by Nina Levine
“Okay.”
He lets me go. “I don’t wanna see you back here for at least an hour. Longer is good too.”
“Or what? You’ll carry my ass outta here?”
His nod meets his amused look that I usually detest, and he jerks his chin. “Go.”
As I make the short drive to the river, with my AirPods, lunch, and tea, I wonder again who taught Wilder to make tea, because that man knows how to make tea. I then give myself a good talking to over the fact I’m spending time thinking about that and direct my attention back to my brother and how I’m going to get him to agree to rehab.
Harlow: How are you today? How’s Bailey?
Me: Good.
She switches from texts to a call.
“I’m busy,” I answer. Wilder loaded me up with a stack of jobs when I returned from lunch.
“You know you’re never getting away with telling me you’re good when I know good isn’t a word you use. What’s going on?”
“Maybe it’s a word I’m gonna start using.” I squint at my iPad. “Shit, you’re distracting me. I almost ordered ten thousand packets of napkins. Wilder would, for sure, lose his shit if I did that.”
“So are you going to tell me how you really are, or am I going to have to use special methods to get that information?”
No one needs Harlow to employ her special methods. “I’m worried about him.”
“Are you stressed? Do we need a debrief?”
“We do not need a debrief.”
“I could bring Tim Tams.”
“I already have Tim Tams and am quite capable of getting more.”
“I could make chocolate cake.”
“Let me guess, you could also deliver a unicorn if I decide that’s what I really need.”
I hear the smile in her voice as she says, “You know I would, Scar.”
I exhale a long breath. “Okay, I have two things for you, and then you need to let me get back to work. First thing, I was super stressed over Bailey last night, but somehow Wilder helped me work through it. And before you try to get into a big conversation about that, I don’t know how he did it, and I don’t wanna know how he did it. Second thing, don’t ever say yes to Chelsea for yoga. That shit is all kinds of fucked up.”
Harlow laughs so loudly I have to hold my phone away from my ear. “I heard you’re going back for more on Wednesday.”
“That is yet to be confirmed.”
She laughs again before turning serious. “Is there anything I can do to help you?”
“Yes, hang up. I’ve got shit to do and am running out of time in the kind of way that will lead to Wilder making my life a living hell if I don’t hurry up.”
“I’m going, but I expect you to tell me if you need help. I will make your life a living hell if you don’t.”
“I don’t doubt it,” I mutter as we end the call.
It’s been a busy day and I’m ready to go home and sit with my plants and drink copious amounts of tea. I also have to go home and talk with Bailey. I think that’s possibly making my exhaustion feel ten times worse. It’s not going to be an easy conversation. My brother shares the same stubborn streak all our family has.
“Scarlett.”
I look up at the sound of Nash’s voice as he enters Trilogy.
Oh, joy.
I don’t dislike Nash, but we didn’t get off to a good start when we first met, and we never really moved past that. He can be an asshole when he wants to be.
“Nash.” I return his greeting and hope he’ll keep on going, but he doesn’t.
“I need you to find a way to make me a booking for dinner on Saturday night.”
“That’s definitely something I can help you with, Nash. You just get online and look for the word Reservation on our website and click that—”
“I’m not a fuckin’ idiot, Scarlett. You’re booked out, so I need you to make it happen.”
“You want me to just magically make a table appear? How about a unicorn too? Harlow just told me she can make them appear whenever I want. Poof, and you’ve got your very own pink and purple unicorn. Or how about green? While I’m out in the wilderness finding you a table, I’ll get her onto that.”
His lips flatten. “Don’t fuckin’ worry about it. I’ll get Wilder to sort it out.”
“There’s nothing to sort out.” Fuck, it pisses me off when people do this. I know how to do my job. “If we’re booked out, we’re booked out. Not even Wilder can help you.”
“Help with what?” Wilder asks as he joins us, a knowing expression on his face. He knows I have little time for Nash. He also knows the feeling is mutual.
“A reservation for Saturday night,” I say. “Nash thinks they can just be plucked off trees.”
“Fucking hell,” Nash says, sounding like he’s gearing up to throw his weight around.
Before he can do that, Wilder says, “We’re fully booked Saturday, Nash. I think Salty Girl has something.”
“Velvet wants to come here.”
“We can put you on a cancellation list,” Wilder says.
“Fuck, Wilder, we own the fuckin’ place,” Nash says.
“Yeah,” Wilder agrees, his own irritation flaring. “And the reason we own it is to make some fuckin’ cash. Pissing customers off so you can get a table isn’t gonna do that.” He pauses before adding, “Scarlett’s in charge of the cancellation list. I’m sure she’ll put you at the top of it if you’re nice to her.”
With that, he leaves us.
I stare after him for a long moment, processing what just occurred.
Nash cuts into my processing when he mutters, “He needs a new dick. His is fuckin’ defective.”
“Shall I order you that green unicorn when I add you to the cancellation list?” Asshole.
He doesn’t bother answering me before scowling one last time and exiting the restaurant.
I take that as a no to the unicorn but a yes to the list.
And I can’t deny that I’m smiling on the inside over Wilder taking my back.
After adding Nash to the list, I finish up all the jobs Wilder gave me on my return from lunch. I get through everything faster than predicted and am feeling pretty fucking good about that because it means I can finish work an hour earlier than I thought.
“You look like you just won the lotto or something,” Wilder says when I drop by his office to tell him I’m finished. He’s got that country music of his playing, and even it can’t kill my happy buzz.
“What song is this?”
“Did you fall and hit your head?”
I can’t stop the smile that steals its way across my face as he gives me the words I gave him the other day. “What is it?”
“‘Refrigerator Door.’ Luke Combs. You like it?”
I listen for a few moments. “Maybe, but I’m not committing to that.”
He chuckles. “You going home?”
“Yeah. I took care of everything you asked me to. Brody’s coming in early tomorrow and will also do that shift on Thursday you need filled. Don’t forget to get back to Gia with your thoughts on her menu. Trust me when I tell you she’s sitting by the phone for those thoughts. Oh, and also, you two need to settle on what you want Salty Girl to sell at the food festival. That’s only three weeks away and we need to get sorted for it now.”
“Fuck. The festival,” he says, looking all kinds of stressed. This confirms it was definitely him who forgot to get that application in, rather than me. I’m in a good mood so I let that go.
“Yeah, the festival. I got the application in and can help you guys if that’d take some pressure off.”
He runs both hands through his hair, and I do my best to ignore his biceps. A ridiculously stupid goal in life. Wilder works out like a mad man. I’ve never seen him in action, but he’s always coming and going from the gym, and a girl only has to take a look at him to know he dedicates good time to his body.
Today he’s wearing a dark grey T-shirt that stretches across his mu
scles so tightly it looks like it might be in actual pain. I could rescue that shirt. I mean, it looks like it wants to be rescued. It looks like it’s having trouble breathing in much the same way I am.
“It’d be great if you could get with Gia and work out the food for the festival,” Wilder says as I think about him and his shirt and my inability to draw breath.
I work through each word he says slowly, struggling to get through them thanks to his muscles. When I finally do, I shake my head. “Uh-uh, no, that’s not gonna work.”
He frowns. “You just said you’d help.”
“Yeah, and I will, but Gia has this thing where she likes you to taste her food and make the decision about what will appear on her menu. She’s not about me doing that. So you take point on that and then I’ll take over.”
His lips spread out in what can only be described as a sexy grin. “Look at you managing the staff. Careful or they’ll start getting away with shit.”
“You know I could throw something at you right now if I wanted to, right?”
His grin keeps fucking dancing across his face. “Yeah, but you don’t want to throw anything at me.”
“Maybe I do.”
He stands and walks around his desk, coming closer than is safe. “I’m pretty fuckin’ sure I’m not at risk.”
We’re both in harm’s way, and as much as I know I should dig deep to find the will to resist him, I can’t.
Fortunately, his brother interrupts us, stopping Wilder from whatever he’s about to do.
“This is good timing,” Paul says from the office doorway.
Wilder’s gaze cuts to Paul, slowly, like it pains him to do so. “How so, little brother?” His tone leaves me no doubt that he doesn’t agree it was good timing.
Paul doesn’t miss his tone. Arching his brows as he glances between us, he says, “Oh, my bad, did I interrupt something?”
Not wanting to go there—because fucking Danger, Will Robinson!—I blurt, “No, I was just about to go home. Your timing is perfect.”
Paul looks at Wilder. “You’re finishing up soon, too, yes?”
Wilder nods. He appears uncharacteristically impatient. “Yeah.”
“This is great news, friends, because I have the best news for you both.”
If anyone else acted over the top like Paul does, I’d roll my eyes so hard they’d smash their way through my head, but for some unexplainable reason, I’m into him. I think it’s because he’s also somewhat salty. The way he sprinkles acid in just the right amounts speaks to my little black heart. And I barely know him yet. I’m looking forward to seeing more.
“Are you gonna share it with us or tease us?” I ask.
The glee on his face matches that of the other night when he told us it was his favourite night of the year. I wonder if he’s about to break into song in order to break the news to us. “My absolute favourite drag queen is in town tonight for a show, and you both absolutely must come with me. Dinner and drinks on a Monday night is the best way to start a week.”
The glance Wilder and I share tells me neither of us saw that coming. It also tells me he’s not against this idea.
“I can’t,” I say. “I need to stay home tonight.”
Paul looks at me like I’ve just spoken in a foreign language. “What could you possibly have on at home that would be more fun than hanging out with the Miller boys?”
“I have to talk with my brother about something important,” I say, keenly aware of Wilder’s intense gaze on me. Goodness, when that man wants to make a woman feel all kinds of something good that she can’t even accurately label, he makes sure to get the job done.
“How long will that take?” Paul asks.
“Paul,” Wilder says, his tone holding a warning.
Paul ignores him. “The show starts at seven, but it won’t get really warmed up for a while. Could you maybe make it later?”
With a quick shake of his head and another warning sent his brother’s way, Wilder says, “Let it go.”
Paul looks like he wants to argue with Wilder, but he doesn’t. He also doesn’t continue pushing me, which I like. So much so that I find words coming out of my mouth of their own accord.
“I’ll see if I can make it,” I say.
Paul’s eyes light up and he whips out his phone. “What’s your number? I’ll send you the details.”
I rattle off my number and Paul gets to work sending me the information.
I look at Wilder, finding him watching me like he’s trying to figure out if I actually plan to meet them at the show. My thoughts circle back to the conversation we were in the middle of when Paul turned up. The one where Wilder came almost as close to me as he did yesterday when his thumb rubbed over my hand.
“Okay, I’ve gotta go,” I throw out, suddenly a hot mess over thoughts of Wilder’s thumb.
Jesus, it’s like I’m a schoolgirl with a fucking crush.
I’m losing my shit over his thumb?
I need tea.
And a slap in the face.
And maybe we should throw a lobotomy in for safe measure.
The way I rush out of the office proves I’m right to suggest that last option.
Fuck me, is it Tuesday yet?
10
Wilder
I suck back some beer as I watch my brother enjoying the fuck out of himself at the show. Seeing Paul happy like this is a highlight of my day. And that’s saying something, because before this, my highlight was Scarlett flirting with me in my office, so that’s a hard highlight to beat.
I was twenty-one when I went to my first drag show with Paul. Right before he moved out of the house we shared in Brisbane and moved to Sydney. I didn’t know what to expect that night, but what I experienced has ensured I say yes every damn time he invites me to another show.
Paul struggled with his sexuality growing up. Who knows for sure, because assholes live everywhere, but I don’t think living in a country town helped. I watched him try to figure himself out, struggling myself with that. I took on the role of older brother all over the damn place, looking out for him wherever I could. But a brother can’t be everywhere at once. I know shit happened to him that he’s kept to himself. I still catch that in his eyes every now and then when he thinks I’m not looking. Hanging out with him at a drag show or with his friends lets me experience my brother as far from that pain as possible. It allows me to be a party to his peace.
“She’s gonna be on any minute now,” he says, leaning towards me, eyes lit with excitement and his entire body looking like it could take off and join the stage any second.
Paul detailed Lady Toxic’s life story for me while we sat through four other queens doing their thing. The only thing I’m still to know about her is how often she takes a shit.
He continues vomiting facts about her while we wait for her to make her appearance. I try like fuck to take those facts in, to give him my full attention, but my brain keeps swerving to thoughts of Scarlett.
I didn’t expect her to show tonight. If there’s one thing I know about her for sure, it’s that she’s top of the class when it comes to avoiding her feelings. And we’ve stirred some shit up the last few days.
I stayed with her for a good hour last night after Bailey calmed down and watched TV. She shared Tim Tams with me and drank three mugs of tea while telling me a little about Bailey’s drug use and her fears for him. He’s used meth on and off for a decade since his mother gave him some for the first time at sixteen. I don’t know anything about Scarlett’s mother except that. It’s a piece of information, though, that doesn’t lend itself to me wanting to learn more. Except, she’s Scarlett’s mother, and since I want to know a whole hell of a lot more about Scarlett, I’m gonna want more on her mother too.
I left Scarlett’s place last night without bringing up what happened between us at the clubhouse. I wanted to, but she had too much on her mind with her brother. Then today, the opportunity didn’t present itself because work was hectic. That was un
til late this afternoon in my office when she waltzed in more relaxed than I’ve seen her in a long time, asking me about the song I had playing. She usually grumbles her way through my music. I took the opportunity for what it was, but my brother’s arrival put an end to that.
“You could pretend to listen to me,” Paul says. “I know I’m not who you wish was here, but—” His attention is suddenly diverted to the stage as Lady Toxic finally comes on. “Oh. My God. I die for that dress! Die!”
I look at Lady Toxic. I would die in that dress. How the hell she’s even breathing is beyond me. The red glittery dress she’s slapped to her body sits so snugly to her chest and waist that I’m not convinced she won’t need mouth-to-mouth at some point tonight.
Paul’s hand smacks against my arm as his excitement works its way through his limbs. I fully expect him to have trouble staying in his seat—he’s that worked up. Lady Toxic begins, and Paul looks at me to say something; however, his gaze drifts past me and his mouth snaps shut as fast as it opens. His eyes light up more than they already are, and he jumps out of his seat as he exclaims, “You came!”
I turn and lay eyes on Scarlett.
Fuck me.
My dick loses his shit as I run my eyes over her.
Paul is falling the fuck over himself at her arrival while I resist the urge to throw both her jacket and mine over her.
Lady Toxic doesn’t miss a moment of any of this.
“Honey,” she says from the stage, looking directly at Scarlett. “Maybe you could have worn some clothes with those fishnets?”
I fucking agree.
The crowd eats it up in the way drag crowds do.
Lady Toxic continues as Scarlett takes my seat at Paul’s order and I move to the seat next to her. “I have to admit I’m a little jealous. I’d be in all kinds of pain if I wore jeans that low and tight against my Mount Majesty. But hell, I wouldn’t hesitate if it meant my man looked at me the way yours is looking at you. He’s getting a little frothy there thinking about your sticky bun and all.” She lifts her hand to shield her eyes like the light is making it hard for her to see. “I think maybe I’ma send a strong drink over for him. To help him get through Lady Toxic before he can get his hands on Lady Jane.”