“What friends?” I asked.
She quirked an eyebrow. “Wyatt, you have friends. You’re one of the most popular guys in our class.”
“Popularity and friendship don’t mean the same thing.”
“What about the guys on your baseball team?”
“What about them?”
“They’re not your friends?”
“They’re my teammates,” I clarified.
“Okay, then girlfriends?”
“Do I have girlfriends I’m unaware of?”
She crossed her arms. “You have a reputation, you know?”
“So, I’ve heard.” I sighed. “Yes, I’ve dated my fair share of girls at Northwood, but I’ve never had a girlfriend.”
“Why not?”
I didn’t particularly like where this line of questioning was going, but for some reason, I didn’t want to lie to Layne. She’d made it past my defenses, and I guess that earned her the truth, no matter how uncomfortable. “Same reason I don’t invite people to my home, I suppose.”
“Which is?”
I exhaled slowly, mulling my words over. “I guess . . .” I started. “I guess, I don’t want people to judge me by where I come from.”
“I get that,” she said quietly.
I nodded, knowing she did, but I still felt the need to make her understand. “It’s like people see my house and get this idea in their head about me. And once they do, I know I’ll never change it no matter what I do. And that’s not fair. It takes away my impact.”
“What do you mean?”
“It’s like what I do doesn’t matter. People see that I have money and decide they either hate me for it or pretend to like me because of it. They don’t get to know me or decide if they want to hate or like me. It makes it impossible to trust peoples’ motives.” I took a breath. “It sucks.”
Layne was quiet for a moment and I worried I’d said too much as I pulled up to her house. But when I put the car in park, she turned to face me, the gold flecks in her eyes glowing in the dashboard light. “Why did you invite me?” she asked softly.
“Because you’re different.”
I watched her head drop. “Oh,” she said, her fingers twisting together in her lap.
I reached over and took her hands. “You’re different in a good way, Layne.”
She looked up; her eyes now full of sadness. “I’m tired of being different.”
“Don’t be,” I whispered. “It’s one of my favorite things about you.”
Even in the darkness, I could see her cheeks blaze with color, and I longed to touch them. Resisting, I squeezed her hands. “You’re special, Layne. You’re unique and different and your music is brilliant because of it. You’re perfection. Don’t change for anyone.”
She grinned sheepishly before meeting my eyes. “You are pretty good with advice.”
“So I’ve been told.”
“You’ve also been told you should take it yourself,” she added.
It was my turn to grin. “Maybe I will. Come on,” I said, turning off my car, “Let me walk you to your door.”
Chapter Thirty
Layne
Wyatt walked me to my door, holding my hand in the crook of his elbow the whole time. It was such a sweet gesture. It made me think of my elderly neighbors, the Hudsons. Mr. Hudson always walked his wife down the sidewalk like that in the winter when it was icy.
I’d never thought much of the gesture before, but now, having Wyatt offer it to me, I could see it brought so much more than stability. It was endearing and patient and kind. It was what dreams were made of.
I shook the thought away and focused on the peeling paint of my front porch to anchor myself to reality. One where dashing princes with British accents didn’t exist.
Even though I could relate to a lot of what Wyatt had said tonight, the sad truth was we didn’t live in the same world. Maybe we were both judged unfairly but dreaming of a different life and actually carving one out were two very different things.
A girl like me would never end up with a boy like Wyatt. Not even on paper.
We only worked in fairytales, and as I gazed up into his bright green eyes, I knew that’s exactly what this was. He was on loan from some magical fairy godmother. Maybe she’d given Lola mono just so I could experience a dream come true—for the next two weeks anyway.
“Thanks for tonight,” I said when we reached my front door. “I had a lot of fun.”
“Me too. Especially the part where we gave my mother the shock of her life.”
I laughed. “Yeah, even that was a tiny bit fun.”
“You never told me; was I right about the vinyl?”
I rolled my eyes. “Yes, but I was right about the pineapples on pizza.”
Wyatt pressed his lips together and ran a hand through his tousled black hair. “How’s a guy to get ahead with you, Penny Layne?”
“Still trying to get me to disband the I Hate Wyatt Nash Club?”
“How am I doing?” he asked, giving me a devilish grin.
This was all a bit of fun to him, wasn’t it? But as long as I remembered that, I didn’t see the harm in giving him hope. “Keep up the gallant gestures like walking me to my door and you just might get there,” I teased.
He barked a laugh. I loved startling such a genuine sound from him. Then he sketched a bow and took a step back like he was about to leave.
“Good night,” I said, making him pause.
He stood on my porch as if deliberating something monumental, and then he hurried to close the distance between us. His scent wrapped me in an embrace as his hand lightly cupped my cheek. His other hand deftly smoothed back my curtain of long brown hair, lightly moving down my spine to rest at the small of my back.
His touch sparked through me, making my pulse pound in my ears. I held my breath as Wyatt looked down at me with those dazzling green eyes, his thumb grazing my cheek, searing my skin with pins and needles everywhere we touched.
I didn’t know if he was going to kiss me again or hold me like this forever. I didn’t know which I wanted more.
“Good night,” he whispered, his lips softly grazing my cheek for scarcely a moment before he pulled away.
“What was that for?” I asked even though he was already walking down the steps.
He turned and looked up at me. “I’m still your kissing tutor, am I not?”
I nodded slowly, still stunned by his kiss.
“Then perhaps that was just a proper goodnight kiss.”
I swallowed. Perhaps? “I don’t know what that means,” I blurted out.
He smirked. “Then let it mean what you want it to.”
With that he turned and walked to his car.
I stood on my porch staring out at the darkness that had swallowed him whole. The street was so silent it would be easy to believe he’d never really been there at all. It was much more feasible to believe I’d imagined the whole thing, but my skin told a different story.
I reached up retracing his kiss with my fingers. My whole body still tingled from his touch and I couldn’t stop remembering how perfectly I’d fit in his arms.