brother.
Which meant he had a shot. And considering he was stuck there for the summer, and all the other girls looked like clones of the girls he knew from LA, he figured that was a good thing.
He spent the next few days trying to get her attention, but he never seemed to manage. He’d see her wiping a table and try to talk, and she’d blush and mumble that she was on the clock. He’d fall into step beside her and ask where she was headed, and she’d reply easily enough. But then she’d duck her head, tell him she was in a hurry, and take off in a jog to wherever she was supposedly going.
Mostly, he thought she was just trying to get away from him.
The thought bothered him. He was seventeen years old and about to move to New England to enroll in one of the most prestigious private photography programs in the country. And he’d gotten in on a merit scholarship. Not because his parents had written the Trustees a check.
He could talk about pop culture, but also liked sports. He knew his way around any art museum, modern or classic. And he was well-versed enough about ballet and the opera to impress girls who were into that kind of thing. He was a halfway decent surfer. He’d had a string of girlfriends from the time he was eleven, mostly because they’d pursued him, and the female attention made him cool in the eyes of his friends.
And even though he suspected that some of that attention had been directed more at his family name than at him, he also knew that he wasn’t a complete dud.
So why the hell was Kelsey running from him?
“Her,” he said one day, pointing her out to his friend Patrick, whose father was the general manager of the country club. “What’s her story?”