Becoming A Vincent (The Wild Ones Book 1)

by C. M. Owens

  Pride, of course, has them hoping to make it to the other side of the lake before they have to be hauled out.

  Man cards will be deducted authenticity points if they have to be pulled out. And they’re Vincents, after all. The dead chipmunk flag flies on our corner for a reason. They have a reputation to uphold.

  Benson and Liam follow behind them, and I ignore Paul when he asks me what I’m doing later.

  It’s just a pair of shorts. I’ve worn shorts before. Maybe not shorts so thin, but still…he’s a weirdo.

  I revel in the misery of my brothers as their whimpers echo back to me, and I grin in delight when they start swimming faster. I think I see their teeth chattering.

  “My balls! They’re trying to burrow up inside my stomach!” Hale groans.

  “Mine are too numb to move. I’d better not lose them,” Killian gripes.

  “I better go get some clothes before they get back and kill me,” I say to no one in particular, racing toward my cabin.

  Running, though hated, is once again necessary. I quickly pack a few things, panting the entire time, and then dart out to realize…my boat is at Benson’s.

  My eyes dart over to where my brothers are almost to the other side. Damn, they’re fast.

  I race back to Aunt Penny’s, and I jog inside to go change. And to hide. As soon as I’m done changing, I borrow the keys to her Jeep, and drive to town. Kylie Malone lives in town, and I run the chance of her being home.

  Fortunately, her green beaver flag—ha, no, don’t make this dirty—is flying, and I blow out a breath of relief as I park and race up her steps.

  “You’re missing all the fun,” I say through her door when I see her walking through her house with paint all over her—per the usual this past year.

  “I heard the beard challenge is over!” she says around a cheer. “Dad swung by to inform me this morning. But your brothers are going to kill you.”

  I push through the door, joining her as she starts to paint a sculpture, and keep all my inner thoughts about Benson to myself.

  I fill her in on the near-ice-tits encounter I had this morning, and she listens and laughs at my expense. I love our friendship.

  “I’m not really sure what it means for the town,” she says, distracted as she moves an errant curl away from her face to see better, before she dabs some red on the face of her sculpture.

  “It means all those ‘Fear the Beard’ campaign slogans are no longer important,” I joke.

  She flashes a grin. “It’ll be neat to see what the guys actually look like. I haven’t seen a face since they hit puberty, for the most part. My dad’s beard is so bad that he has to braid it when he’s working to keep it out of the machines. And watching the men in this town eat…ew…”

  I nod, wondering idly if Benson will lose his beard. And don’t announce aloud that I kind of don’t want him to.

  See? I’m sick or something.

  Maybe it’s the weather.

  I’ve always been drawn to his voice. Always loved the way he smelled.

  But until straddling him all night, I never thought about stripping him naked and having my way with him. Okay, so the thought has crossed my mind, but right now it’s like it won’t leave my mind. And that is a first.

  “What’s on your mind, Lilah Vincent?” she asks, and I sigh.

  “Beards.”

  Chapter 5

  Wild Ones Tip #469

  You have to be crazy as hell if you think you can hang with the Wild Ones. It’s rare we ever do anything the easy way.

  BENSON

  Slightly annoyed, I glance out the window again to see there’s still no sign of her before I step into the shower.

  Damn Liam. Damn beard challenge. Damn Vincent brothers.

  I woke up wondering if I was fucking dreaming this morning when she was straddling my dick like it was her job, all mussed and flushed on top of me. It was so surreal that I thought there was no way it was actually happening. No way she ground herself against me like she was in as much pain as I was.

  I almost—almost—pulled those little shorts to the side to show her what she’s been missing all this time. It was a tortured moment of indecision, because shit could have gotten awkward real damn quick.

  Then fucking Bill called.

  Damn dead chipmunks and their level of crazy. Lilah’s crazy as hell too, but she’s also my crazy girl. She never dates the cuntwads her aunt brings to her like plated edibles.

  She always sticks with me.

  Obviously she’s mine. Everyone knows it—even Paul who also pissed me off today. Why the actual fuck did she wear that outfit? It was practically see-through.

  Okay, that’s an exaggeration, but it was very fucking thin, and there wasn’t a lot that could be ignored.

  Her body was showcased.

  Her ass was practically begging to be touched.

  Then those signature combat boots of hers just set it all off like a wet dream.

  Every guy out there—sans the married and the family—momentarily forgot she was a Wild One and also forgot she was mine.

  Guys around here aren’t going after the Wild Women.

  Crazy, remember?

  Plenty of less crazy women are around town and completely single. So the Wild Girls don’t usually get that sort of attention, even if some of them are the hottest in town. Most believe the crazy-to-hot scale is tilted too far in the wrong direction.

  Personally, I wouldn’t be able to be with anyone but Lilah. Life would be too boring.

  Groaning, I curse myself. I had my opportunity, and Bill made me piss it away over those damn beards.

  Though I might have gotten annoyed with Lilah’s complete disinterest in the beard, even I have to admit it had gotten unsanitary. Eating became a chore when you had to tie back half the hair just to get the food to your mouth. A lot of fucking pointless grooming too, considering I never wanted a beard that big.

  Leaning back into the spray of the shower, I blow out a breath. I really hope she doesn’t wear those skimpy shorts around me ever again.

  Next time, I may just go through with pulling them to the side and fucking her until she realizes she’s been mine for three fucking years, even if neither of us realized it then.

  For now, my hand goes to my cock, and I replay this morning out completely differently. My hand moves as I picture Lilah waking up on top of me, grinding just the way she did.

  Only this time, no phone rings. I fist a handful of her hair with one hand, and my other hand rips those fucking shorts to the side, giving me a peek at the part of her body I want to touch with every part of my body.

  I thrust into her, and she calls out my name, while her nails scrape down my chest.

  That’s as far as I get before my knees try to buckle and pleasure spikes through my spine. My eyes roll back in my head, and my body grows lax as the hot water washes away yet another Lilah Vincent fantasy.

  I hear that loud ass Jeep of her aunt’s coming down the road, and a grin curls my lips.

  Maybe the fantasy can finally be the real fucking thing.

  She can’t hide behind my beard any longer.

  Chapter 6

  Wild Ones Tip #129

  A surprised Wild One is always a wildcard.

  Carry a helmet and condom just in case—you never know which one you’ll need.

  LILAH

  I drive back to Benson’s house, warily scouring my surroundings. I keep expecting my brothers to pop out at any minute.

  Maybe they’re still warming up.

  I pull up to his house, still half expecting the two revenge seekers to hop out with scissors and cut my hair off.

  When nothing happens, I bang on the back door. Or front door. I’m not really sure which is the back or front, considering the lake is used more in the summer than the roads, in Benson’s case.

  “Give me a second,” I hear Benson calling out from above me. “I just got out of the shower.”

  Don’t think dirty tho
ughts. Don’t think dirty thoughts.

  I look up, but I can’t see the second floor because of the porch roof.

  “Why’d you lock the doors?” I ask.

  “Your brothers.”

  Ah. Gotcha.

  “I was wondering where you went,” he calls down.

  “Sorry. Figured I’d better grab some clothes before those two thawed and came after me. Then went to town, since I had to drive around. We should have taken two boats this morning.”

  He grows quiet, and I wonder where he is, until the door suddenly swings open in front of me, and three things happen at once.

  My mouth dries.

  My heart tries to kick out of my chest.

  My entire body takes notice of the fact I’m definitely a woman.

  I eye the man before me, taking in the towel on his bare shoulder. My gaze shamelessly rakes over all the contours and outlines of the hard body he’s been hiding away.

  Abs. Benson Nolans has abs. Six of them, to be exact.

  Those fancy sweats are hanging off his hips, revealing the all-too-mouthwatering V that disappears behind the waistband, teasing me with what lies at the end.

  My eyes snap up, and that’s when I see a man too sexy to be natural. Benson Nolans has a face my vagina wants to get to know.

  Gone is the wiry, unkempt, bushy beard. In its place is an intentional, trimmed and neat beard that outlines a strong, masculine jaw. His nose even looks sexier.

  His light tan is a little warped, but I’m totally able to overlook that, because…dayum.

  His lips etch up in a smirk—and panties all over Tomahawk explode in the distance. I never realized how expressive and cocky this man is. Because it’s all been hidden under a mound of hair.

  Slowly, I take a step back, glance around at all my surroundings, then look back at him as he arches a questioning eyebrow at me. Even that is easier to see, because he apparently got a nice new haircut too.

  “Benson?” I ask, confused, hoping it’s not really him.

  Because I’m in a lot of trouble if it is.

  His smile forms, and yeah; I struggle to breathe. Why would you ever cover up that smile?

  “I can’t possibly look that different,” he says, though he has to know he’s full of shit.

  His hair is shorter—sexier. Even though it’s messy, it looks intentionally messy, and I really want to run my fingers through those dark strands.

  “Oh yeah. You can look a lot different.”

  Those same chocolate eyes as always are staring at me, and his voice is still as velvety smooth as ever. I once thought that maybe he was a phone sex operator and that’s why he keeps his money-earning ways a secret.

  “You coming in or staring at me all night.”

  Normally I’d make a smartass reply. Tonight? I blush.

  I hate this new turn of events. Maybe I shouldn’t have gotten rid of the beards, because my life is now officially complicated.

  Benson isn’t a hit-and-run type of guy. No, I don’t do that often. In fact, I’ve been with a total of four men. Some of those guys were almost boyfriends.

  Benson locks the door behind him, and he walks in front of me when my feet hesitate to move. I practically drool over his back that is just as sexy as his front.

  “You want to watch a movie or something?” he asks. “I need to run back over to your aunt’s house to help with the fireworks before tonight.”

  “Before tonight?” I ask, my eyes watching him as he tosses that towel to a basket near the fridge—total bachelor’s house.

  “Yeah. Beard challenge is over, and there’re going to be fireworks on the lake tonight to represent a new era. Your aunt’s words.”

  I grin, but I’m still staring at his body instead of his face. Finally, my eyes come up just as he turns his head.

  “I don’t want to stay here without you, since…brothers. I’ll drive over there to drop off the Jeep. Then ride back with you in the boat.”

  He frowns like he’s thinking that over. His eyes drop to my jean shorts and my combat boots. What? Combat boots go with everything, and I don’t care what anyone says.

  The frayed shorts are my sexiest pair, but I usually don’t wear them because they’re really short. Again, I don’t want to question my motives here, but I’m starting to see a very suspicious pattern.

  “Ride with me. We’ll take the Jeep back tomorrow,” he says as his eyes come back up. Then a smile forms. “You finally get your wish. The bad beards are gone.”

  Yeah, and now I worry what I’ve done to myself.

  “Paul asked me out,” I tell him, gauging his reaction closely.

  He just arches an eyebrow.

  “And?”

  Okay, so no jealous outburst. Not that I was expecting one.

  “Just found that odd.”

  Now I definitely sound suspicious.

  He grins. “If you dated Paul, I’d have to question your sanity. And he’s in a hurry to get married, so that wouldn’t help your ‘settle down without settling down’ plan.”

  My eyebrows go up.

  “What?”

  “You didn’t want to date Liam because you thought he wouldn’t settle down. Then you turned around and said you didn’t want to settle down. Can’t help but wonder if you just don’t want anyone at all right now.”

  That’s not true. But at least that means he hasn’t noticed me raking my eyes over him in a constant scandalous appraisal lately.

  “I don’t want to be treated like another notch by someone I have to see regularly, but I also don’t want a serious relationship.”

  He shrugs while looking away. “Why’s that?” he asks, sounding casual as he picks up a shirt and tugs it over his head, covering up that secretly perfect body.

  “Because of the pressure.”

  He turns to face me, his eyebrows going up in confusion. “Pressure?”

  “It’s Tomahawk,” I groan. “You get a boyfriend, people start constantly asking when you’re getting married. You get married, people bombard you with questions about when you’re going to conceive. You pop out a baby, people want to know when the next one is coming out of you.” I take a deep breath. “Pressure.”

  He laughs outright, and I narrow my eyes at him. It’s easier to remember this is Benson when he’s laughing at me.

  “So you don’t want to date anyone, because of peer pressure to have babies?”

  “And to get married,” I remind him. “But yeah, also the baby fear. My mother and Aunt Penny were twins. Fraternal twins, but still twins. I’m one-third of a set of Triplets.”

  He looks adorably confused. I love being able to read his expressive, sexy, very distracting face.

  “Triplets, Benson,” I repeat. “My family is known for popping out multiples at one time. I’m not ready for one kid, much less multiples.”

  He grins broader. “It’s funny how you think it’s anyone’s decision other than yours. Just tell people to leave you alone.”

  “You need to remember that you haven’t dated anyone from here. Trust me. The pressure gets to you. I broke up with my ninth grade boyfriend—”

  “Who?” he interrupts, brow creasing.

  “Tim—”

  “Tim Forrester?” he asks incredulously.

  “He was hot in ninth grade. Pre-beard.”

  He just looks at me like I’m crazy. “Did you have sex with him?

  I make a sour face. “Ew. No. I didn’t have sex until I was seventeen and living in Seattle.”

  He shakes his head, looking away, acting like he doesn’t want to hear that part. It’s totally an overshare, so I get it.

  “Anyway, I broke up with him because his mother was constantly asking when we were getting married. It was shortly after I lost my parents—can you say insensitive, by the way? Best decision I ever made, because Tim was married the day Rebecca turned eighteen.”

  His lips purse, his eyes on me again. “Not everyone has parents living here. Not all mothers would pressure you
like that.”

  “Aunt. Penny.”

  His smile cracks on that one. “Touché.”

  “So are we going or not?”

  “You wearing that?” he asks, his hand gesturing to my shorts.

  “It’s summer.”

  “Still gets cool at night in the summer,” he says, eyeing me.

  He’s right, but I’m committed to showing some leg right now. There’s a reason I borrowed Kylie’s shower to shave my legs before I left her place.

  He seemed fascinated with them earlier, and I did get that weird date request from Paul—who is terrified of my brothers and doesn’t particularly like me. All from a little extra leg.

  My hair is fixed now, since my shower. I even donned a little makeup. Not that he’s seemed to notice. Annnnd I’m back to feeling self-conscious. Not cool.

  Maybe he should grow that beard back until I know how I feel about whatever he’s doing to me.

  “You coming?” he asks.

  Loaded question.

  Usually, I skip right up to him, not the least bit intimidated. But now…totally intimidated.

  He leads me out the lake-facing door, and I swallow as he tosses his arm around my shoulders before locking his door. He’s put his arm around me a thousand times. Never once has it felt like more than a friendly gesture.

  His intentions are still friendly, but mine seem to be the ones obscured.

  “So the face is better than the beard?” he asks, smiling down at me.

  My knees actually go weak. Not kidding. It’s humiliating when I almost fall.

  Benson quickly steadies me, looking around for a reason as to why I was seconds away from slamming head-first into the ground. “Ankle turned,” I lie, and he frowns as he looks back down at me.

  “You hurt?”

  I shake my head. “Just happens. No biggie.”

  He nods, accepting the lie, and he guides me down the dock. My tee has a ‘Fear the Beard’ logo on it, just to really rub it in. Benson seems to notice it for the first time, laughing as he hops into the boat and helps me down.