by Nina Levine
Chelsea and I swap numbers so she can text me the class info, and I agree to turn up on Monday morning. Everyone then exchanges goodbyes and hugs, mentioning something about a get together at the Storm clubhouse on the weekend. I try my best to slip out without the hug-fest but fail. By the time I get to Harlow’s car, I feel like I need to lock myself away in my flat for a week to recover from all this talking and laughing and planning and hugging.
It was a lot.
“Thank you for coming today,” Harlow says softly as she starts her car.
Her tone catches me by surprise. As does her thank you.
“Why are you thanking me?”
“Because I know this isn’t something you would normally choose to do. I love that you said yes.”
I give her a pointed look. “Well, you didn’t really give me a choice.”
“I hate to admit this to you, but you always have a choice where I’m concerned. I talk a good game and make out that I’m definitely not taking no for an answer, but I would never make you do something I thought you really didn’t want to.” At my arched brows, because I really didn’t want to do this, and yet she still made me come, she adds, “You have to admit you didn’t put up much of a fight today. You grumbled a bit and tried to argue with me, but you gave in pretty easily.”
She’s right; I didn’t put up much of a fight.
I’m going to need to dissect that, but for now, I go with “You caught me on a bad day. I needed the distraction. And honestly, I’m not convinced girl squad is for me.”
She gives me the Harlow smile that tells me she believes she’s right but that she’s gonna let me think I am. “Do you wanna talk about your bad day?”
“Jesus, no. Just take me home. I need a nap after everything you subjected me to.”
Half an hour later, I’m home and restless. I don’t want to watch TV. I don’t want to read. I don’t want to nap. I don’t want to do anything. Mostly, though, I don’t want to be alone with my thoughts, so I grab my keys and make the short drive to Trilogy.
The restaurant is busy tonight. Busier than I thought it would be. We must have had a lot of last-minute reservations, because we didn’t have this many when I left yesterday.
“I recall telling you I’d carry your ass out of here if I saw you today,” Wilder says when he spots me at the bar. I’d hoped to zoom on in undetected and help the staff out back, but here he is, clearing glasses from tables—something he rarely does.
“Why are you working the bar?”
“I’m meant to be here today. That’s why I’m working. You, on the other hand, are not meant to be here.”
“Yes, you’re meant to be here, but not clearing glasses. If you’re down staff, I can help.”
“We’re not down staff.”
I glance around and note how light on team members we are. “You are. I’m helping.”
Before he can continue arguing with me, I rush out to the staff room and find one of the dark grey uniform shirts.
I’ve got my tank over my head so I can change out of it when Wilder’s voice sounds from the door. “Christ, anyone could walk in on you, Scarlett.”
I carry on with getting changed, not sure why he sounds cranky all of a sudden. “So?”
“So maybe use the bathroom to get changed.”
His tone catches my attention and I stop to look at him. I’ve got the grey shirt on but not buttoned up yet, and Wilder’s eyes are not on my face. No, they’re glued firmly to my body. Seeing him watch me like this causes something hot and electric and completely unfamiliar to race through me.
Caught off guard and feeling all kinds of weird about this situation, I snap, “It’s not like I’m naked. I think everyone here has seen a bra before.”
His eyes cut to mine. “That might be the case, but let’s not start something where everyone feels like they can just whip their clothes off in here whenever they want.”
“Are you serious right now? There’s no one here but you. If seeing me get changed makes you think you can whip your clothes off in here whenever you want, I’ll be sure to pull you up on it, okay?” Jesus, he’s tripping on some strange shit tonight. That’s the only reason I can come up with for what he’s just said. Also, can he please stop it with the way he’s looking at me? It’s all heat and intensity like I’ve never experienced from him. I’m not coping over here.
Those lips of his flatten like I’ve seen a million times before. “I’m serious as fuck. There’s a reason bathrooms exist.”
Again, his tone stops me. I don’t know what the hell’s going on in his head, but he has never spoken to me like this before. He’s way more forceful than usual.
I finish buttoning the top. God knows how I manage to do that because I’m kinda flustered by everything going on. “Right, got it. You don’t like looking at bras. You might wanna whip your clothes off in here in future. And you’re serious as fuck about all this.” I salute him. “I’ll be sure to lock all that information in my amazing memory so I don’t forget to use the bathroom. No one wants to show off their bra and potentially steal your thunder when you’re in here stripping for everyone.”
I sail past him as fast as I can. It’s fairly easy to do because I’ve managed to shut him the hell up and bewilder him all in one go. He pretty much just stares at me as I exit the room.
And me? I’m bewildered too.
I don’t know what just happened between us, but it needs to never happen again.
Not in this lifetime. Not in my next lifetime. Not in any of my lifetimes.
It’s one thing to find Wilder hot with all those muscles he insists on having, but it’s a whole other thing to feel whatever that feeling is I just felt.
I busy myself serving in the bar. Wilder doesn’t come back in here for hours, which gives me time to get my head together.
We’re smashed with customers, and three hours pass fast.
Just after 9:00 p.m., I finish up and get changed back into my tank. I then do something I don’t usually do after a shift; I pull up a stool at the bar.
I’m still not feeling myself after my earlier interaction with Wilder. I can’t get what happened out of my head. That pisses me off because I know I’m going to spend half the night thinking about it, and thinking about Wilder isn’t something I want to do.
“You look like you need a drink, girlfriend.” I glance up to find a guy I don’t know sliding onto the stool next to me, a knowing look in his eye. “Did he break up with you? Cheat on you? Tell you he’s moving to another country? Or wait”—his eyes widen and he fake gasps—“did he tell you he’s gay?”
A smile pushes its way through to my face. “I don’t know who the fuck you are, but I like you.”
He shrugs. “It’s understandable. I get that a lot.” He looks at the bottles of alcohol lining the shelves of the bar. “What’ll it be? My shout. And don’t think you’re getting out of telling me what he did. I’ve got all night and a fondness for stories that involve assholes we can’t live without.”
“This story definitely has an asshole, but the reason I can’t live without him isn’t a sexy fun reason.”
He brings his attention back to me, his eyes filled with mischief. “Oh, this story involves denial too. One of my favourites in any story featuring an asshole. It really amps it all up, don’t you think? So much delicious tension.”
I can’t help it; I do something I rarely do. I laugh.
He smiles. “You have a beautiful laugh. We need to hear more.” He claps his hands together, his dramatic flair captivating me. “Right, drinks. And then stories and laughter. Tell me what you want.”
My assumption is this guy is gay. I’m 99 percent sure of that. My gaydar isn’t usually off, but a girl can be wrong sometimes. I don’t want to be wrong here because I don’t want him to hit on me. I mean, he’s hot. No doubt about that with his muscular build, dark hair, strong jaw, and inked skin. The jeans and black T-shirt he’s wearing curve over his muscles in all the right ways, b
ut I don’t feel an ounce of attraction to him. I need to be sure of what’s happening here before I continue talking to him.
“I only ever drink Manhattans, but I never let a man I’m not interested in buy me one. I hate sending mixed signals.”
His smile grows. “Oh, how boring. I always let men I’m not interested in buy me drinks. It keeps life interesting.”
I laugh again.
This guy needs to come here more often.
I swivel on my stool so I’m facing him. “What’s your name?”
He opens his mouth to answer my question but is distracted by something behind me and doesn’t have the chance to share his name before Wilder joins us and says, “Don’t let him convince you to drink all night and then get up on a stage in drag and sing all the songs from Priscilla, Queen of the Desert. I promise you you’ll regret it in the morning.”
I stare at Wilder. “You two know each other?”
Wilder grins, glancing at the guy. “Just a little.” He looks back at me. “I spent my childhood getting in trouble for all the shit he did. I can’t count how many wooden spoons I took for him.”
My mouth falls open. Well, not literally, but in my head it does.
This fun guy who I actually like, when I rarely meet a person I like straight away, let alone at all, is related to Wilder, who is the most difficult and testing man I know. Seriously? Maybe they’re not related. Maybe they were childhood friends. Neighbours perhaps. That seems more likely to me.
And also, who is Wilder right now? Is he being playful or am I imagining that?
Have I been existing in an alternate universe the last few days? He’s not acting like himself at the moment.
Or wait, maybe he’s on his man-period and I missed the alert on that.
“How do you know my brother?” the guy asks.
Holy. Fuck.
They’re legit related.
Mind blown.
I look at Wilder, trying to forget the thing that happened between us earlier that shall never happen again, and failing epically. He’s smiling at me with those piercing green eyes of his that I’ve never really spent much time looking at to notice how nice they are.
He needs to stop smiling like that.
Right now.
I cannot be held accountable for my actions if he doesn’t.
The same unfamiliar feeling he caused earlier is back. It’s sitting low in my belly and high in my chest, and all the way down my arms. Not to mention what it’s doing to my legs. It’s pulsing and zapping and darting all through me, robbing me of any sensible thoughts I have. It has also rendered me incapable of walking. If I have to move off this stool, I am absolutely certain I will fall flat on my face.
“You okay?” Wilder asks, looking at me with concern.
The fact he’s turned me from the smart woman I am into this mess of I-don’t-know-what-the-fuck-is-happening-right-now has me snapping, “Yes, I’m okay. I mean, I still don’t know your brother’s name because you cut in on our conversation right before he could answer me, so maybe you”—my eyes cut to his brother—“or you could enlighten me.” I make wide eyes at them both, indicating they need to hurry up and hand this information over.
His brother laughs and looks at Wilder. “You’ve outdone yourself this time, Justin. I like her.”
“Your name’s Justin?” The question bumbles its way out of my mouth before I can stop it. I’m not sure why I’m fascinated and stunned and basically in a fucking dither over this discovery, but I am. Also, what does his brother mean by he’s outdone himself?
Wilder eyes me like he’s still concerned about me. “Yeah. You sure you’re okay? Do you need some water?”
I throw up my arms. Mostly because I need to get some of this wild energy out of me, but also because they kinda just take over and end up in the air. “I don’t need water. What I need is to know all the names I didn’t know existed a moment ago.” I stab a finger in the air at both of them. “Tell me all your names.”
Wilder’s brother looks like he could burst into song at any moment he’s got so much glee on his face. After what Wilder said about singing in drag with him, I don’t doubt this for a second. “This has just become my favourite day of this year.” He holds his hands up like he’s sending prayers to the heavens. “Favourite!” He drops his hands and continues. “I’m Paul Angus Miller, and my brother is Justin William Miller. And you are?”
“She didn’t ask for middle names,” Wilder mutters.
Paul hits him with a look I’m proud of. “She asked for all our names. I took that to mean middle as well.”
“I knew I liked you for a reason, Paul,” I say. “I’m Scarlett Anne McKenzie.”
“Scarlett, it is an absolute privilege to meet you,” Paul says, and everything I hear in his voice settles warmly in my chest.
I’m not sure how it is that I’ve just met him because it feels like I’ve known him for a long time. I don’t understand this, and honestly, I’m not even going to try. I’m sure crazy is the verdict I’ll come up with if I do, so it’s best left unquestioned.
“Right,” I say to Paul, “I’m ready for that drink you promised me. We’ve got a lot to talk about.”
6
Wilder
I’m looking at Scarlett, but it’s like I’m looking at a woman I’ve never met. When I left her and Paul half an hour ago so I could take care of a situation that came up, she was acting a little weirdly with her hand-throwing in the air and her wide eyes and her demand for names, but now she’s behaving in a whole other way. A way I’m drawn to.
Her eyes meet mine, shimmering with a look I’ve never seen before. I wouldn’t call it delight, because no one would ever use that word and Scarlett’s name in the same sentence, but fuck me if it doesn’t look like delight. “Why have you kept your brother to yourself the entire time I’ve known you?”
Yeah, something fucking odd is going on here. If I were a man who believed in supernatural shit, I’d say she’s been possessed.
Paul answers for me. “I’ve been living in Sydney. I just moved to Brisbane last week.”
“For work?” Scarlett asks.
Paul nods. “That and it was time for a change. The hairdressing scene down there got a little too much for me.”
Scarlett reaches for her cocktail. “Oh, how boring. I was settling in for a story about an asshole who drove you out of Sydney.”
I stare at her.
She’s definitely possessed.
It’s the only explanation for what’s coming out of her mouth.
Paul grins. “Sorry to disappoint. There’s no story that involves an asshole. All I have for you is the story about how I chose Brisbane because my brother wouldn’t stop harassing me to move here.”
Scarlett looks at me. “And you said your story doesn’t involve an asshole.”
Paul’s grin turns to laughter. “He’s a pretty tame asshole. I’ve met worse.”
Scarlett’s eyes don’t leave mine. “Remind me to look up the definition of tame. I thought it meant something completely different.”
“Ooh, burn,” Paul says, but I barely hear him. My focus is trapped in Scarlett’s web. The one she’s weaving all the fuck around me. The one she’s been weaving since she arrived tonight.
Scarlett turned up here wearing jeans that cling to her long legs and sit low on her hips. She’s paired them with a scrap of black material that clings to her chest and announces that she’s an angel. News-fucking-flash: that’s the last thing she is. When I walked in on her removing that scrap of material earlier, I almost lost my damn mind. The jury’s still out on whether I actually have lost it because it fucking well feels like I have.
“Wilder, have you got a minute?” one of our bar staff says, mercifully drawing my attention away from Scarlett.
“Yeah, just gimme a sec.” I look at Paul. “What are your plans tonight?” I wasn’t expecting him and was gonna head over to Scott’s for poker after work. But if he’s free, I’ll cancel th
ose plans.
“I’ve gotta be up early tomorrow so I won’t be staying long. I just wanted to come and see where you work.”
“Okay, I’ve got a few more things to do and then we can catch up.”
“Sounds good. Scarlett can keep me occupied until then.”
“Yes,” she agrees. “And the first thing we’re gonna cover is how you managed to get your brother into drag and up on a stage for his own karaoke show. I feel like these will be life hacks that will benefit me in many ways.”
“Honey,” Paul says, looking like he’s settling in to share the secrets of the world with her. “If you haven’t figured out that Justin’s a country boy with only three basic needs you have to meet in order to get your way, we’re gonna require longer than one night for me to help you.”
I leave them to it as Scarlett gives him a look of disbelief. Fuck knows what shit he’s gonna share with her. My brother has a tendency to dole out family stories to anyone who’ll listen. He’s in his element when holding court, and if the way Scarlett’s hanging off his every word is anything to go by, he’ll talk for as long as she wants him to.
It takes me longer than I thought it would to finish up everything I have to, and by the time I get back to Paul, he and Scarlett are engrossed in a discussion about the cost of haircuts and the one she had today that apparently fleeced her. A topic I never imagined Scarlett would have so much to say about.
Scarlett isn’t like other women; she doesn’t carry on about hair or make-up or clothes or any of the stuff the women I know go on about. She’s got all that stuff handled, but I’ve seen her eyes glaze over with boredom when a conversation with staff or the old ladies turns to these topics. She can’t exit fast enough.
“It’s a fabulous cut,” Paul says, eyeing Scarlett’s hair. “Worth every penny.”
I check out her hair, trying to figure out if it looks any different than it did yesterday. Scarlett’s hair hangs wild, an untamed tangle of dark brown waves. It begs to have fingers run through it for a multitude of reasons, the least being to tidy it. When I run my gaze down the length of those waves and note they no longer come close to reaching her ass, I realise it does look different to yesterday. I also realise I have thoughts and knowledge about her hair that I didn’t know I had.