by Roxie Noir
“He really just said congratulations?” Grayson asks.
He’s on the couch opposite us, his feet on a marble-topped coffee table that probably cost more than my monthly rent.
“Yep,” I confirm, leaning back against Wilder’s shoulder. “That’s weird, right?”
“It’s weird for most people,” Wilder says, taking another sip of his cocoa.
“Is he pissed? Upset? Angry? Hurt?”
Wilder and Grayson just look at each other and then shrug in unison.
“It’s a fucking mystery,” Wilder mutters. “Is he man, or machine?”
“It’s not that bad,” Grayson says, but I can already tell the defense is halfhearted.
“No?” Wilder says, looking into the fire. “Not as bad as the time he told me why I nearly died in a plane crash and he had to have his attorney present to make sure he didn’t accidentally admit fault?”
Grayson ignores that and looks at me, his gaze steady. I take another sip.
“Look, Imogen, it’s not you,” he says. “I don’t think he noticed when I got into college or when I graduated. I know for a fact his secretary got those cards and he just signed them, but you should see the man read a positive quarterly report.”
Wilder just snorts.
“He lights up like a goddamn Christmas tree,” Grayson muses, looking into the fire again.
“It doesn’t matter,” Wilder says, kissing my hair. “Everyone else loves you.”
A while later, Grayson goes to bed, and it’s just Wilder and me, on the couch, with the fireplace and the view of Solaris, spread out in the valley below, lights blanketing the soft white of winter.
“You know, I never really thought I’d leave,” Wilder says.
We’re both a little drunk and pretty tired. We should go to bed, but it’s so nice and warm right here, so lovely to sit in the dark with a fire and a view that neither of us wants to move.
“Leave Solaris?”
“Yeah. I mean, I knew I was leaving once I joined the Navy, but I didn’t think it was permanent.”
I snuggle into him, the mulled wine still faintly winding its way through my veins.
“Do you want to come back?”
He laughs softly, his chest like a tiny earthquake.
“No,” he says, his voice steady and sure. “I liked it here because it was easy to be a big fish in a small pond, but that’s all. Turns out there’s way more out there in the world.”
He kisses the side of my head.
“Stuff like weird nerd girls who get very excited about newly-discovered mating behaviors of large shaggy mammals.”
“I was here,” I say, pointing out the obvious.
“You never belonged here,” he says, tilting his head back against the couch. “You needed a bigger pond.”
I laugh.
“That’s one way of putting it,” I say. “If it helps, I never thought I’d find much good in this place.”
“Can’t blame you for that,” he says. “This is pretty good, though.”
“It is,” I agree, snuggling down. “Against all odds, it really is.”
A memory drifts to the surface of my mind suddenly, like garbage floating to the surface of a lake: Melissa, on her couch in her den, casually mentioning that she was having dinner with Wilder’s family.
God, back then I was so jealous I must have turned bright green. But right now, remembering it and sitting next to Wilder myself, the memory suddenly doesn’t hold any power over me.
I don’t attach anything to it. I don’t wonder, even for a split second, whether his parents would rather see him marry her than me. I don’t think how unfair it is that I had to wait almost thirteen years just to hear a totally unexcited congratulations from Marcus Flint.
I’m over it. I really am. Nothing that happened back then has any power over me anymore.
“We should head to bed too,” Wilder says, his voice sleepy.
“I love you,” I say.
“I know.”
I laugh, burying my face into him, wrapping one arm around his waist underneath this blanket.
“Are you ever going to let me forget that?”
“Do you mean I should take it out of my wedding vows?”
“You’re impossible,” I tease.
“That’s why you like me so much,” he says. “If I weren’t, just think of how fast you’d get bored.”
“I would never.”
“Liar. You like a challenge, Squeaks, and you know it.”
He kisses my forehead.
“It’s one of the things I love about you, you know.”
The fire crackles. My eyelids are drooping, warm and comfy under this blanket, and for a few moments I’m back in that hunter’s cabin in the middle of nowhere, the two of us buried under sleeping bags on that cot, Wilder’s body still colder than it should be even after a few hours.
I don’t think I’ve ever cried harder in my life than I did that night. I was terrified of having to go on alone, sure, but I think I’d already fallen back in love with him.
Deep down in my heart, I knew that there was one person for me, and even though he was the last person I was hoping it would be, I couldn’t bear losing him already.
“Bed?” Wilder asks, slowly rubbing my shoulder. “Gray said something about a Christmas Eve snowshoeing expedition tomorrow, and we should get rested up for that.”
“Is that his idea of fun?”
“Yes,” Wilder laughs. “You know all the survival advice he gave me for next time I get stranded after a plane crash.”
I sigh. We get off the couch, toss the blanket back onto it, grab our mugs from the coffee table.
Before I can step away, Wilder takes my face in his hand, brushing his thumb across my cheekbone. He’s highlighted by the fire, orange light flickering across the chiseled lines of his face, casting deep shadows.
“Thank you, Squeaks,” he murmurs, and kisses me.
I don’t even ask for what. It doesn’t matter.
I just kiss him back.
The End
Acknowledgments
To my squad: Amelia Wilde, Joanna Blake, Vivian Wood, Tabatha Kiss, Iris Morland, and Vivian Lux for being a bunch of badass authors and women. If I didn’t have you guys around, I think I’d have lost my mind long ago.
To my beta reader, Kat, and my editor, Sennah, for calling me on my shit and making me write better books every single time.
To the Roxettes and all my readers, because you’re the greatest group of readers on the planet and I’ll fight anyone who says otherwise.
And finally, more than anyone, to Mr. Noir and my tiny little family. Love you.
Roxie
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Logan and I are friends. That’s it. Just friends.
Sure, he’s really hot. Yeah, he’s got biceps I’d like to lick and a smile that makes me feel all fluttery inside. And yeah, even though he’s the strong, silent type, he still manages to make me snort-laugh at least once a day.
Particularly if I’ve had a couple of drinks.
I did drag him to this Halloween party, and we are getting drunk, but it’s no big deal. Nothing’s gonna happen. Because we’re just friends.
Best friends. The kind of friend I can’t risk losing over something dumb like a drunken kiss, no matter how bad I want to try it just once.
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I lost her once. I can’t lose her again.
Fighting wildfires is dangerous as hell. If I f*ck it up I get a hundred-foot wall of flame coming at me with nowhere to run, no escape, and no rescue - but it’s still the best damn job in the world.
Clementine’s that ex. The one I haven’t seen in eight years. The one I thought I was going to marry until she dumped my ass while I was on active duty in Afghanistan.
The one who’s suddenly next door when my crew has a few days off in her tiny town, and who’s impossible to ignore.
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No feelings. No strings. No falling for anyone.
I’ve been clean for months, but my record company’s not satisfied. Apparently it isn’t enough to only kick a heroin addiction - they’re insisting that I find a girlfriend as well.
If I don’t, they pull Dirtshine’s massive record deal.
It’s supposed to show that I’ve changed my ways, that I’ve turned over a new leaf, all that rubbish. But I’ve had it with suit-wearing wankers telling me what I’m to do, so I’m on the verge of telling them to go f*ck themselves.
And then she shows up.
Marisol locks me out of my own concert by accident. She’s wearing a suit at a rock show, searching for her lost law school textbook, has no idea who I am…
...and for the first time in years, I’m hooked.
She’s smart, driven, and utterly gorgeous. The sort of girl who earnestly believes in following the rules and hates when others don’t.
I’m a huge rock star, recovering addict, and general f*ckup.
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Some fairy tales start after midnight.
The crown prince and I have nothing in common.
He's a rugged, battle-hardened soldier who spent four years in an elite military unit. I met the King and Queen for the first time wearing leggings and a sweatshirt.
But there's the way he looks at me, eyes blazing with hunger. Like he knows every dirty thought I've had about him - and he likes them.
I don't know how long I can resist.
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About Roxie
I love writing sexy, alpha men and the headstrong women they fall for.
My weaknesses include: beards, whiskey, nice abs with treasure trails, sarcasm, cats, prowess in the kitchen, prowess in the bedroom, forearm tattoos, and gummi bears.
I live in California with my very own sexy, bearded, whiskey-loving husband and two hell-raising cats.
www.roxienoir.com
[email protected]
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