Law #3: Don't Fall for the Athlete: Sweet Second Chance Romance (Laws of Love) by Agnes Canestri (ebook and pdf reader .txt) 📕

young girl to carry. I suppose, since you couldn’t control that inner anxiety, you controlled whatever you could—your external environment.”

His words leave me speechless.

How does he know? How does he see me this well?

“Your deduction skills are worthy of Sigmund Freud,” I say lightly because if I admit just how accurate his assumption is, I might break into a sob.

“Does it mean I scored close to home?”

I give him an imperceptible nod.

He reaches out and grips my hand, squeezing it ever so slightly. “You’re an amazing sister to Devon, Ellie. You’ve always been that. But you still see your brother as a person who needs your help and protection. However, he’s fine now. No, better than fine. He’s happy with Laia.”

“I know this…”

He shakes his head, letting go of my fingers. “No, you don’t. You don’t want him to learn about our past, which means you’re still trying to protect him.”

Wyatt’s only partially right. I might have asked Wyatt to keep our relationship a secret in college because I feared how the news would affect my brother. But now I’ve insisted on hiding the truth from Devon to protect myself.

Ever since I let the cat out of the bag with Laia and my roomies, each of them has brought up Wyatt in various ways and forms. But I don’t need anyone to remind me of how much I used to love him. It’s enough to listen to my heart to have that knowledge.

When I don’t react, Wyatt says, “Sorry, I didn’t want to come across as accusing. I guess I’ve got even less talent for speaking about other people’s emotional baggage than about mine.”

I give him a small smile. “I spent several years learning how to address these issues. Considering your lack of training, you did a pretty outstanding job analyzing me.”

His eyes widen. “Really?”

“Yes.” I nod. “Maybe, after your therapy is over, we can discuss again whether we should tell Devon about our past.”

By then, Wyatt will be back with his team and, hopefully, no longer thinking about spilling the beans to my brother.

Wyatt grins. “Okay, then. Let’s return to this later. Wanna go and grab that devilishly chocolatey dessert?”

“That’s a proposal I like,” I say, smiling.

Chapter 27

(Ellie)

The first stars have just popped up on the horizon when we reach the Mohave County Fairgrounds. Their shimmers mix in with the sparkles of the string lights hanging from the poles determining the perimeter of this year’s Boot Scootin’ Bash.

The area assigned to the dance is huge—roughly six-plus acres of field covered with countless gazebos. The space hosts various food and drink stands, a large stage for Charlie’s Country Heart, and an enormous dance floor that’s already chock-full of hopping townspeople.

“I can’t fathom why I bought shorts this tight when I was younger,” I grumble as I climb out of Wyatt’s Corvette.

The pair of fringe shorts I unearthed at my parents’ is lower-rise than I’m comfortable wearing nowadays, however they still fit in with tonight’s Old West theme better than the flowy spaghetti dress I traveled in.

Wyatt slams the car door and winks at me. “You can also blame your Friday trips to Daisy’s Creamery.”

Though his tone is entirely light, clarifying that he’s joking, my hands move self-consciously to my hips.

Wyatt’s face grows serious. “Just kidding. You’re gorgeous, Ellie. Absolutely perfect. You’ll be the cutest cowgirl. Please forget my idiotic comment and stop fussing with that belt.”

While my attire might pass Cora’s strict fashion police—after all, with the white peasant-style crop top I stole from Mom’s wardrobe and the cute red bandana around my curls, I’m almost boho-chic—it’s not my roomie’s approval I’m after. It’s Wyatt’s.

I’d love to deny this, but I can’t. Not when his compliment infuses a mushy warmth in my belly.

“You don’t look too shabby yourself either,” I answer as we stroll toward the large sign marking the entrance. I hope the vivid hillbilly tunes drifting in the air will muffle the husky edge that crept into my voice.

It doesn’t help that Wyatt’s clothes couldn’t make him more masculine. Double denim might be dangerous territory for most men—I mean, who really wants to look like a tired version of the Marlboro Man?—but on Wyatt, it’s is a darned sweet look.

My eyes drift to his legs.

With the brown leather belt and roper-style boots that he bought at Mr. Garrison’s store after lunch, he could pass for a dashing cowboy—rugged and a tiny bit dangerous.

Wyatt notices my dipping glance and smiles. “I owe you for not letting me buy those fancy cockroach killers that canny shopkeeper tried to talk me into. As far as I can see, nobody uses lace-up boots anymore for dancing.” He points at a boisterous group of guys shuffling toward the Get Your Gulp drink stall. 

I shake my head. “You won’t see those chaps showing off their boogie skills. They’re only here to carouse.” While the men do sport square-toe waders, their walk is more than a tad wobbly.

“Mr. Garrison didn’t want to milk you,” I add because I don’t want Wyatt to form the wrong impression of the shopkeeper who’s my father’s friend. “He recommended his most expensive piece to you because he thought someone with your standing wouldn’t settle for a pair of simple shoes.”

Wyatt snorts. “With my standing? I’m no king.”

I shrug. “Yeah, but few in our town ever make it to the fame and riches you have.”

As if to prove my point, a group of people, among whom I can spot Louisa, my mother’s hairdresser and Franky, the guy who fixes my dad’s car—even if he’s officially an accountant—turn to us. One of them must have spotted Wyatt and told the rest.

They all smile and wave. Franky even lifts his beer and yells, “Here’s to our town’s best-darned quarterback!”

This causes several other bystanders in the crowd to turn and stare at us and, slowly, a round of applause fills the air.

I stand a bit taller, because I’m unintentionally basking in Wyatt’s popularity right now, so I want to look my best.

Wyatt, to my surprise, rakes