by Nina Levine
He drops his phone on the table and says, “What’s got you so moody? And just so you know, I didn’t see Justin this morning, so I don’t know where he is either.”
I cross my arms and force out a long breath right as my phone rings. I snatch it up when I see it’s Wilder.
“Feeling a little prickly this morning?” he says when I answer with a snappy greeting.
“You didn’t wake me up.”
“You were tired.”
“I wasn’t.”
“You fuckin’ were.”
“Why do you always have to be right?”
“Why do you always have to argue with me?”
“You wouldn’t know what to do with yourself if I didn’t.”
“Ain’t that the fuckin’ truth.”
“What are you doing?”
“You mean, when will I be back?”
“That too.”
“I’m doing some shit for Mum. Should be home by lunchtime.”
“I could have helped you.”
“I’m kinda digging this needy version of you. You reckon she’ll still be around when I get back?”
“Fuck you. And no.”
“That’s a fuckin’ shame.”
“Wait. Would you put a girl out of her misery if she was needy?”
“Fuck no. I need my cherry bomb for that.”
“Well, you might just be in luck because I’m beginning to feel all kinds of firecracker now. Especially since you’re making me wait till lunchtime to see you.”
“Careful, Scar, or I might think you really fuckin’ like me.”
“If you don’t already think that, there’s something fucking wrong with you. Now hurry the hell up and get your ass back here.”
“I’m on it. And darlin’?”
“What?”
“Tonight.”
And just like that, I’m all kinds of hot and bothered. With one fucking word out of this man’s mouth, I’m in a fucking puddle. “Is this a promise you’ll go the ends of the earth for? And before you answer that, you should know there’s only one right answer here, country boy.”
“You. Me. Under the stars. This is a promise I will go to the ends of the earth for.”
“Fuck you for making me sappy. Don’t screw this up.”
We end the call, and I decide I need a shower. And then a tea. And another good old-fashioned slapping.
Wilder texts me as I’m walking to the bathroom.
Wilder: For the record, I like you sappy.
Me: For the record, I don’t know what you’re talking about.
Wilder: Me either, darlin’. Me fucking either.
Wilder doesn’t make it home by lunchtime. He doesn’t even make it home by three. He does keep me updated throughout the day, letting me know he’s running into no end of problems he has to take care of for the party. Something about lighting and audio and dickheads who don’t know what the fuck they’re doing. I understand and I don’t hold it against him, but I’m in a flap over here for so many reasons and am slowly losing my sanity.
Phoebe texted me a few times today about Bailey. And then Bailey texted me. And he sounds like he’s doing a lot better, which is all I ever wanted, but my fucked-up thinking has me wondering why I could never seem to help him like Phoebe has in just a few days.
This question led me down the fucking garden path of faulty thinking faster than I could find the brakes. Bailey called me at around eleven, and by eleven thirty I was deep in the garden. I was frolicking down there with the fucking garden fairies and ladybugs and gnomes, settling in for the picnic of all picnics where they were about to tell me all the ways I’d fucked up with my brother. Jesus, I was a hot mess for a good hour.
Wilder’s mother saved me when she asked me to help her decide which dress to wear to the party tonight. I wanted to tell her I am no fashionista; however, I also wanted the moment with her. And that right there only added to the rush of confusing thoughts and feelings that bombarded me from the second I opened my eyes today.
These thoughts and feelings are why I was so snappy with Wilder and Paul this morning. I think it all has to do with the conversations of last night. There was some depth there. Way more than I saw coming. And the fact I liked those conversations and want more is, I think, the true reason for all of today’s confusion.
It’s all very nap-worthy.
However, there is no time for a nap today.
There’s a party to get ready for and a breakdown to avoid.
If I actually knew how to avoid that breakdown, I would.
But I don’t, so here I am at exactly 5:32 p.m. smack bang in the middle of it.
I’m staring at myself in the mirror of my room, looking at my hair, make-up, and dress, and thinking that I really should skip the party.
My hair didn’t work out the way I envisioned it.
My make-up looks like a six-year-old did it.
And the dress that Harlow lent me makes me feel weird. I don’t wear dresses. I mean, except for that one time I wore a dress and danced with Wilder, I don’t wear dresses.
It’s all a lot.
Too much for me to deal with on top of everything else going on today.
A knock on the door startles me from my thoughts. “Scar, you in there?” Wilder.
“No.”
He opens the door, and his eyes find mine.
“I could have been naked,” I grumble.
“You’re desperate to show me your body, so I don’t see the problem here,” he says, coming in and closing the door behind him.
I try not to take in the sexiness that is this man, but holy hell, he’s rocking that sexiness with his jeans, super-fitted grey T-shirt, boots, and smile. Or maybe it’s just that I haven’t laid eyes on him yet today that’s causing this rush of need.
“I’m not desperate anymore,” I throw out. “In fact, I’m not showing you it tonight.” Where the hell are these words coming from? Of course I’m showing him my body tonight. Jesus, a girl needs to get a grip when she’s in the middle of shit.
He gives me a pointed look. “Really?”
“Really.” I. Am. Losing. It. That’s what’s really happening here. I am losing the damn plot. It’s probably running away with those garden gnomes I was frolicking with earlier.
“Bullshit.”
“I’m not showing you.”
“So I’m the only one showing their body tonight?”
“No one’s showing anyone anything.”
“I am.”
“Well, I’m not looking.” And now the fairies are joining in to make sure I lose that plot in spectacular fashion.
Wilder reaches for me, but I smack his hand away.
We stare each other down for a good few seconds before I blurt, “My hair looks shit. I can’t go to the party.”
“We have a hairdresser in the next room. He can fix it.”
“That was the wrong answer.”
He watches me silently, like he’s trying to figure me out. “I’m sorry I was out all day.”
“Can your brother also fix my make-up?”
Wilder runs his gaze over me.
Slowly.
So slowly it scrambles all my thoughts.
“Don’t do that,” I snap.
“Do what? Look at you?”
I gesture at him. “That thing you do where it feels like you’re peeling all my armour off.”
Wilder reaches for me again, this time ready when I try to push him away. He grips my wrist and pulls me close. “This isn’t about hair and make-up. This is about last night, isn’t it?”
My pulse races.
My breaths play Speed Racer.
How does this man read my damn mind before I even read it?
“You’re in my veins,” I say. “Like, in in them.”
“That scares the fuck out of you, doesn’t it?”
“No. I thought it would, but it doesn’t.”
He smiles. “Well, that’s a good fuckin’ start. The rest we can d
eal with.”
“When you say the rest, what do you mean?”
“I’m talking about the fact opening up to me scares you. I know why you argue about random shit and pick fights over fuckin’ tampons and poppy seeds, Scar. You’re trying to keep me at arm’s length for as long as you can.” He pauses while my breaths go hardcore with their Speed Racer game. “We’ll take this as slow as you need.”
I’m not sure what I did in my other lives to deserve a man like Wilder, but thank fuck for whatever it was.
“Okay,” I say softly. “We’ll take this slow.”
He gives me his lips, deepening the kiss in all the ways I like, but then pulling his mouth from mine with “Fuck, that was a bad decision.”
I don’t even have to feel his erection to know why he’s saying that; I’m in full agreement that it was a bad decision.
“For the record, you were never getting out of showing me your body tonight,” he says.
“I know. You’re going to the ends of the earth for this. You’ll do whatever it takes.”
His smile hits me everywhere, all at once. “Now we’re getting somewhere.”
Yes, now we are.
Or I should say, now I am.
And I didn’t even need magical unicorns to get me here.
I just needed to figure out how to start putting my trust in this man.
39
Scarlett
It’s a good thing Wilder is the man he is and that he understands my moods. The women in Mt Isa are something fucking else. I’ve spent half this damn party so far defending my territory. And yes, I know that makes me sound like a raging bitch, but I accept. When it comes to my man, don’t fucking mess with me.
These women have their eyes all over him.
Like, I get it, honey, but calm down.
He’s. Taken.
We’re two hours into the party, and I’ve scared away six women so far. Wilder seems oblivious to it all. I don’t think he’s noticed them or the eyes I’ve been making telling them to back off. It’s probably a good thing, because who knows, maybe we’d get into our first real fight if he was aware of what’s going on.
He’s oblivious because he’s got a lot of shit going on with his family. Brett’s here with his wife and two daughters, and while he’s staying away from Wilder and Paul, Wilder has barely taken his eyes off him. The tension radiating from him is more extreme than any I’ve seen before, and that’s saying something because I’ve seen Wilder lose his shit with people in a big way a few times.
“Your dad looks like he’s enjoying himself,” I say as we take our seats for dinner. We’re at a long table that his parents are sitting at the head of. Brett and his family are next to them while we’re closer to the middle. Wilder had a long conversation with his mother about him and Paul being seated away from Brett. She was disappointed with that request but Wilder refused to budge.
He glances in his father’s direction, but I’m certain he’s actually looking at Brett. Especially when he grunts, “Yeah.”
“Hey,” I say softly, angling his face to mine so he’s looking at me. “Let’s take a time out.”
He frowns. “A what?”
“A breather. Talk to me for a few minutes. Forget everyone else.”
He pushes some loose strands of hair off my face and gives me his full attention. “It’s a fuckin’ mess here tonight.”
I know he’s not referring to the actual party; that’s going off without a hitch. His mum has planned it and executed it all perfectly. He’s referring to the frayed tensions and emotions of it all.
“Yeah, it is. How do you think Paul’s doing?”
“He’s okay. A little on edge, but okay. We just need to keep an eye on Brett and make sure he doesn’t go near him.”
“I get the impression that Brett is someone the community looks up to?” I haven’t asked him much about his brother yet. We’ve been busy with his family or talking about other stuff.
Wilder works his jaw as his eyes darken. “Yeah, he owns a car dealership in town and is on some committees or some shit. He’s got his fingers in a lot of pies and has a lot of people in his corner. He struts around like he’s someone fuckin’ important when all he is is a drunk who fucks around on his wife and is never home for his kids.”
I look at Brett and catch him and his wife having a moment. Come to think of it, I’ve seen them arguing and throwing glares at each other a few times tonight. “Sounds like a real nice guy.”
Wilder sits back in his seat, forces out a long breath, and scrubs his hand over his face. “Fuck, I need a drink.”
I’m about to offer to go get him one when a heavily pregnant woman comes to stand across the table from us and says, “Justin. There you are. I’ve been looking for you.”
This woman is smiling at my man like all her fucking Christmases have come at once. The fact she’s pregnant doesn’t even convince me that she’s not after him. I mean, you’d think if a woman was having a baby with another man they’d not be into yours, but I don’t buy that. Not with the way she’s looking at Wilder.
“Miranda,” he says, and I almost spit the drink I’m not even fucking drinking.
Somehow, my hand finds its way to his thigh.
Miranda looks at me, still all smiley and way too friendly as she says, “You need to introduce me to your friend, Miller.”
Wilder’s arm comes around my shoulders. “This is Scarlett.”
“It’s so nice to meet you, Scarlett,” Miranda says. “I’m sorry I can’t stay and chat right now, but I’ll come find you guys later so we can catch up.”
“Sounds good,” Wilder says.
I watch Miranda wave her perfect little hand with her perfect manicured nails while smiling with her perfect red-lipsticked lips all before giving a flick of her perfect long blonde hair as she turns to leave. Jesus, was she like a country beauty queen or some shit? I don’t even want to think about the fact Wilder lost his virginity to someone as perfect as Miranda John.
Before I can dedicate any more time to that line of thinking, he leans into me and says, “I want your hand on me like that every fuckin’ time another woman comes near.”
I squeeze his leg. “I didn’t realise how territorial I am. I advise you to never step out of line.”
He chuckles. “It’s not on the horizon, Cherry Bomb. Loyalty is the sexiest fuckin’ thing to me.”
“Good. Keep it that way.”
Paul, who has just taken the seat across from us, says, “Scarlett looks like she’s ready to attack someone. What’s going on?”
“I am,” I say, still squeezing Wilder’s leg.
Wilder’s lips brush against my ear. “I fuckin’ like this side of you.”
Jesus, I’m not sure I do. I’m also not sure he realises just how hardcore I could be if a woman actually tried something with him. He might not like this side of me then.
I let his leg go and stand. “I’m getting drinks. You guys want your usual?”
They nod, and I leave them to go to the bar. It turns out I need a time-out.
When I return with the drinks, dinner has been served. We eat and chat with the family friends surrounding us, and I find more to love about the Miller family. They have good friends who genuinely love them and care about them. These are people Wilder and Paul grew up with and they take the time to ask the guys about their lives and what they’ve been up to since they last saw them.
I know this is a real thing in people’s lives, this caring and catching up with each other, but it’s not something I’ve ever had in my life. My mother used people and they used her. She didn’t collect friends along the way. And I didn’t grow up around caring people like this. I grew up around the kind of men and women who would hurt you before they’d hug you. The kind of people I had to always be on alert with because fuck knew what to expect from them at any moment of the day.
“Dance with me,” Wilder says after dinner when everyone is sitting around with tea and coffee. The band
his mother hired has just switched over from quiet dinner music to something a little faster.
I look at him. “You know I like to dance with you, but this song isn’t really my jam.”
He grins. “You don’t like a little Roy Orbison?”
“You do?”
He stands and holds out his hand. “I grew up with this shit. My dad loves him. But darlin’, this is your song, so get your ass up and let me show you some more moves.”
When Wilder wants to charm a girl, he sure knows how to do it. Telling me that “Oh, Pretty Woman” is my song will get him lots of points.
I let him lead me to the dance floor.
I let him take me in his arms.
I let him show me some new moves.
And damn if the man doesn’t get his sexy on. Who knew that was even possible with a Roy Orbison song? It is, but I think that’s only because Wilder’s in charge.
“I could get used to dancing with you every day,” I say.
“Get used to it, Scar. We’re making it a daily thing from here on out.”
I eye his parents on the dancefloor. “Did your parents dance a lot while you were growing up?”
“Yeah. Dad was smooth with the moves.”
I find his eyes again, my butterflies flapping all their wings when I find that green of his that is only his. “He seems to have passed that on to his son.”
The song finishes and an Elvis Presley song starts up. “Can’t Help Falling In Love” to be exact, and Wilder’s hold on me tightens as he pulls me close for this dance.
The me of a month ago would have wanted to run the hell away right now.
The me of today wants to stay right where I am.
It’s official: I’m falling for this man and I’m falling hard.
“Justin, I’m sorry to interrupt,” his mother says, “but I need your help, please.”
“We’ll finish dancing later,” Wilder says against my ear before letting me go.
“Yeah, we will,” I agree, as the zoo of winged creatures in my stomach get themselves in a flappy mess.
He goes with his mum and I go in search of Paul. I want to make sure he’s okay. We left him with family friends at the table, so I’m hoping they’re still with him.
