Blaze

Forty-Two; Blaise

"Are you fucking him?" Wyatt growls at me in a tone I've never heard him use, the harshness causing me to flinch.

"No. Of course not." He throws the truck in gear and peels out of the parking lot, leaving a distraught looking James standing on the edge of the pavement. My God, I just kissed him and not two minutes later he watched Wyatt practically screw me to the side of the truck. He must hate me.

"So help me God, Blaise. I am going to ask you one more time." Wyatt's warning pulls me from my thoughts. He's grabbing the wheel so hard his knuckles are white. "I saw the way he looked at you. And the way you looked at him. Are you fucking him?"

"Pull over. Let me out of the car." I keep my tone as calm and even as possible.

"No. I'm sure as hell not letting you out of the car. Answer the fucking question."

"I've answered the question." He laughs, but it comes out more of a bitter snort.

"You also said you were working alone, so sorry if I don't believe you." He steps on the gas, the trees now flying by at a too-rapid pace.

"Wyatt, you're scaring me. Can you please pull over so we can talk?"

"No." He clenches his jaw.

"Do you want to? Fuck him?" He doesn't look at me, keeping his eyes to on the road instead. The muscles of his square jaw ripple as he clenches his teeth. He takes a left turn, too sharp and fast for this old truck, and my temple slams into the window. I straighten and fasten my seatbelt.

"Shit. You okay?" he asks, sounding more like the Wyatt I know.

"Yeah." I sigh and rub my forehead. He takes a deep breath and slows slightly, but the vein on his forehead is still bulging and pulsing.

"What's going on with you and Bradford?" His voice is ice, no sign of warm Wyatt from a moment ago.

"He's my boss. We're friends." He rolls his eyes at me.

"Has he ever touched you?" I'm not sure how to answer that. I feel like nothing I say could possibly be the right answer.

I should tell Wyatt about the kiss. Mine and Wyatt's relationship isn't salvageable at this point, that much I know. The truth is probably the only way to retain a friendship, to dig out of this mess with any room for respect or grace or forgiveness in the future. But the truth could ruin everything for James. I can either protect James or be honest with Wyatt.

"No," I lie.

Wyatt stares at me, his eyes roaming over the features of my face.

"I'm not sure I believe you." I stare forward, willing myself not to cry again and ruin my makeup.

"How friendly are you? Do you have feelings for him?" I dare a glance at Wyatt's face from the corner of my eye, and he still looks angry, but there's more. A combination of fear and hope brews behind his irises. God, this will crush him. I'm a horrible person.

"Yes," I admit, the tears now freely falling from my eyes. I expect rage. Yelling. Maybe even hurt. What I don't expect is his bitter chortle.

"Oh, Blaise. You're so naïve and stupid sometimes. You know he doesn't have feelings for you, right?" I don't know that, actually. I'm pretty damn sure he does, especially after that kiss. And the tortured look on his face when he saw me with Wyatt.

"That's not the point," I say down to my hands on my lap.

"Of course it is." He chuckles again and rubs his clean-shaven chin. "Whatever he's said to you. Whatever he's done to encourage this. It's not real. He doesn't want you. He's using you to get back at me." My head snaps up, and I'm genuinely confused. What does he mean? Get back at him for what?