Wish for You

By: Marquita Valentine



Before Lacey can say no, I grab the beanie off my head and put it on hers.

“You don’t have to give me yours,” she says, but I notice, with complete male satisfaction, that she doesn’t take it off or ask me to take it back.

“I know I don’t.” The cold air infiltrates my hair, all the way down my scalp. “Let’s fix the sides, okay?”

“Okay.”

She gazes at me with those big brown eyes of hers, while I pull the beanie down just so, making sure her ears aren’t folded over or sticking out on one side.

My hands tremble as I work, as I take an inordinately long time to adjust a stupid hat so I have an excuse to touch her. I let my knuckles graze her cheek, and she sighs, the sound so arousing that my body starts to tighten.

No other woman does this to me. Sure, I can achieve a sexual high with anyone, but it doesn’t last. The entire act is nothing but a means to relieve pent-up frustrations, something I’d sworn never to do.

I’m not a user but, lately, I sure as hell feel like one. Tonight is the first night in months I haven’t ended up drunk or high. And it’s the first time in two weeks that I know for sure I won’t end up in some random chick’s bed.

Self-loathing fills me, and I drop my hand. I don’t deserve to touch Lacey after sleeping with those other females, after making sure she saw me with them, and hoping like hell I was hurting her like she’d hurt me.

God, I’m one messed-up asshole.

“What’s wrong?” she asks, her concern making me feel worse instead of better.

Instead of telling her the truth, I wink at her. “It’s two minutes until midnight.”

“You’ll be late to the party.” She takes a step closer to me, and my traitor of a body quickly crosses the small distance between us.

“I’m not going to the party.” Bending my knees, I dip my head. All the while, my brain is screaming at me to stop. Kissing her, or attempting to, will mess everything up again. “Want to ring in the New Year with me?”

“I… uh…” Her chin tips up, and her lashes flutter to her cheeks.

“Less than a minute now.”

“Wyatt?” My name is the sweetest whisper I’ve ever heard, but it’s underpinned with a question I don’t want to answer, much less acknowledge.

Don’t. Please don’t. Give me one last kiss. But I know I’m fooling myself. I don’t want one last kiss. I want every kiss, from now until we’re too old and decrepit to do more than drool at each other. I cup her shoulders, and then slide my hands down her back to press her against me. My eyes close. Please, sweetheart. Give me this… just tonight.

Right as my lips touch hers, she puts her hands between us and turns her head. “I can’t. Please don’t… Please, Wyatt. I can’t do this.”

Her words are more frigid than the air around me. Once again, resentment and anger build, and I let go of her. “No problem, buddy.” I shake my head, fury guiding my words. “Guess I’ll go to Beau’s, after all. There are some—”

“Stop it,” she cries. “I said please and made it clear about what I want. I h-haven’t been ugly to you, or sarcastic. All I want is the old Wyatt back.”

Something inside of me snaps. “The old Wyatt is dead. The one you see standing before you is the one you’ll have to deal with from now on, buddy.”

“You don’t have to be so mean about it.” She twists a lock hair around two of her fingers, tears falling down her cheeks. “And s-stop calling me buddy!”

My heart is shredded by the look on her face, by her tears, and the familiar way she tugs on her hair. I did this to her. I’ve made her panic attacks worse, just by being an asshole. I haven’t seen her this upset since her entire family moved, right before we… for lack of a better term, broke up.

“Lawless Lucy?”

She sniffs, a small smile curving the corners of her mouth. “That’s better.”

“It’s a scary name.” It’s her roller derby name, and I think it’s kickass as hell.

Lacey lightly punches me in the arm. “It’s an act.”

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