Nothing But Wild (Malibu University Series Book 2)

by P. Dangelico

  Planting a hand on his chest, I push and he goes back easily. Then I make a break for it, heading for the dance floor. Number 8 on my Eff-It list will never happen––nor will number 9 for that matter––if I don’t put some distance between us. He’s too much fun to be around, too much of a temptation, he’s too much period.

  Alice and Rea are gone by the time I return, and Blake and Zoe are dancing with a bunch of guys. It’s time to put my actions where my intentions are so I start dancing too. It doesn’t take long before one the guys surrounding Zoe is grinding up against my behind.

  That’s when I hear “Hey, man, she’s underage. I’d look elsewhere if I were you.”

  I glance over my shoulder at the grinder who seems seriously spooked. He glares at me.

  “H-He’s lying.”

  “She’s not worth the trouble, bro. Walk away.”

  As he’s staring me down with an expression of total revulsion, the grinder backs away, eventually disappearing into the crowd. I look up with a glare of my own and find Dallas’s smile is one for the books.

  “What d-do you t-think you’re doing?”

  “Watching out for you.”

  “Hardly, y-you’re trying to r-ruin my good time!” I shout over the music. Taking my arm, he tugs me away, off the dance floor, and leads me to the wall on the far side where it’s only slightly quieter.

  Leaning a shoulder against the wall, he crosses his arms and the t-shirt he’s wearing pulls tight, showcasing the complex network of muscles and veins of his arms. Thirsty. I’m very thirsty all of a sudden.

  Next, his blue gaze goes soft and sensual. If he thinks I’m going to capitulate that easily, he’s seriously delusional.

  “I have a deal for you.”

  Not what I was expecting but whatever. “I d-don’t n-need a deal.”

  “You don’t know what the deal is. How could you know you don’t need it?”

  “Because I d-don’t n-need or want anything from you.”

  “Well that’s not very fair. You haven’t even heard my proposal yet. How do you know you don’t want something you don’t know?”

  “You’re not going to l-leave me alone tonight, are you?”

  “Not until you hear what I have to say.”

  “Fine. G-G-Get on with it so I c-can get back to dancing.”

  “Let me be your wingman.”

  I’m speechless. For the first time in my life I am legit speechless. One minute of silence passes. Two minutes pass. “I d-don’t get it…”

  “You’re giving me rides to the shelter.” He shrugs like all this makes perfect sense. “In return, I’ll be your wingman.”

  “My wingman?” I repeat. I don’t know if I should laugh. I mean, he’s funny. This proposal is hilarious. The scary thing is, I think he’s serious.

  “You still working on that list? How many do you have left?” I say nothing. I admit nothing. “Huh…” He studies my face. “I take it that means all of them.”

  “I g-got a makeover, didn’t I? And the Ferris wheel. I got that one d-done––” I snipe defensively. Yeah, I’m losing this argument or whatever you call this, this negotiation.

  Reaching out, he takes a piece of my hair and tugs. “You look beautiful,” he says without missing a beat. “I like the makeover.”

  Wait…did he just throw it out there that he thinks I’m beautiful? And I’m supposed to roll with it like the plate tectonics of the planet haven’t just shifted? What kind of game is he playing?

  “What kinda g-game are you playing?”

  He looks momentarily confused. “No game.” He leans in for a closer look, eyes narrowed. “Are you drunk?”

  “No!”

  “Then I’ll repeat myself because you’re hard of hearing tonight. I wanna help you.”

  “You w-want to h-help me with m-my list…are you drunk?”

  “You wanna be bad, right? I know bad.” He proudly pats his chest. “I’m the king of bad. All I’m sayin’ is––that’s my department. Let me help you be bad.”

  I giggle because, dear me, he is serious.

  He leans in, his mouth inches from my ear, and murmurs, “Say yes, Dora. I know you want to.” The silky purr slides over my skin, pebbles my nipples, and makes me shiver. Then he looks into my eyes and smiles. And that look, that devil-may-care look, seals the deal.

  What do I have to lose? Except possibly my heart. But I’ve already tried it the safe way and it hasn’t worked in my favor. That’s why I throw caution to the wind.

  “Okay…you’re on.”

  “Good.” He takes my wrist and leads me away again.

  “W-Where are we going?”

  “To dance.”

  And irrepressible smile grows on my face. I. Am. In. Trouble.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Dora

  “Come over at six,” Dallas says as soon as I answer my phone.

  “In t-the m-morning?”

  I am not an early riser. Not even a little.

  “Dory”––a heavy sigh filters through the phone––“do you, or do not want to learn how to surf?”

  “I do.”

  “Am I not the best surfer you know?”

  A grin stretches my lips apart even though it’s midnight and I’m half asleep. Turning in bed, I face the closet where the Cat Woman costume reminds me that I know how this boy’s lips feel. How they taste. What his sighs of pleasure sound like.

  “I dunno, I hear R-Rea’s pretty…” My words fade at the mention of Reagan.

  He’s gone, took off the day after the night at the club, leaving Alice without an explanation. Only a letter telling her to move on without him and the pink slip to his Jeep. As much as Dallas tries to hide it, I know he’s worried. As much as he tried to disguise it with humor, I know he misses him terribly.

  “H-Have you heard from him?”

  He takes a deep breath. “Nothing.” A full minute later. “I’m worried.”

  “I know…I-I think he n-needs to forget all of us for a while.”

  I know that’s what I used to do when life got overwhelming. My Kindle is a testament to that.

  “Maybe…be here at six.” That’s his cue that he doesn’t want to talk about it anymore. I’ve gotten pretty good at reading his tea leaves. “And insubordination will be met with punishment, young grasshopper.”

  Punishment? What kind of punishment? And why does that sound appealing?

  I really need to cut back on the dark erotic romance. One thing is for sure, if anything were to happen to me and my parents checked my Kindle they would question whether they raised a monster.

  “You r-really need to stop with the K-Kung Fu marathons and f-find s-something else to watch.”

  “That’s Cole’s thing. I’m merely a bystander,” he explains while I role play the punishment in my head. “Anyway, Master orders you to get your cute ass to my place tomorrow morning or face the consequences.”

  All I heard is that he thinks my butt is cute. “Y-You’re taking this wingman s-stuff v-very seriously.”

  “When I make a commitment, I keep it. Besides, corrupting the innocent is my superpower.”

  Truth hidden in plain sight, under the guise of humor. Dallas is not full of beans. He keeps his word and shows up. His work at the shelter is a testament to that. I’m not even sure what Vi and Mika would’ve done without him. All the construction he’s helping with has kept costs down. Then there was the mysterious donation of thirty-thousand dollars in cash a law firm sent the other day on behalf of a client that wishes to remain anonymous. He refuses to admit it, but we all have a good idea where it came from.

  “Dallas…” I start, remorseful, ashamed at how much I underestimated him. Like everyone else in his life, I expected nothing other a vain, shallow boy. When in truth, I haven’t even begun to reach the depth of him.

  “Yeah…” He exhales and I can feel it everywhere. As if we’re connected in some profound way that I can’t explain.

  This is the part where
I learn you can’t break old habits all at once. Where I take a step backward. For all the progress I’ve made, there’s still a lot more work to be done.

  I feel the words get trapped in my throat, the letters stalling, the stammer starting. So I give up, retreat, chicken-out. “Nothing. Thank you.”

  He yawns and I know he’s about to fall asleep too. “Anything for you, D.”

  “See you t-tomorrow.”

  “Nite, babe.” His voice fades.

  Babe. It’s the last thing I remember before sleep claims me as well.

  “Nice pictures,” I say, standing in the middle of Dallas’s bedroom admiring the framed photos of surfers that cover the walls. He disappeared into his massive walk-in closet without explanation a minute ago and I’m patiently waiting to find out why.

  This house is insanely big. You could fit my entire house in Del Mar in his bedroom alone. And obviously decorated by a professional. The style is modern. Masculine. Though it’s cozy. His bedroom is done in shades of blue with simple oversized furniture.

  He returns holding a black wet suit. “Brenda found them. She decorated the house.”

  I scrutinize the neoprene with suspicion. Seems tight. Revealing. It’s way too early in the morning for me to be stuffing myself into anything this tight. Even with all the walking miles I’ve logged in the past few months, I am not by any stretch of the imagination thin.

  “You w-want me to wear this?” I’m not even trying to hide my discomfort at the prospect.

  “Good work, detective. What’s next, the Epstein case?”

  A giggle breaks free. “He d-didn’t kill himself.”

  And now we’re both smiling like loons, which makes me forget that I’m nervous.

  Taking the wet suit from him, I turn it upside down, try to stretch the material between my hands. A pang of jealousy hits fast and hard and my smile falls. Has he done this before?

  “W-where did you get this?”

  “I bought it for you when I picked up the surfboard.”

  It’s definitely my size. Glancing up, the innocent look on his face makes me feel like garbage for assuming the worst about him.

  “Oh…y-you d-didn’t have to buy me anything.”

  “I know I didn’t have to. I wanted to.”

  He’s so darn sweet. I don’t deserve him. Not even as a friend. “Do I h-have to wear it?”

  “Yeah. You don’t want to know what’s been running into the Santa Monica Bay. If I told you, you’d never step foot in the water again. Get dressed and meet me on the beach.”

  “Gross.”

  “Trust me, young grasshopper,” he intones, smirking as he walks backward to the door. “Would I steer you wrong?”

  “No.”

  He squints. “No, Master.”

  And with that, an irrepressible smile is back on my face. “No, Master.”

  Five minutes later, my dark red toes are digging into the sand, carrying me to where Dallas has both our surfboards set up. I glance out at the grey, unwelcoming water. One heaping portion of hepatitis coming right up––and I asked for it.

  “Ready?” he says smiling big.

  I give him a wide tight smile in return. “Ready.”

  An hour and a half later, I’m ready for a long nap, my hair smells like seaweed, and I’m not sure I ever want to surf again. “A-And you d-do this all the time? Why?”

  He smirks. “Once you get the hang of it, it won’t be so exhausting. Your muscles will get used to working with the energy of the ocean and not overcompensating for it––ever hear of go with the flow?”

  “I t-thought I was in better shape,” I say wheezing.

  “Aren’t you running?”

  “I d-don’t run ever,” I tell him.

  Try strapping two watermelons to your chest and go for a run, I want to say to him but refrain. He’s been so patient with me he doesn’t deserve me snapping at him.

  “I s-speed walk.”

  Stumbling out of the water, I lie down on the sand and make a sand angel or two. “This is m-more my style,” I say, staring up at the daisy chain of clouds above.

  Dallas lies down next to me and gets up on an elbow, a soft mischievous smile on his face. “You wanna go to dinner tonight?”

  Oh crud. I have a date tonight. Andy, from my Advanced Chem class. I’m actually kind of excited about it. Well, I was up until now. Why do I feel super uncomfortable telling him?

  “I c-can’t…”

  “Lab?”

  “No…” Shoot. I feel bad. Guilty even. And that, in in of itself, is so wrong. We have no claim on one another. “I-I have a date.”

  His smile vanishes. His brows slam together. “A date?” His tone implies someone dropped a stinker and that someone is me.

  “N-Number seven on the list.”

  “Riiight…the list. With who?”

  “A guy from m-my chem class. Nobody you know––j-just a n-nice guy.” Why did I say that? What on Earth possessed me to say it like that? “But any other––”

  “No, that’s cool. Good for you.”

  Standing, he brushes his hands together, cleaning the sand away while avoiding eye contact.

  The sinking sensation in my gut gets stronger. “Dallas––”

  “Let me know when you want to do this again.” He finally meets my gaze head-on, his eyes glowing vivid blue in daylight. Then he walks away, heading for his house.

  Dallas

  “C-can I come in?”

  Dora’s standing in the doorway, blinking up at me like she’s got something on her mind and it can’t wait. My eyes travel down her body and hit on a few major key points.

  A: she’s wearing a royal blue slinky dress and she looks hot.

  B: her hair is down and parted to the side and she looks hot.

  C: she has make-up on and she looks hot.

  None of these things make me happy. In fact, my mood, which was already on the verge of crap, gets darker. “How was your date?”

  “It was nice. Thanks for as-sking. C-can I come in?” She tries to look around me––probably wondering if I have a guest––so I cross my arms and lean into her line of sight.

  “Oh…” The amusement drains from her face, her expression sobering instantly. “You have c-company. Sorry, I-I-I’ll go.”

  “No. No company,” I’m quick to correct. Why? Who the fuck knows. It’s not like we owe each other anything.

  Her eyes lift to meet mine, and her glossy lips curve into a gentle smile. “So…c-can I come in?”

  She blinks those big brown peepers at me and I lose the fight to hold onto my bad mood. Even worse, I want to kiss her. There’s nothing worse than knowing how great it is to kiss her and not being able to do it again.

  I step aside and she walks past me, heading straight to the kitchen like she’s done it a hundred times. I realize then that I like her feeling comfortable in my house. I want her to feel at home here. Heels clicking the entire way, I watch her hips sway, the blue dress hugging her ass. I am royally fuu––

  “Hey, D. What’s up, girl,” says my suddenly inconvenient roommate.

  “Hi, Cole.”

  The fact that Cole Peterman––the biggest chick hater I have ever known for reasons not a single one of us can figure out––has taken a liking to Dora and turns on the nice guy routine whenever she’s here irritates the shit out of me.

  He’s making himself a Nutella sandwich when I walk in. The sight of the jar alone is enough to turn my stomach.

  “Dude, we have a lady guest. How about you put a shirt on?”

  Cole chuckles. Then sensing my lack of humor, his smile drops. “You’re serious?” When I don’t answer, confusion blankets his face. “You don’t have one on, either.”

  “I’m…” Damn, I hadn’t thought this one through.

  “I’m leaving anyway,” he jumps in to fill the void. “Just grabbing a snack on my way out.” Then he winks. The dude winks. Translation: booty-call.

  Naturally, I’m forced t
o call him out. I can’t have Dora thinking he’s a stand-up guy. “Kacey or Madison?”

  “Neither.” He smiles widely.

  I watch his eyes travel down Dora’s body while he slaps the chocolate spread on two slices of bread and a sick feeling churns in my gut. I know what he’s thinking. I know because I’ve thought it too.

  “You look nice,” he says to Dora. “Hot date?”

  “Yup.”

  Yup? This morning he was a nice guy. Now he’s hot?

  “You said he was just a nice guy?” Jesus, I need to take it down a notch before she starts to notice I’m feeling irrationally possessive.

  Examining my face, she frowns in question. “H-he is…both t-those things.” Then turns back to Cole. “What’s g-going on w-with you?”

  “Just busy being awesome.”

  She giggles. “T-That must be a lot of work.”

  “You bet it is.”

  “Don’t you have something to say to me?” comes ripping out. Both of them turn and stare. Yeah, not my finest moment.

  A beat later, a smirking Peterman slowly and deliberately screws the top back on the Nutella jar while staring me down. He places the dirty knife in the dishwasher––still staring me down. Then he says goodnight to Dora, walks out of the house chomping on his sandwich, and eyeballing me the entire way with a look that warns I’m going to pay for this later. He’s on to me. I’m never going to hear the end of it.

  The front door closes and the kitchen is suddenly very quiet. Dora fidgets, laces her fingers together in front, and glances around avoiding eye contact. I can’t bring myself to make her feel better, to put her at ease, when I’m still pissed about having Peterman suck up all of her attention.

  “It’s k-kind of private,” she says quietly. “D-do you think B-Brock will be home soon?”

  Probably, he was meeting someone at the library to study. I nod. “Let’s go to my room.”

  I walk ahead because I can’t watch her luscious ass and think straight at the same time. I’ve never been good at denying myself anything I wanted, and I’m not about to test the strength of that muscle now. Not when I’m holding onto my sanity by a very thin thread.