by C. M. Owens
“Of course that’s what you’d wear,” he says, smiling like it’s a good thing.
I try to ignore the way it feels when he grabs my waist this time, but I can’t. I shudder in his grip, but he doesn’t seem to notice. In fact, I think he’s blissfully unaware of my current status.
That’s utter hot mess status, in case you’re wondering.
He pulls us away, and he drives the distance across the lake to my aunt’s house. I’m all too happy to let him help me out, and he follows behind me.
My aunt walks out with a tray of cupcakes in her hands, beaming when she sees me. But when her eyes go over my shoulder to Benson, she drops the tray of cupcakes.
“Benson?” she gasps.
The cupcakes turn into ant food when they tumble around on the grass, and Benson smirks as he runs a nervous hand over the back of his neck.
“I can’t possibly look that different,” he grumbles.
“Oh yes. Oh, yes, you can,” she says while fanning herself with her hand.
The mosquitos will be out soon, so I walk off, abandoning them as I grab the unscented spray that works the best on me and spritz down. I notice my brothers glaring at me, and I smile wickedly at them.
My uncle would kill them if they touched me in front of him.
I even twirl my hair around my finger like an evil, glass-eyed dolly for good measure. Just wait until my next act of revenge on them. It’ll give me a reason to stay at Benson’s longer.
“You’re hiding from us,” Killian states flatly when he’s right in front of me.
“You idiots still need to fix my dock. And my bed. And I want my ceiling fan back too.”
“You cut off our beards, and you think we still owe you?” Hale asks, his eyes wide as he joins us. “You’re insane! My balls are still quivering.”
Their faces are clean shaven. I almost forgot what they looked like after all these years.
Two arms come around my waist, and I resist the urge to sigh as I lean back on Benson. My brothers glance at the contact, and as one, both their eyes narrow and settle on the man behind me.
“Everything okay over here?” Benson asks.
“You’re touching our sister,” Killian accuses.
“I’ve touched your sister numerous times before,” he points out.
“Yeah, but you didn’t look like you do now, barely bearded and all. And she didn’t get that dreamy look on her face before either,” Hale says calmly, but there’s an edge to his tone.
Apparently, Benson without a bushy beard is less scary to my brothers than Benson with a bushy beard. I can sort of understand that. Doesn’t make it suck less in this moment.
I actually feel the blush as it races over my body, and start praying it turns dark in two seconds, even though it’s still at least two or three hours until sunset.
“Dreamy look, huh?” Benson asks, sounding amused.
I refuse to turn and look at him. Instead, I give the death glare to my idiot brothers. Neither of them even glance at me to see it though, and they all stand a head over me, making it impossible to put my face in their line of vision even with the help of my tiptoes—that I’m pointlessly using. Short girl problems.
“What the hell is going on in your house?” Killian demands. “I thought you two were just friends.”
“We are,” Benson drawls, but he moves a little closer.
I practically feel the mockery in his tone.
“She’s our only sister,” they remind him.
“I’m aware.”
See? The few times I’ve considered dating, this has happened. It’s always mortifying and it usually terrifies any guy who even toys with the idea seeing me more than once.
“We don’t like guys who touch our sister,” Hale goes on, standing to his full, very tall height.
“You two are welcome to remove my hands from her,” Benson taunts.
They eye him, eye me, then eye where his hands rest across my middle. I bet they think of his spinning kick thingy, because I don’t see them lunging yet.
“We’ll be watching you,” Killian warns, pointing a finger at Benson before he moves to where the beer is resting in an ice chest.
I blow out a long breath, and Benson laughs behind me. “All these years I’ve had my hands on you, but I lose a chunk of my beard, so now they’re threatening me.”
I try to play it off, shrugging. “I’m surprised they haven’t threatened you sooner.”
I turn around, hoping I’m not fifty shades of red, and he grins down at me.
“Because I touch you?” he asks.
“And because I crash at your place from time to time,” I add, pressing against him a little more.
His eyes lock on mine, and I take in every beautiful inch of his face, admiring how much better it is to be this close without having a beard tickling me.
“Benson, did you bring them?” my uncle asks, interrupting our moment.
My eyes almost pop out of my head. Uncle Bill’s beard is still there, but it’s neatly trimmed, much shorter, and you can see his mouth now.
“See? He knew who I was,” Benson says, cocking an eyebrow at me.
“Actually,” Uncle Bill says, clearing his throat and grinning sheepishly. “I had to get Penny to help me find you. Didn’t realize that was you.”
Benson’s eyebrows go up, and I grin triumphantly as they walk off to do whatever.
“If he hurts you, you realize we’ll have to break both his legs.” Killian’s voice startles me, since I had no idea he was anywhere around.
Hale hands me a beer that I inspect with dubious caution before opening.
“Possibly an arm or two as well,” Hale adds.
“It’s not like that,” I say on a sigh before sipping the beer.
My eyes linger on Benson as he smiles and says something to my uncle.
“If you say so,” Killian murmurs.
“We’ll get your bed fixed tomorrow so you can get back to your cabin,” Hale says adamantly.
“That’s not the only reason I’m avoiding my cabin,” I say, narrowing my eyes. “I know you’re planning something terrible to punish me for the beard debacle.”
“We were.” Killian nods as he says this. “But that was before we realized how cozy you are with Benson. We’ll call a truce, and you can come home.”
“I don’t believe you.”
They exchange a look, then return their gazes to me.
“Seriously. Get home. We’ll call a truce on the graves.”
I swallow hard. They’re serious.
“All this over Benson? We’ve been friends for years. I’ve spent the night at his house before.”
“But he looks like a dude you’d want now. So get home.”
With that, they turn and walk away, and I flip them off to their backs as I roll my eyes and smile to myself.
“Well, I’ll be damned,” Aunt Penny says, looking out as a bunch of boats full of women cruise this way.
That’s more than twenty. When did we get more than twenty single women? Why was I not informed of this very crucial development at a time like this?
“Looks like the beardless party is bringing the women back,” she goes on.
It’s apparently also bringing in women I didn’t even know existed.
Howls and whistles sound out as beardless, or mostly beardless, men welcome the incoming hordes of women, and I sit back, watching as several start talking to Benson.
Uh-oh.
Chapter 7
Wild Ones Tip #72
Know the brand of crazy you’re dealing with. It could save your balls. Or your vagina lips.
LILAH
I’m four beers in when I consider smashing Lindy’s face in with the empty bottles beside me or cutting off her vagina lips with the broken glass.
For the past three years, at these little gatherings, I was one of maybe three women here. The women didn’t want to come to these things, and Aunt Penny made me attend.
Hell, not eve
n Delaney would come, even when I begged her, because she found it boring. Oh, but she’s here tonight.
My brothers were banned pretty often from Aunt Penny’s events, which put me on my own. Over those years, Benson and I became friends, and it was an unspoken arrangement that we’d hang out together to endure these things as a team.
Now Benson is drinking with Paul—who I didn’t recognize without his bushy red beard—while Lindy Perkins stands right up against him like I usually do. I never realized before today how much we touch.
But now that I see another woman touching him, I can’t help but feel territorial.
And I have no right.
Usually he’s shy and quiet. Or just quiet. Not tonight. His confidence is buzzing. It’s a really good look on him.
I just assumed he’d still be the same Benson even with an extra shot of confidence.
Benson looks up, catching me looking at him, and I cut my gaze away just as Liam walks toward me, a smile playing on his lips.
“There’s a face I recognize,” he says in relief. “With all these beards gone, I feel like I have to meet everyone all over again.”
I force a smile as he takes the empty seat next to me. I turn my body to fully face him, straddling the picnic table bench, so that I can no longer see Lindy touching Benson. The way I’m usually touching him.
Because they’re not friends and we are.
Time for a new friend, it seems. Benson wants to be shared, and I can’t stand the gnawing, unprecedented jealousy I’m fighting.
I’m being ridiculous. I can’t stop being his friend even if he does get a girlfriend. I’ll just have to make her life hell—simple task for a girl like me—until she’s gone.
There. Plan made. Problem solved.
“Are you relieved you’re no longer the only eligible bachelor in Tomahawk?” I muse.
His grin grows. “Yeah. Very. I’m not big on a lot of attention. Didn’t expect that in a town so small.”
“It’ll calm down now, and we’ll be a normal bunch before you know it.”
As if summoned by that promise, there’s suddenly a shrill squeal, and one of my brothers is soaring through the air over our heads, his feet running on air. Hale lands in the lake so hard the water splashes straight up like a cannon just fired from beneath it.
I turn to see the rubber bungie mess behind me that just launched him.
“You idiots griped about that water, and you build that?” I ask, gesturing to the ludicrous contraption that looks like they stole parts of a trampoline to assemble that thing.
Killian grins at me, as Hale hoots from the water, climbing out.
“Couldn’t resist. Always wanted to try this!” Hale adds.
I shake my head, and I look back over to Liam to find him laughing. “Yeah. Terribly boring.”
“Well, my brothers don’t count. They have a tendency to be anything but boring. But it usually drives you insane instead of making you laugh. Just wait until they let bugs invade your panties.”
It’s not boring at all in Tomahawk when you live close to a corner of Wild Ones, but I don’t bother telling him that. He’s still new.
His eyebrows go up at the panty remark, and I laugh to myself while shaking my head.
Hale drops another beer off in my hand as he drips cool water everywhere on his way by, and I watch him suspiciously.
“What’s that look for?” Liam asks, curious.
“He’s trying to get me drunk. Which makes me worry about the reasons as to why. Last time they got me drunk, I ended up in a canoe and woke up all the way around the double bend of the lake. My arms felt like they were going to fall off by the time I managed to paddle home.”
He snorts, shaking his head as laughter creeps out.
“I thought your aunt said she didn’t allow them over here,” he says through his chuckles.
“Beardless night is apparently the exception. I’m sure she’ll regret that before the night is over.”
“Gotcha. So a canoe, huh?” he asks, apparently wanting me to continue.
“That canoe trip took me past two of the other three corners, and I got shot with paintballs when I passed the Malone corner.”
“This odd shaped lake has only four corners?” he asks.
“Metaphorical corners. Four of them. There are probably really like forty literal corners. The wildest of the Wild Ones—”
“Wild Ones?” he asks, sitting up straighter, suddenly very interested.
I’m not sure why that rouses his interest so much, but I’m tipsy enough to continue running my mouth about Tomahawk’s system of crazy. Liam is growing on me, since he seems genuine and nice enough.
“Yes. The Wild Ones are put on very different parts of the lake to help break up some of the crazy. Vincents—my brothers and I—are on this end. Malones are on another ‘corner,’ Nickels are on another, and the final are the Wilders.”
“Wilders? You’re serious?” he asks incredulously.
I nod. “True to their name, they’re even worse than us, and that’s saying a lot, because…have you met my brothers?”
He laughs to himself. “I had no idea there was a political system on who was the wildest.”
“Yep. And the crazy scale is often adjusting to accommodate us all. My dad moved out here when he was younger, and raised the Vincent name up to full-blown heathen status with my mother at his side. My brothers and I have carried on the tradition. My aunt and uncle are only guilty by association.”
“So you’ve always lived here?”
I nod. “Mostly. Other than the one year of graphic design school. I don’t have a degree, but I learned all I needed to get my business started, and I make good money. Online, that is. Not so much here.”
“Doing what?” he asks, genuinely interested.
“Book cover design. Website design. Logo design. Anything in need of a graphic designer really.”
He flashes that smile again.
“And what about your parents?”
I go a little still, then recover quickly. “They died in a car accident when I was fifteen,” I say, clearing my throat. His face is instantly coated in remorse. “They were going to drive down to Seattle for their anniversary. Black ice on the road caught them by surprise. But at least they had each other when they died. One could have never survived without the other.”
He blows out a long, regretful breath.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t know.”
“We moved on. It’s fine. You’re not dredging up memories I can’t face. We’ve faced all of it head on with Aunt Penny and Uncle Bill. I’m just not used to someone not knowing the story.”
I glance over my shoulder to see Delaney is now talking to Benson, even though he looks less chipper now than he did before. His eyes are on me, and I offer a tight smile.
Delaney would back off immediately if I said something, but why bother? If Benson wants to have fun with other women and ignore me—the girl who has been hanging with him, beard and all, for the past few years—then he’s allowed to do that.
I refocus my attention on Liam as he leans back, running a hand through his blond hair.
“You said Malones were one of these wild families?” he asks.
“Yeah. You’ve heard of them?”
He shrugs, a small, secretive smile tugging at his lips. “Maybe. Are you enemies or something?”
“No. No Wild Ones are enemies to each other. It’s not like that. My best girl friend is a Malone. Her dad and cousins like to shoot us with paintballs when they spot us on the water, because my brothers accidentally blew up their dock last summer.”
He chokes on his beer. “How do you accidentally blow up a dock?”
“Pipe bomb. They were trying to blow a big stump out of the water, but Hale tripped, and the bomb flew out of his hand. It caught the edge of the dock just as it went off. No one was hurt, but they still hold a silly grudge.”
He laughs harder, as though he’s not believing this. It’s a true s
tory. Not even one of the most unbelievable either.
“They rebuilt the dock to be even better than it was, but a Vincent still gets shot with a paintball if they get anywhere near that dock now.”
“Damn,” he says on a chuckle, then looks around and takes a deep breath, silence falling over us comfortably.
“Never was able to just relax like this in LA. I almost moved to Seattle for a while,” he finally says.
“What changed your mind?” I ask.
“The rain,” he answers without hesitation, to which I laugh.
“The rain can be fierce here, too. We’ve just got a small, semi-dry spell before it starts back up near the end of summer.”
He nods, still smiling as he stares out at the lake. More boats are moving this way, but despite the small disturbance, it’s still peaceful.
“I’m okay with the rain now,” he says softly.
“Why’s that?” I ask, leaning up on the picnic table and bracing my head with my hand.
“The rain forces me to slow down, and now I actually want to slow down. Life has a way of changing you. And I finally realized one day that I had no real friends, my job was controlling my life, I was moving at the speed of light, yet staying in the same stagnant spot, and my money brought about some of the worst of humanity disguised as the best. The biggest eye-opener was when I got hurt in a sky-diving accident, and barely managed to walk away with my life. Saved by pure dumb luck and one crazy girl.”
“What?” I ask, genuinely interested.
“The parachute malfunctioned and opened late. I still managed to slow my speed enough to land a little softer, and also had enough time to steer myself over water. I was banged up and suffered a broken leg instead of dying. A girl diving with us that day pulled me out before I could drown.”
My heart is actually racing as he turns to face me again.
“My family didn’t call to check on me. My so-called friends didn’t bother stopping by or calling, other than the few who feigned concern. Everything fun suddenly seemed so empty, because I realized no one really cared about me. Only one girl acted like she truly gave a damn, and I barely even knew her.”
“What was her name?”