Law #3: Don't Fall for the Athlete: Sweet Second Chance Romance (Laws of Love) by Agnes Canestri (black books to read txt) 📗

“Not bored yet?” Wyatt’s voice is partially muffled by some rattling noise.

“Nope, so don’t hurry.”

The more time I have, the better.

I told Wyatt I wouldn’t join him in the basement because I didn’t want to encounter spiders, though it’s highly unlikely that any room in Cristina Harrison’s house would harbor bugs—even if only in a storage space. Wyatt’s Mom shares my love for cleanliness and order, but I needed a cheap excuse for a breather.

I need to recover from the hot flushes Wyatt’s closeness and his surprising proposals induced in me before we go anywhere in public together.

I study the trophies in front of me. Most of the display is football-related, but there’s also a gold medal from a regional running race and a cup for a swimming competition, both dating back to Wyatt’s middle school years.

It’s not surprising to see that Wyatt excelled in other sports as well. Especially after learning about the terrible situation he had to cope with in his home. His drive to be the best must be deeply anchored in his wish to prove himself worthy. To himself, but probably also to his dad.

“Okay, so what do you think of this and this?”

Wyatt’s baritone makes me flip around.

He’s holding a denim shirt and a white-washed pair of jeans.

“These should work. But we also need boots and a belt.”

“Nothing that fits my size down there,” Wyatt answers with a headshake while stashing his clothes on the sofa.

“No biggie. After lunch, we can swing by Mr. Garrison’s store. He’s got a wide choice of cowboy footwear and belts.”

Wyatt walks closer to me, raising his brows. “What were you looking at?”

I point at the glass display. “Just at your old trophies. It’s amazing how many of them you have.”

“Did you see my Super Bowl rings too?” His face drifts into a boyishly proud smirk.

“You keep them here?” I ask, my eyes widening.

“Sure. I don’t really wear them. They’re way too flashy for my style. Plus, Mom gets a kick out of showing them to her visitors.” He waves toward an intricately decorated China bowl, sitting on a round table beside the sofa.

I dart over to it.

There they are. Two giant rose-gold rings with diamonds, bearing the Kites’ name and logo, the phrase “World Champions,” and some Roman numerals.

“Wow, I’ve never seen these,” I mumble.

“You can touch them if you want.” Wyatt’s breath tickles my ear. He must have followed me to the table without me realizing it.

“Go ahead, they won’t bite,” he says when I don’t move.

Of course, he can’t know that the moment his hot stream of air landed on my skin, the only thing I’d like to touch is him.

I swallow and reach into the bowl to lift one of the rings. It’s heavy and eye-blindingly sparkling. I can understand why Wyatt doesn’t use them as an accessory.

I lower the jewel back to its place, then smooth the embroidered runner beneath it and position the porcelain container in its geometric middle.

When I peer up at Wyatt, he’s studying me.

I become flustered as I remember Bill gawking at me similarly when I shuffled around the things in the restaurant.

“The fabric was wrinkly. I just want it to look nice for Cristina,” I blabber.

“I know,” he says, then his brows arch. “Why would you think that you need to justify your actions to me?”

“I…uhm…”

Wyatt cocks his head, his eyes searching mine.

Dang it, why do I feel as if Wyatt’s staring into my soul when we’re gazing at each other?

“Someone recently made a comment.”

“A comment?”

“Yeah,” I nod, “I was told that my love for symmetry is an obsession I should cure. Remembering this remark must have made me self-conscious.”

I keep Bill’s name out of my revelation on purpose. I don’t want to expose to Wyatt just how bad my date was. It’s safer if he thinks I continue to be smitten with my colleague. Then perhaps he’ll misinterpret those stolen glances I can’t seem to stop giving him.

Wyatt’s mouth opens then closes.

An alarmed sensation settles in my chest. “What, do you agree?”

He immediately shakes his head. “No, of course not. You’re perfect the way you are. But…”

“But what?” I fold my arms in front of my chest.

Wyatt sighs. “Don’t look at me like I’m about to stab you because I’m not. I don’t think you need to worry about your passion for keeping objects at specific geometrical angles and your dishes in color-sorted piles, or for your habit of predicting your luck through prime numbers…”

“I don’t—” I protest but break off when Wyatt gives me a knowing look.

“You do. Each of these quirks is a part of you. And they’re cute, just as you are. You don’t need to change them. But what you should do is to inspect why you developed them.”

A nervous giggle bubbles up from my throat. “Wyatt Harrison, are you acting as my therapist now?”

He smiles at me. “No, I’m not. But it’s a topic I wished to address with you at some point, as I think you don’t realize it.”

My eyes widen. “What topic?”

“Your brother.”

“Dev?” I squeak. “What’s he got to do with it?”

“I believe a whole lot,” he answers, holding my gaze. “You remember how you told me you always worried about Devon getting enough air? That’s why you still scan unknown places for escape routes.”

Ah, gosh, Wyatt still remembers this confession? “I confided that to you over fifteen years ago,” I mumble, shaking my head.

A glint invades his eyes. “I told you. My memories of you never faded.”

A lump forms in my throat, and I quickly push it down by swallowing big. “Anyway, what’s your point with Devon?”

“You used to be terrified of losing him. Your mom once told me that she thought you had more fear than she and your dad together summed up and multiplied by three.”

“She said that?” I’d always tried to be the pillar to my parents when they worried about my brother. I’d never thought they saw through my composure.

Wyatt nods. “That’s a tough burden for a