We got back to his apartment around two hours later, because after we ate Wyatt insisted on checking out a sporting goods store and then grabbing a movie for us to watch when we got back. That was an interesting argument. He was all for watching a chick flick, but I shot that idea down quick. I already have a hard time resisting him, so adding a romantic love story to that? Yeah, it would be over. I wouldn't be "sleeping" alone in his bed. He suggested horror, which I declined for close to the same reason. Scary movies in a new place means nightmares, and is almost as big a guarantee that I won't be alone in his bed as the chick flick - even if it's for a different reason. Once we decide on an action movie, he finally lets me drive back to the apartment and he checks the bedroom first thing.
"I think we're good now, it definitely doesn't smell as strong in there now." He's very proud of himself and I have to smile at him.
Once we get comfortable on the couch and start watching the movie, I start to think about where he's going to sleep. "Hey Wyatt?"
"Yeah?" He turns to look at me curiously, not sure what I'm getting ready to ask.
Biting my lower lip, I think carefully about how I want this conversation to go. "Is this the couch you're planning to sleep on this week?"
"Yes," he says, drawing the word out for a few beats.
There's no way. He's over six feet tall! This couch is just over five and a half. I would barely fit on it, so I know he couldn't possibly be comfortable sleeping on it. I tell him that, and he just rolls his eyes, "I'm sleeping on the couch Pey. End of discussion."
The way he says it immediately gets my back up. "What do you mean end of discussion?" I screech. "We haven't even started to discuss it."
"You're right," he says with a nod. "And we're not going to either."
Oh, he drives me insane! "Wyatt, don't be stupid. Me sleeping on the couch would make so much more sense."
"No way Peyton. My mom would kill me if I made a guest, especially a female guest, sleep on the couch. Sorry, you're stuck in my bed." He doesn't sound sorry at all, and I turn more fully to face him. He changes the way he's sitting too and we're almost nose-to-nose.
It's sweet that he's worried about what his mom would think, but let's be honest. She isn't here, and she'll never know. Hell, I'll likely never meet her, so unless he says something, she'll be none the wiser. We continue to stare at each other, and the room is almost completely dark. The only light in the room is coming from a combination of the TV screen and a streetlight that's right outside the sliding glass doors leading to the patio. The flickers from the screen alternately lighten his face and darken it, which causes his expression to appear and disappear. It's mesmerizing. The first time it flickers, we're glaring at each other, but the second, he's no longer staring into my eyes. Instead, he's staring intently at my mouth, making me squirm inside. I lick my lips and his gaze follows the path my tongue takes, groaning as he squeezes his eyes shut.
Leaning forward, he barely grazes my lips with his and I gasp. Pulling back, he opens his eyes before saying, "I promised that I wasn't trying to fuck you by asking you to stay here." Cupping my cheek with a gentle hand, he leans down, kissing first one corner of my mouth then the other before pulling back once more.
"Peyton," he murmurs.
My breath quickens and I can barely manage a "Huh?"
"Maybe we should say goodnight." He sounds remorseful, and it takes me a minute to catch his meaning. Closing his eyes, he drops his hand from my cheek before scooting further away from me.
"Yeah, you're probably right," I say, my voice small. I know he's trying to keep his promise from the other night, and the hurt I feel isn't fair to him, but I can't help but feel rejected. Looking away from him I stand quickly and walk as fast as I can to his room. I don't make but a few steps before he's spinning me around to face him.
"Dammit Peyton, I can't read you at all. One minute you despise me, and the next you're looking at me like I ripped your heart out! I don't know what the hell you want from me!" He's practically shouting at me, and I flinch. He sees it, even though it's small, and his shoulders slump. "Sorry, that didn't come out right." The hand that isn't gripping my arm runs through his hair and he looks torn.
In an attempt to make him feel better, I tell him, "It's okay. I get it, really I do."
Wyatt's eyes narrow, "I really don't think you do. This -" he gestures between us, "is the most god damn confusing thing I've ever been a part of. I want you Peyton. I want nothing more than to take you into my room and lay you down on my bed. And sometimes, I think you want the same thing. I told you the other night that I wasn't asking you here to have sex, and I meant it. I still mean it. That's not why I asked you to stay. I asked you to stay here this week so that I'd know you were safe. I also asked you to stay so you wouldn't be able to run from me, from this thing between us. I care about you, more than I want to sometimes. You're a total pain in the ass 90% of the time, but the other 10% you're so genuine that I keep coming back for more. I keep coming back for that little bit of the real you that you try so hard to hide. That Peyton, the one who's real, I want to get to know you so damn bad and I keep hoping if we spend enough time together, you'll stop acting like a bitch and be her."
Holy shit. I feel like I can't breathe. No one's ever said anything like that to me before. Not even Scarlett and she knows me better than anyone. At least, I thought she did. My chest feels tight, and my eyes are burning, but it has nothing to do with allergies. Without even saying goodnight, I whirl around and flat out run into his room, locking the door behind me. He must've been right behind me, because I barely twist the lock before he tries to turn the knob.
"Fuck! Peyton, unlock the door." I say nothing, backing up until the back of my knees hit the bed and they buckle forcing me to sit. I'm shaking, gripping the comforter in each hand and trying to will the tears not to fall while Wyatt continues to beg me to unlock the door for what feels like an hour, but is probably only five or ten minutes before he finally stops. I begin to relax, only to startle when he shouts an expletive and punches the wall beside his door.
Silently, I get ready for bed putting on a tank top and a pair of shorts that are so small they look more like panties. Picking up my phone to charge it, I realize it's been on silent and is already flooding with text messages.
Wyatt: Please open the door
Wyatt: I'm sorry.
Wyatt: Peyton, please talk to me
Wyatt: Shit. I know I'm an asshole, please open the door.
Wyatt: Dammit Peyton, we need to talk. You need to let me explain.
I don't need to do a damn thing. Any progress we've made towards being friends is shot to hell now. First thing in the morning, I'm heading back to the dorms.
Wyatt: Will you please give me a second chance?
Second chance? At this point, it's more like tenth chance.
Wyatt: Fine. If you won't open the door, and you won't talk to me, I'll just text you.
My eyes roll heavenward. Obviously.... the multitude of texts show that already.
Wyatt: I know you're pissed at me. Stop rolling your eyes. I'm an asshole and I deserve the silent treatment. I really am sorry for what I said. That doesn't make it untrue, I just wish I hadn't said it quite so bluntly.
Wyatt: I like you Pey. I don't know why, especially when you make it known that you're not interested in me at all. You're lying to yourself though. You have to be. There's no way I'd be this drawn to you if you felt nothing in return.
Wyatt: You're probably making plans to run back to your room in the morning, but I'm asking you to please stay. Let me at least attempt to make it up to you. I know you're upset, and it kills me that I put that look on your face.
Wyatt: Jesus Christ Peyton, you've made me grow a fucking vagina. When Emmett and Clay get back, they're sure as shit taking my man card if they see these texts. I'm kicking my own ass for the things I said to you, but I hope you'll stick around to kick it too.
I can't help but grin at this one. He's making a complete fool out of himself trying to apologize. And he's right; I have been planning how I'll leave without running into him. But, I can't deny that he feels bad for it, even if he does say that everything he said was true. Deciding to think about it in the morning, I pull the comforter down on his bed and crawl in. The faint scent of his cologne still lingers on the clean sheets, and I inhale deeply trying to commit the smell to memory. My last thought before succumbing to a fitful sleep is that at least he gave me permission to kick his ass. How can I leave without at least doing that?