Even in his bulky boot Wyatt was more graceful than me. He reached out to catch me and the shock of his firm hand on my waist made me stumble back like I’d just been struck by lightning. As much as his touch startled me, I found myself wanting to absorb more of the unexpected sparks.
“What are you doing here?” I asked.
He huffed a sigh of annoyance. “Isn’t it obvious? I’m rescuing you.”
“What? Why?”
“Because I’m assuming you still need someone to sing your songs.”
I scrunched my brow, looking at the world’s most unlikely hero. “But your mom said you had a prior engagement,” I quoted, crossing my arms reflexively under his scrutinous stare.
“Of course she did,” he muttered, but then his face brightened, and his annoying smirk appeared. “Well, it turns out my schedule just opened up.”
I rolled my eyes. “The walls are pretty thin, Wyatt. I heard everything you said in your mother’s office today.”
“Good, then you know my objection was more about her than you.”
“So, I’m supposed to believe you just decided to help me out of the goodness of your heart?”
“Actually, yes. That’s exactly what happened.”
I snorted and turned around, walking away as quickly as possible. But as luck would have it, he followed me.
Could this day get any worse?
I just wanted to go home and lick my wounds in peace and quiet. And preferably without Wyatt Nash seeing where I lived. He probably lived in a castle compared to my house. The last thing I needed was pity from my nemesis. It was easier to despise him that way.
I whirled around, nearly colliding with him. “Look, I don’t know what your angle is here, but I’m not interested.”
Wyatt’s green eyes sparkled as a knowing smirk spread across his perfectly sculpted face. “So, you don’t want to compete for the scholarship?”
I took a step closer to him, pretending his bottomless green eyes didn’t make me nervous. “Yes, Wyatt. I want that scholarship more than anything, which is why I’m not wasting my time playing this game with you.”
His eyes danced with amusement. “Who says this is a game, Penny Layne?”
I clenched my jaw, keeping my indignation locked away as I turned around, more than happy to leave Wyatt and this awful day in my dust.
But he called after me. “Wait.”
Something about his voice made me pause. Did I sense emotion there?
No, that would be like the Tin Man having a heart. But still, curiosity made me turn around.
I found myself startled by the strange clarity in his eyes. Wyatt Nash, taking something seriously? That was new.
“What?” I asked.
He closed the distance between us. “I’ll make you a deal.”
“Why?”
“Because I’m stuck in this insufferable Frankenstein boot for the next eight weeks and I need a distraction, or I might not make it to graduation without going mental.”
“The scholarship showcase is in two weeks,” I challenged.
“Well, that’s two weeks closer to graduation.”
I looked down at his boot, sympathy flooding me over our common ground. He’d lost something, too. No, do not feel bad for him! He’s a smarmy jerk who hurt your bestie and made you miss prom!
But still, I’m sure this wasn’t how Wyatt had wanted his senior year to go either. Stuck in a boot and unable to play a sport he loved. It was something I could relate to. Well, not the sports, but the losing something you loved. Maybe that was a start . . .
I cursed my sensible heart and blew out a breath of frustration. “Can you actually sing?”
He cocked his head examining me like I was a strange zoo animal.
“What?” I muttered. “It’s a valid question.”
He bit his lip as if trying to fight his amusement, but then he schooled his features and nodded. “I can sing. So, what’ll it be, Penny Layne? Wanna distract me for the next two weeks?”
His invitation hung in the air between us, filling me with a static energy that made my head spin. I didn’t miss his implied inuendo. Did I really want to invite someone whose nickname was Nashanova into my life for the next two weeks?
‘Do you have a choice?’ my subconscious argued.
It’s not like Katniss Everdeen was going to show up and save me. No one else was volunteering for tribute. I was out of options and time, and Wyatt was the only hero limping up to the plate.
“Fine,” I said, extending my hand. “But this is strictly business.”
A carnal shiver rippled through my body as Wyatt took my hand. Was this going to happen every time we touched?
As if reading my mind, Wyatt’s lips quirked up into a grin. “I wouldn’t have it any other way, Penny Layne.”
“I still don’t see why we couldn’t go to your house. We can’t really rehearse in a coffee shop,” Wyatt complained.
“We can rehearse at school,” I replied.
Wyatt raised his dark eyebrows. “You’ll be seen with me at school?”
“Ha ha, very funny. You’re popular and I’m not. Great joke. Now can we get back to work?”
“Wow, you run a tight ship, Penny Layne.”
“My name is Layne, without the Penny.”
“It’s a Beatles song.”
I rolled my eyes. “I know that.”
He quirked an eyebrow again.
“What? Thought only Brits listen to The Beatles?”
“No, but I’m impressed someone like you knows their songs.”
“Someone like me?”
“Yeah, you know what I mean.”
“No, please enlighten me.”
“Well, you give off more of a girlie pop vibe.”
I snorted a laugh.
“Am I wrong? Wait don’t tell me. Is your sound more indie folk?”
I crossed my arms, annoyed he’d pinpointed me in only two guesses. “I don’t like to stick to just one genre, it’s limiting. Besides, a good songwriter writes songs that can work in many different styles.”
Wyatt’s annoying smirk was back, conveying that my statement didn’t fool him. “Indie folk. I knew it.”
I sighed with exaggeration as I ignored his attempts to drag me into an argument. Instead I got up to retrieve our order from the barista who’d just called my name.
“Can you add a dash of nutmeg to mine?” Wyatt called after me.
“And now you’re waiting on him,” I muttered under my breath as I walked to the condiment counter to grab sugar for my tea and top Wyatt’s latte with nutmeg.
The Christmasy scent filled the air as a lot more than a dash spilled out onto the foam. Whoops. I wrinkled my nose as I looked at the mess, but then I added another ample shake just for good measure and stirred it in until the heaping pile of spice disappeared beneath the foam. And then I sprinkled on the perfect dash he’d asked for.
It was petty, I know. But it served him right for hurting Lola. And for being such a pompous jerk.
I walked back over to the cushy chairs we’d staked out in the corner of my favorite coffee shop. Wyatt’s orthopedic walking boot was propped up on the empty chair across from him, easing my discontent about being his servant. It did look rather uncomfortable.