Big Daddy Wants Me

11: Kyle.

After a moment, I take the sketchbook. It’s surprisingly heavy, pages crinkling between the covers, and Christ, I have not had enough coffee to deal with riddles. What exactly is she trying to say?

“You mean the sketches of me?”

Waverly looks miserable as she hugs herself. “Sort of. It’ll make sense when you see—but please go somewhere else first. I can’t bear to watch you look at them.”

My heart thuds, sluggish and steady. I squint at my girl, haloed with bright sunshine, as my aching brain tries to put two and two together.

“You’re talking about the secret sketches,” I say slowly. “The ones you did of me before.”

Waverly jolts, suddenly spearing me with those baby blues. Her mouth drops open. “Wait… you knew?”

Did I know about this sweet young woman’s inexplicable fixation with me? Did I see those pages and pages she filled with my face? Has it wrecked me ever since?

Yes. Holy s**t, yes.

Gusting out a long sigh, I nudge Waverly into her small room and close the door behind us. When I spin the lock, it clunks into place.

Good. That’s one less thing to curse about.

“You lied,” Waverly accuses, even as she lets me walk her back toward the mess of her bed. A pink flush is climbing higher and higher up her throat, and god, I don’t think she’s wearing a bra under that white shirt. Not judging by the two hard points pressing against the thin fabric, like her tight little body is straining for me.

“Then we’re both liars.” When I toss it, the sketchbook bounces before settling on the mattress. I place my hands on Waverly’s shoulders and squeeze gently, marveling at how delicate she is beneath my hands. “Now, what will it take for you to unpack this bag?”

“I can’t believe you knew.” Waverly stares at the sketchbook, relief and unhappiness warring on her features. “You knew all along. This is so freaking embarrassing.”

I turn her chin back to face me, privately thrilling when she allows the touch. Was it really only last night that she kissed me so hungrily? Feels like a hundred years ago. “Answer the question, sweetheart.”

And maybe I should apologize more—maybe I should fall to my knees and beg forgiveness, but as far as I can see, the two of us are even now. Sweet Waverly pretended that she’d never drawn me before, and I acted like I’d never seen those sketches. A lie for a lie. We’ve both done our share of hiding things, and we’ve both been caught out, and it serves us right for being cowards.

Meanwhile, I’m still reeling with relief that I didn’t hurt my girl last night. The room’s only just stopped tilting like a ship’s cabin in a storm, and my heart is beating harder than it’s done for hours, happy and strong.

Waverly is here. I’m here.

And she’s letting me touch her again. Thank f**k.

For such a shitty morning, this day suddenly holds promise. Before, my bones felt heavier than lead, but now I’m standing straighter, breathing clear.

“What’ll it take?” I say again. “To unpack your bag?”

Waverly shivers as my thumb traces the line of her jaw. “Kyle.” She grabs onto my elbow for balance, and her bare toes scrunch into the carpet below, but she’s not moving away. No, she’s swaying closer.

“Tell me,” I coax, and after a long, dark night of doubt, I’m now cocksure and pushing my luck. Riding high on that flood of relief, on the giddy thrill of having my hands on Waverly once again.

She scowls up at me, so pretty and put out. “You know.”

Do I?

Seeing my mystified expression, Waverly repeats, “If you’ve seen those sketches, then you know.”

Christ, more riddles. Twirling a lock of her silky blonde hair around my knuckle, I wrack my tired brain. “You don’t tell me anything the straightforward way, do you sweetheart? For the record, I haven’t had coffee yet.”

Waverly rolls those big, blue eyes. A pleased laugh fills my chest but stays trapped there as I think, think, think.

What do I know?

I know that Waverly loves drawing me. For whatever strange reason, I’m the star of her summer sketchbook; the focus of her season’s work. The world’s most unlikely muse. Is that what she means?

Well, what else could it be?

“What if we make a deal?” The words come slowly, as I measure everything twice before I say it. Lord knows I don’t want to screw this up again. “You like drawing me. I like that too. How about we pack this bag up after all and move you into my cabin? Then you can draw me whenever you like.”

Waverly blinks, surprised. I gain speed, liking this plan the more I say it out loud, because what else could she possibly have meant?

If I want Waverly to stick around, I need to model for her. Well, no problem, because feeling her gaze on me is about the best thing I’ve ever felt—minus the fierce way she kissed me last night, of course.

Besides, this hostel is depressing as hell. I want Waverly away from these faded carpets and shabby walls and that unlocked front door, tucked away somewhere safe and clean and warm where I can look after her. Yeah.

“You want me to move in with you.” Her voice is faint.

“Sure. For as long as you’re in Starlight Ridge, I want you in my cabin.”

“So I can draw you,” she says.

“So you can draw me.”

“And?” Waverly raises her chin in challenge. “What else?”

I shrug, taking my hands off her body, forcing myself to act more casual than I feel. “And nothing else, if you don’t want it. I won’t touch you uninvited, Waverly.”

She takes a deep breath and steps all the way close, her bare feet nearly touching my boots. The crows flap past outside the window, squawking together as traffic rumbles down the street.

“And if I do want that?” Waverly wets her lips. “What then?”

My body flashes hot. Suddenly, I’m not tired at all, as electricity crackles through my veins.

“Then you should take what you want, sweetheart.”

Waverly flings her arms round my neck, and kisses me hard. Screwing my eyes shut, I sink into heaven.