Big Daddy Wants Me

10: Kyle.

It takes some asking around, some raised eyebrows and pointed questions from nosy shopkeepers, but I figure out where Waverly’s staying first thing in the morning. A headache squeezes my skull as I stomp down a Starlight Ridge’s side street to her hostel, every inch of me tired from a night with no sleep.

Well, how could I ever hope to sleep after Waverly left things the way she did? She fled from me in the night with no explanation, shock and misery etched on her beautiful face. Of course I’m f*****g haunted.

“Ass,” I mutter, prowling down the sidewalk. If kicking myself were an Olympic sport, this morning I’d win gold.

But I was so sure she was into it. Hell, Waverly started it all, first by licking my thumb, then by throwing herself into my lap and shivering with pleasure under my touch.

That’s what I don’t get. She unbuttoned my shirt; she ground down on my c**k like she owned it—believe me, I’ve replayed the night’s events over and over in my brain, examining it from all angles, staring at the imaginary tape. Trying to figure out where exactly I went wrong.

And I can’t pinpoint the crucial moment, but either way, the guilt’s choking me alive. Because why does it matter if she started it? Somehow, I must have pushed her too far. Must have spooked Waverly so badly that she ran away from me without explanation.

Maybe she sensed the bottomless hunger I have for her, or maybe I failed to hide how badly I’ve wanted this. Maybe I was rougher than I realized, too out of practice with touching another human to know my own strength.

Maybe, maybe, maybe.

A flock of crows chatter on a nearby rooftop, the only souls half awake this morning, hopping over the slate tiles while a breeze ruffles their black feathers. The skies above are clear and empty, sunny but cold, while a lone truck rumbles down the street, the driver hunched sleepily over the wheel and yawning on his way to work.

This town always slows down as the nights draw in, its energy spent once the summer tourists leave. The painted buildings hunker in the valley, sheltering from the winter chill, while cozy fires melt the early snowfall off the rooftops.

How long is Waverly gonna stay in Starlight Ridge? What if I’ve scared her off even sooner? My boots thud against the stone steps as I hurry up to her door.

“God damn it.” The handle turns easily in my grip, unlocked and unguarded, and I curse under my breath as I let myself in. Has security been this lax all summer? Can Waverly even lock her own door? What if something happened to her?

Headache pounding worse than ever, I close the door behind me—and flip the lock with a huff. Jesus Christ.

It’s dim in this narrow corridor, with noticeboards on both walls covered in laminated instructions for fire drills and rules for using the shared bathrooms and kitchen. Even covered in protective plastic, the sheets are splotchy, their corners curling with age.

This is exactly the kind of dive that I used to crash in as a young man, traveling through the country’s small towns, never staying in one place for more than a month or two. Guess Waverly and I have more in common than I realized. The smell of dust and musty carpets flings me back twenty years into my memories, back to worn hiking boots and dunking away layers of summer sweat in crystal clear rivers.

I shake the memories off and squint at a list of current occupants.

Seven. My girl’s in lucky number seven.

If I haven’t scared her clean away.

* * *

“Just a second,” Waverly calls, her soft voice floating through the door. I quit knocking, stuffing both hands in my pockets right before she tugs the door open. Her face falls when she sees me. “Oh.”

Her blonde hair is loose and rumpled, and she’s dressed in a white t-shirt and plaid shorts. Even with those tired shadows beneath her eyes, she’s even prettier than I remembered. She’s always prettier than my brain can handle.

“Waverly,” I grit out. My throat’s too tight to say much more, even though I planned out this whole speech on the walk over here—a real nice speech promising to keep my distance from now on if she’ll please, please just tell me what happened. “I… uh.”

Yeah, I’m no orator. Never have been. Tess and Maria are always teasing me for that in the bar, doing impressions of me where I just point and grunt like a caveman. And even though we chatted a bunch last night, even though things were easier with her than they’ve ever been with anyone else, now I’m back to square one with Waverly, staring helplessly at the angel I scared away without realizing.

Did I hurt her? Christ, I’ll never forgive myself if I did. But why else would she run away from me like that? Why else would she be frozen in her own doorway right now, eyes wide and cheeks pale?

“I’m not here to cause trouble.” I raise my palms. “If you want me to go, I’ll go. I just came to make sure you’re okay.”

Waverly’s throat shifts as she swallows. She’s still clutching to the door like she might slam it in my face—and I’m sure I’d deserve that, but why? God help me, why?

A quick glance over her shoulder finds a half-packed backpack slung across a twin bed. There are piles of clothes on the mattress, and the drawers to her nightstand hang open.

She’s leaving. Because of me.

The ground cracks open beneath my boots.

“I’m okay,” Waverly murmurs, but I can’t hear her properly. Too busy staring at that half-packed bag and plummeting toward the earth’s core, down, down, down, my gut left behind like I’m on a roller coaster. “I’m sorry about last night,” she says, her voice far away to my ears. “It wasn’t anything you did, I swear.”

“You’re leaving.” My voice is choked, unrecognizable. This can’t be happening.

Waverly winces but nods. “Yeah.”

She’s not clutching the door anymore—more fiddling with the handle. The tension seeps out of her shoulders too, until she looks as tired and sad as I feel.

Something thumps behind her neighbor’s door, while the faint sound of a shower floats down the hallway. It’s dim in this corridor, but sunlight spears through the window above Waverly’s bed and makes the strands of her hair glint gold.

“Did I…” Can barely force the words out, my gut lurching and roiling. “Did I hurt you? Scare you?”

Waverly sucks in a sharp breath and shakes her head. “What? No. No, of course not.”

“But why else—?”

She turns and crosses to the bed behind her, then plucks her sketchbook from the messy piles of clothes. Eyes cast down, Waverly comes back to the doorway and holds it out to me.

“The answers are in there.”