Becoming A Vincent (The Wild Ones Book 1)

by C. M. Owens

  He narrows his eyes at me, and I mimic the motion. He rolls those eyes before looking back down at his plate, and I push my food aside as I finish eating.

  “I notice I have a distinct lack of facial hair,” Liam says, eyeing the fifteen or so other men. Yes, it’s me, Aunt Penny, one baby-smooth skin Liam, and fifteen-ish beards.

  “Get used to it,” I grumble. “I was fifteen when this started,” I add, gesturing to everyone, and once again tugging on Benson’s beard, ignoring the sting when he reaches back and pinches my side in punishment. “That was nine years ago.”

  “When what started?” Liam asks curiously.

  “The beards. All the fucking beards,” I groan. “It’s a town-wide challenge. The first one to cut their beard has to swim naked across the lake during the summer. That lake stays cold. Like really, really cold. Even in the summer.” I gesture around like I’m pointing to the current season we’re in. “So they all look like mountain men.”

  Benson chuckles, and I roll my eyes.

  “You all grew those for a challenge?” Liam asks, pointing at some of the hideous bushes they wear with pride.

  “A true Tomahawk man never backs down from a licensed challenge,” my uncle says with an affirmative nod.

  A few grunts follow that, also sounding affirmative.

  I half expect the men around the table to start beating their chests like gorillas at any moment.

  “Licensed challenge?”

  No one answers that, because, well, Liam is an outsider, after all.

  “They’d rather their faces look too similar to Sasquatch than worry about bothersome things such as ever getting laid again.”

  “I get laid,” Tim pipes up.

  “You’re married,” I deadpan. “And God bless your wife.”

  They all chuckle.

  “So I have to grow a beard?” Liam asks, his lips twitching.

  “No. It doesn’t apply to anyone who comes in now. Not that it matters. Only one person comes to live here every ten years or so. But it seems like it doesn’t matter to the now corrupted young ones either. A guy hits puberty, and he joins in on the challenge, even though it’s years’ old.”

  I glare at my uncle, the douche nozzle who instated the challenge and put it to a vote with the committee. He flashes a toothy grin at me through his beard.

  “Did I mention I hate beards?” I add.

  Benson bristles beside me.

  “Your pretty, smooth face will be very much sought after,” I tell Liam.

  Again, Benson bristles.

  Liam smirks before shrugging. He’s cute, but neither of us is interested in the other, and there’s zero chemistry between us. I’m cool with that, even though it’s terribly tragic to pass up such a perfectly smooth face that would feel good to rub all over.

  I burrow into Benson a little better as I try to pinpoint what’s not working for me with Liam.

  My girly parts haven’t perked up and paid attention to him, so it’s their own fault they’re being deprived such a beautiful specimen.

  “All the smart girls love beards,” Paul says across from us. We went to school together, yet he looks like he’s ten years older—because of the unkempt beard.

  “Ha! Yeah. I’m sure that’s why all the single women—myself included—don’t touch the scraggly beards here. You guys don’t even trim them. You can barely see your eyes. It’s not enticing.”

  “No trimming allowed,” my uncle goes on. “Not until someone loses.”

  “To be fair,” Paul inserts, “no one thought the challenge would last this long. I was fifteen when it started. I’m twenty-four now.”

  I look to Liam, while still leaning against Benson, who is now a little stiffer than usual. Maybe he’s mad about me insulting the beards.

  Despite what they say, they’ve all gotten attached to the unruly wiry hair on their faces.

  “I can remember my fifteen-year-old brothers standing in front of the mirror and willing their beards to grow. It was just patchy stubble for the first few years for them, but they were in it to win it.”

  “So you’re telling me the women—”

  “All twenty of us who aren’t married and under the age of fifty,” I butt in.

  “—are so shallow as to not like us because of the beards?” Joey—a guy two years older than me—asks as he strokes that long, blond beard.

  “We’re not shallow for expecting normal grooming habits,” I point out. “You can’t see anything but a lot of beard. We don’t even know what half of you look like.”

  “That’s shallow,” Paul pipes in.

  “No. It’s not. It’s not unreasonable to ask you to trim the damn thing. Would you want to touch a girl who had hairy legs she showed off with pride? Legs so hairy that you could hide popcorn in them?”

  They all give a full body shudder, including Benson.

  Benson has grown unusually quiet. Well, not unusually. He’s always quiet unless it’s just the two of us, but he’s also staring down at his food.

  “Duck Dynasty guys have hot wives,” Paul declares like he’s starting a debate, holding his fork toward me, and deliberately not answering the hairy legs question.

  Double standard, if you ask me. I have to shave my legs daily during the summer. No one sees them in the winter, so the shaving becomes more sporadic then. But you still can’t lose popcorn in them, damn it.

  “They were married before the beards, and their wives loved them. It’d be shallow to leave because of a beard.” I tap my chin. “What about a girl with hairy armpits? The hair would be long enough to braid. Could you find her attractive?”

  No one answers, but again, they all shudder in disgust.

  That’s what I thought.

  “The point is, you expect women to groom our freaking limbs, yet you think we’re all supposed to overlook the fact your face is a complete mystery, because it’s heavily guarded by that brush pile you all call beards. Who wants to grind on a face like that?”

  They all look to my uncle just as Aunt Penny tugs his beard. “I love the beard,” she coos. “And I grind all over it all the time.”

  Just…ew.

  “She was married pre-beard too,” I say just as a bunch of accusing beards swing my way. “And in love prior to the beard. He could grow a gnarly hunch on his chest, and she’d pet it, thinking it was adorable.”

  It’s true. They’re still sickeningly in love.

  My uncle grins at her and tugs her closer. At least I think he’s grinning. Always hard to tell because…beard.

  A few mumblings go on after that, and I sink against Benson’s side, growing increasingly tired now that the adrenaline from the cougar episode is wearing off.

  “So how long have you two known each other?” Liam asks, gesturing toward me and Benson as I fight to keep my eyes open.

  Benson, who’s been quiet until now, shifts his arm and turns his body so that I can lean against his chest and get more comfortable. His arm comes around my waist, tugging me closer when I start to sag.

  “Since I was twenty-one,” he says gruffly.

  “Which was how long ago?” Liam lets the question trail off.

  “He inherited his family’s vacation cabin across the lake that they rented out but never stayed in but on occasion,” my aunt supplies. “When he was eighteen, that is. But he kept to himself for the first year or two. I think…how old were you when you met Benson?” she asks, looking over at me.

  I force my eyes to open wider. “Eighteen. Like he said, he was twenty-one. He was already bearded. The challenge had been going on for three years,” I say around a yawn.

  “I didn’t know she existed before then,” Benson says with a shrug.

  “I spent a year in Seattle,” I explain. “Learning graphic design. I graduated from school early—at seventeen—and lived with a friend of my mother’s for a year until I turned eighteen and came back home. But we didn’t become real friends until three years ago.”

  Liam nods and looks
to Benson. “And what do you do?”

  Everyone looks at Benson. Even I tilt my head back, looking up at him with a grin. He grunts and looks down at me before looking away, squeezing me to him a little more.

  “No one knows,” I say with a smile, returning my gaze to Liam. “At least, no one knows what he does for money.”

  “What do you do?” Benson volleys, glancing over at Liam.

  Liam’s lips twitch. “I should get going. I still have to unpack. Thank you, Penny, for the invite. It was nice to meet my neighbors.”

  “Where are you staying?” I ask, feeling Benson tense again.

  What’s with him?

  His arm tightens around my waist, and I study Liam beside us.

  “I bought the Morris cabin.”

  My jaw falls open. The Morris cabin is just as big, if not bigger, than the ridiculously huge cabin Benson owns. Both are like cabin wet dreams.

  Sometimes I spend the night in Benson’s cabin just to be spending the night in Benson’s cabin. Because I love it. It’s awesome.

  “That’s about a mile from me,” I note. “Same side of the lake.”

  He grins, Benson mutters something, and Liam stands, bidding everyone farewell.

  “Come on,” Benson says, lifting me with him as he stands.

  My feet hit the ground, and I glance back as all the men start covering the leftovers and cleaning up for Aunt Penny.

  “I’ll get you home,” Benson informs me with that no-nonsense tone of his. “And I’ll have a talk with your brothers.”

  “You gonna club them over the head with your beard? Because I’d watch that. Might even change my stance on beards.”

  He shakes his head, his arm going around my shoulders, and we leave the partiers behind as he tosses his rifle over his back, the strap coming across his shoulder.

  Benson is a big guy. Not in the chubby way. Even in the summer he wears jeans, and he always has on a loose shirt. His arms are solid, but not overly muscular.

  I really like his arms. They’re totally arm porn material.

  He’s tall. Like 6’3 or so. That’s what I mean by big.

  I glance back, seeing Liam board his fancy bass boat, and note he’s about the same height.

  “You into him?” Benson asks, noticing my line of view.

  “Nah. Too pretty.”

  He snorts derisively.

  “So beards are too ugly, but smooth faces are too pretty. In other words, you can’t be satisfied.”

  I elbow him in the ribs, and he tugs me closer.

  “He’s model pretty,” I go on. “Saw plenty of the like in Seattle. Didn’t do anything for me then either. Guys like that are fun for a minute, but they never settle down.”

  “Thought you didn’t want to settle down. That’s what you keep telling Penny.”

  Yeah. I totally just stepped into that shit pile, didn’t I? Must’ve been something in that food.

  “I don’t. But I also don’t want to be used and treated with the same respect a blowup doll gets either.”

  He looks down at me like he’s studying me, then shakes his head and focuses back on the trail. The bass boat blares by us, and I offer a wave to Liam as he passes us.

  “Why didn’t you just drive me over on your boat?” I ask Benson.

  “Because your dock needs to be fixed before I dock there again. I’ll come work on it next week.”

  “You don’t have to. I can get those dicks to do something. It’s their dock too.”

  “They’re the reason it needs to be fixed,” he says, sounding a little angry.

  “They’ll fix it. They always do,” I say around another yawn.

  “And then I always re-fix it. Might as well cut out the middle man.”

  I don’t bother arguing.

  Right as we get to the cabin, I decide I’m really going to kill my brothers. All my underwear is hanging from my porch, on tiny little nails, and dangling.

  Benson practically turns to stone.

  “What the hell?” he asks.

  “They’re dead,” I bite out.

  “Why would they—”

  “Because I burned all theirs after they wrecked my bed.”

  “But why would they—”

  I turn to face him. “Because bugs, Benson. Bugs. I’ll be too freaked out to ever wear those again, because…bugs.”

  I shudder dramatically, and he arches an eyebrow. Do you have any idea how many places bugs can hide? Or how small they are so as not to be noticed?

  My vagina is sacred!

  “Guess I won’t be wearing panties for a while,” I say on a sigh.

  For some reason, Benson drops his rifle.

  Chapter 2

  Wild Ones Tip #115

  Never trust a Wild One unless you’re a fan of reckless endangerment.

  LILAH

  My two dark-haired, bushy-bearded brothers are blinking at me innocently as I berate them for over an hour. Benson talked to them before he left last night, and so they built my bed today.

  All day.

  They kept me out until it was finished.

  Only…

  “This bed takes up my entire room! I don’t even have a mattress to fit it! I asked for a double.”

  They continue to stare at me with wide-eyed innocence.

  “Fix it!”

  It happens too fast for me to stop it. Suddenly, they’re up and out my door, a fog of laughter in their wake.

  I’m going to kill them.

  I’m not sleeping on my mattress when it’s on the floor. I get a little freaked out. I know it’s irrational, but I feel like I’m more accessible to bugs if I’m on the floor.

  I can’t sleep on my couch. Last time I tried that, I woke up sore all over. It’s not even comfortable to sit on anymore. It was a hand-me-down from someone else, who got it as a hand-me-down from someone, who also got it as—

  You get the idea. This couch has been around since listening to Elvis was considered scandalous and poodle skirts were all the craze.

  My one-bedroom cabin has no other options, and I grumble while walking out the door. I’m sleeping in a bed, damn it. And not Aunt Penny’s guest bed, because she and my uncle have been hella loud since I can remember.

  I’m still traumatized from hearing their sounds.

  After our parents died, we moved in with them. At fifteen. The year the beard challenge began.

  I often think the beard challenge was to give my brothers something to focus on other than the ache we all had. It seemed to work.

  My aunt and uncle were thoughtful and considerate for a year, knowing we’d suffered a loss, which, so had Aunt Penny. My mother was her twin.

  But after that year, they seemed to forget we could hear them fucking for ten miles away.

  No thank you.

  Instead, I walk on my creaky dock, untie my boat, and carefully climb down, praying it doesn’t collapse—the dock, I mean.

  And I drive across the lake to Benson’s beast of a home. He has five extra rooms, and all of them have comfy beds. He has family come once a year, but I never see them.

  No one does.

  They stay at the cabin, and Benson doesn’t invite anyone over. The lake is big enough that you can’t see faces from across it either, at least not without the help of binoculars.

  Yes, I’ve used them. I’m curious, so what?

  Never seen more than a glimpse of the elusive Nolans family since I never know the exact time of their arrival. Benson just goes dark, and the town knows his family is in.

  He even ignores me when they’re here, and I’m his best friend. The second they’re gone, he’s at my house, picking me up, and taking me fishing or something. And he never talks about them at all. Trust me, I’ve tried to pry.

  It makes me suspicious…sort of like everything.

  I dock my boat, tie it off, and walk up the fifteen steps to his door. I bang on it for several minutes before it swings open, and Benson arches an eyebrow when he sees me.

&
nbsp; “What have they done now?” he asks.

  I love his voice. It’s always so smooth and deep, but not creepy deep. In fact, it’s that sexy deep that I used to react to. Total voice porn. I’ve trained my body against it. Mostly.

  Because it’s Benson. My mysterious friend Benson.

  The guy I need in my life to keep me sane and doesn’t mind being in my corner of crazy.

  “My bed’s too big for my mattress, and my couch isn’t any more comfortable than it has been all week. If I don’t get some quality sleep, I may kill someone, starting with the two anus leeches who caused this debacle. Can I borrow a room for the night?”

  He steps back.

  “You know you can. You should have come sooner.”

  He’s in a T-shirt and sweat pants. The sweats look like quality sweats too. As though he went high-end. He always looks so different at home than when he’s outside with all our friends.

  Obviously I don’t mention it aloud. As I said, he never tells me anything.

  “I’ll come fix your bed tomorrow. They’re just doing it to irk you now,” he goes on.

  “No need,” I say sleepily. “I’ve got something planned. Something major. I’ll be staying here after I do it, because I’ll need your protection.”

  He laughs under his breath. “My protection?”

  I nod as he follows me up the stairs. “Which room?” I ask as he pulls me away from the wall I’ve leaned against and started falling asleep on.

  His arms reach down and lift me like I’m weightless, and he cradles me to him as he finishes carrying me up the stairs. I really love how he smells.

  Always have.

  It’s comforting and refreshing, and…Benson.

  I’m really tired.

  The last thing I remember is touching something soft, my body being covered, and something suspiciously resembling a tickling kiss is pressed to my head.

  The next thing I know, I’m waking up to bright sunshine and the sound of pans rattling. My body feels as rejuvenated as I feel. I don’t know why I didn’t crash here sooner.

  What has me stumbling over my feet as I head downstairs and into the kitchen, is the sight of Benson in a tight, black tank. Holy shit. Where’s he been hiding that body?