by Nina Levine
As I’m making my way to their table, a guy steps in front of me and puts his hands on my waist. “Hey, pretty lady. Let me buy you a drink.”
I push his hands away. “No, thanks.”
“You look like a bourbon girl.”
I see Wilder watching me. “I look like a girl who might hurt you if you don’t step out of my way.”
His hands come back to my body, this time higher with his fingers splayed wider so their tips reach my boobs. “You’ve got a real sense of humour, haven’t you, gorgeous?”
Wilder looks like he wants to come over and rip this guy’s head off. When he makes a move to stand, I shake my head at him before looking at the asshole in front of me again. “No, I don’t, but I’ll tell you what I do have, and that’s a knee that’ll hurt like a motherfucker when I shove it into your balls. Oh, and I also have a boyfriend who I don’t think likes other guys touching me. And you should know that while I’ve never seen him punch a guy, I’ve seen him after a fight and I’m pretty sure he’s hardcore with his fists.”
The guy scowls and lets me go. “You don’t have to be such a fucking bitch about it. I was just offering to buy you a drink.”
“Oh, so putting your hands on a girl and groping for her tits is all just part of being kind, is it?” Some fucking men need a good fucking smack in the face.
With that, I finish making my way to Wilder and Paul.
“I see you know how to attract assholes,” Paul says as I slide into the booth next to Wilder.
“I also know how to un-attract them.”
One of the football teams must score a point or a goal or whatever the hell they call them because the crowd erupts with cheers, deafening me and distracting Paul. I turn to Wilder, who appears to only be distracted by me, and lean into him for a kiss. His hand comes to my cheek as his tongue glides over mine deepening the kiss like he can’t get enough of me.
When he finally lets me go, I take a moment to catch my breath before saying, “Thank you.”
“For the kiss?”
I place my hand on his thigh and shake my head. “No, for letting me handle that guy on my own. I like that you didn’t come over and wave your dick around.” I kiss him again. “I also liked knowing you would if it came to it. And yes, I’m as confused by these thoughts as you probably are.”
“The only thing confusing me is how fuckin’ territorial I feel about you. I’ve never acted like a caveman in my life, but I fuckin’ might if an asshole pushes me.”
I grip his thigh harder, liking every word out of his mouth. “I told that guy you’re my boyfriend.”
His eyes flash with approval. And heat. So much heat. “Is that your way of telling me you’re now my woman?”
“Well, I’ve sampled the goods and they’re nice, so—”
“Nice?”
“Yeah.”
“We’re back to that shit?”
“I still haven’t had time to look up better descriptive words. You’ve been keeping me busy.”
“I tell you what, you spend some time searching the thesaurus while I keep my hands and mouth off you, and when you find a better fuckin’ word, you let me know.”
I grin as I slide my leg over his so I can straddle him. I then take his face in my hands and kiss him in a way that’ll muddle his thoughts as much as he muddles mine.
When I end the kiss, he says, “You got another word for me, Scar?”
My breathing picks up as I contemplate my answer to that question. This is all so new between us, and yet the way I feel about him doesn’t seem to fit with the length of time we’ve been together. I’m reminded of what Paul said once—that love doesn’t come down to time. While I’m not in love with Wilder, maybe time shouldn’t come into how I feel about him. I bring my mouth to his ear and say, “What’s the word for best I’ve ever had?”
His arms tighten around me and he rasps, “You need to move your ass off me. I refuse to be held responsible for what I’ll do if you don’t.”
I kiss him one last time before moving back to sit next to him.
Paul’s still engrossed in conversation with a guy sitting in the booth behind him.
Wilder spreads his arm across the back of our seat and says, “How was your day?”
“It turned out good after that shitty start.” I smile. “I like this.”
He takes a swig of his beer. “What?”
I motion between us. “This. Us.” My tongue ties as I try to find the words I’m looking for but being so honest about my feelings is another new thing for me, and I struggle to find those words. Wilder waits for an answer while I suddenly wish Paul would take this moment to interrupt our conversation. I mean, he’s usually so damn skilled at doing that. Turns out, not so much when I could actually use the help.
Wilder’s a smart man, though, and reads me completely. I know this when he bends his mouth to my ear and says, “I like this too. I especially like you giving me that.” He then drinks some more beer before saying, “You want a drink?”
“Yes!” God, I need one after that. Jesus.
He chuckles and motions for me to let him out of the booth.
“I’ll have one too,” Paul says.
I watch Wilder leave, checking out his ass before sliding back into the booth and exhaling a breath. Then, looking at Paul, I say, “I wasn’t made for dating.”
“And yet here you are, excelling at it.”
“Excelling might be a bit extra.”
“I don’t think so. Not if I go by how much my brother’s hung up on you.”
“Honestly, most of the time it feels easy, but then every now and then, I have to, I don’t know, I….” My words fail me again.
“Every now and then, you have to share a part of yourself that feels hard to do.”
“Yes. Like, why does that have to be a thing?”
“Well, there are alternatives to dating. I’ve heard casual sex is a thing. No dinner dates, not much talking, no soul needed.” He fake shudders. “I’m no good at it myself. Us Miller boys prefer dating where we have to share parts of ourselves.”
“Smartass.”
He turns serious. “The hard is worth it. And just sayin’, my brother knows how to love well.”
“Your brother knows how to do a lot of things well. That’s what’s gotten me in this mess to begin with.”
He laughs. “You should be grateful. I’d kill for a man who knows how to do a lot of things well. Now,” he says like he’s about to get into something with me, “we need to discuss the fact you can’t keep ignoring my texts.”
“No, we need to discuss the fact you text too much. A girl can’t be on her phone all damn day when she’s got stuff to do. And besides, I gave good conversation today. You’re all caught up on my life.” After receiving a million texts from Paul today, I called him and filled him in on everything happening with me at the moment, including the fact my sister is coming to town next weekend.
“Ah, yes, a girl can be on her phone all day. I see it all the time.”
“I promise you I will never be one of those girls.”
He rolls his eyes. “I told Justin the next time he goes looking for a woman, I’m going to find him one we can manage better than you.”
The fact that just the thought of Wilder going looking for another woman causes a rush of jealousy for me is alarming. I’ve never done jealousy and never want to. Jesus, I do need a good slapping.
“Tell me about your afternoon,” I say, wanting to stop thinking about Wilder with another woman. “Did that guy come in for a haircut?”
Paul told me on the phone today that he was hanging out for some hot, tattooed rocker-looking guy to come in. Apparently, this guy came in just after he started at the salon and has already been back twice. We spend the time until Wilder returns with drinks discussing rocker dude and how long it’s gonna take Paul to throw himself at the guy. Somehow, we circle around to my squad time today, and that’s what we’re talking about when Wilder re-joins us.
/>
He slips into the booth next to me, and as I take a sip of the Manhattan he bought me, he says, “You had a good day with the girls?”
“They were bearable.”
He smiles. “I’ll take that as a yes.”
“You should take it that I’m still not convinced Friday squad time is for me.”
“Did you get hold of Bailey’s psychiatrist?”
“Yes. That’s all sorted.”
“And your sister? Did you hear from her again?”
I drink some more of my Manhattan. “Yes, but let’s not talk about her tonight. I don’t want to think about next weekend.” I’m exhausted by Phoebe and just want to enjoy tonight without thinking about her.
Wilder nods as Paul says, “You could always come with us to Mt Isa and completely avoid her.”
“Ah, no, that weekend is your family time,” I say.
“Family time that I might need a breather from every now and then,” Paul says.
Wilder’s phone rings and he glances at it before saying, “I have to take this,” and leaving us to take the call.
“Seriously, Scar,” Paul says, “I could do with the moral support on that trip.”
“I get it, but don’t you think it’d be weird if I tagged along when I’ve only just started this relationship with Wilder. Like, who goes home to meet their boyfriend’s parents so early in a relationship?” I mean, I can barely get my head around calling him my boyfriend. Meeting his mother is a whole other thing.
Paul makes a face and waves his hand at me dismissively. “Our mum is super casual. She wouldn’t make anything out of it. And Dad will be busy with his birthday celebrations. It’ll be fun. You should more than think about it. There are still seats on the flight Justin and I are catching.”
“I’m not going, and you should more than stop asking me.”
“Ugh. I’m adding submissive to the list of traits to look for in Justin’s next girlfriend.”
“And you and I are gonna break up if you keep going on about his next girlfriend.”
His brows lift and his lips spread out into a satisfied smirk. “Well, well, well, if Scarlett McKenzie hasn’t just shown her jealous streak. I am here for this.”
I sip my drink and shoot him a glare. “You’re lucky I like you.”
He laughs. “And you’re lucky I’m gonna do everything in my power to ensure I never have to help my brother search for a new girlfriend ever again.” He raises his glass. “Here’s to being friends forever.”
I’ve never wanted to be friends with anyone forever, but I kinda like the idea of it with Paul. And damn if I also don’t think about Harlow and the squad. Also, that thing he said about ensuring Wilder never needs to search for a girlfriend again? I don’t even want to contemplate why that made me feel so fucking warm and fuzzy. I also don’t want to contemplate why the words warm and fuzzy just vomited themselves into my mind.
Clearly I need a drink.
No, clearly, I need help.
A lot of fucking help.
32
Wilder
“Wilder!” Gia waves as I approach Salty Girl’s truck at the food festival late Saturday afternoon. When I make my way over to where she’s standing just outside it, she says, “I didn’t think you were coming today. Scarlett said she’d given you strict instructions to stay away.”
“She did, but I figured you guys could do with a hand packing up.” I glance around at the crowd that looks to be thinning out. “How did it go?”
Her smile tells me all I need to know. “It was amazing. And Scarlett just checked on Salty Girl’s reservations for next week and they’re through the roof. And we’re already booked out for the next four weekends. This was the best idea you’ve ever had.”
I catch sight of Scarlett exiting the truck, and it’s safe to say my dick has reached a new level of need for a woman. I need him to rein his shit in, especially since Scarlett told me she wants to keep our relationship away from work for now.
Focussing back on Gia, I say, “That’s good fuckin’ news.”
Gia’s eyes are drawn to a group of guys placing orders with us. “I better get back to it.”
“Thanks for all your work on this, Gia.”
Her smile spreads wider across her face even though I didn’t think that possible. “It was worth all the headaches and stress. I can’t wait to do it again next year.”
She leaves and Scarlett comes over, her eyes narrowed at me like I’m in trouble. “You aren’t supposed to be here.”
“I’m the boss. I can do anything I want.”
She rolls her eyes. “You’re still recovering from all that damage to your body from last weekend.”
“Damage you ignore when it suits you. Besides, I’m recovered.”
“Maybe I won’t ignore that damage tonight.”
Fuck, this bullshit of keeping my hands off her at work needs to end because right fucking now I want them on her. “Don’t you fuckin’ dare.”
She tries not to smile or show how much she likes what I just said, and while she mostly manages that, I see it in her eyes. “Seriously, Wilder, just let us do all the heavy lifting. We’ve got enough guys here to do it all.”
“I’m not built that way, Scar. People don’t do my heavy lifting for me.”
We’re interrupted by a guy wearing a brown plaid suit that looks like it’s straight out of the seventies. His moustache does too. “Scarlett?” he says, joining us and glancing nervously between Scarlett and me.
She hits him with her best smile and practically fucking gushes, “You must be Simon.”
His nervous expression morphs into one that’s much more confident while I wonder who the fuck he is and why the fuck Scarlett’s smiling and gushing in a way I’ve never seen. “I am. It’s such a pleasure to meet you. We’ve been hearing rave reviews of Salty Girl today. I’m so glad we could get you into the festival after that initial hiccup with your registration.”
The hiccup? The fuck is he talking about?
“Oh, yes, I’m so grateful too.” The gushing just keeps on coming out of her mouth as I stare at her in a form of shock that’s got me glued to the spot, waiting to see where this all leads.
Simon looks at our truck. “Is your boss here?”
“No, he couldn’t make it,” Scarlett says, shooting me a look that says “don’t you dare fucking contradict me or I’ll cut your balls off.” I know all her looks, and this one is definitely the ball-cutting-off look. “But,” she continues, “he was also very grateful.”
“Oh, good. And I’m glad to see you didn’t lose your job.”
I cross my arms and hit Scarlett with a look of my own. One that says “what the fuck is he talking about?.”
Scarlett avoids eye contact with me, keeping her gaze firmly on Simon as she says, “I should probably get back to work, Simon. Thank you for coming over to say hi. We’ve loved today and can’t wait for next year’s festival.”
Simon’s smile could light up outer-fucking-space every fucking night it’s that bright. “Absolutely. And I’ll be sure to check in with you closer to the registration deadline so you don’t miss it again.”
As he walks away from us, I lift my brows at Scarlett. “Who knew you had it in you to be so fuckin’ friendly?”
Her glare could wound a man. “I wouldn’t have had to be if you’d remembered to register Salty Girl for the festival by the deadline.”
“What? We missed the deadline? How’d we get in then?”
“You missed the deadline. I called Simon and lied through my teeth to get him to bend the rules for us and let us in.”
“You told him I’d fire you if you didn’t make it happen?”
“I told him it was all my fault and that, yes, you’d fire me because I forgot.”
“And then you didn’t let me know I fucked up,” I say as the pieces all fall into place. This would have happened when Scarlett was still busting my balls over every little thing, back when I’d have thought she’d ta
ke great fucking joy in letting me know I screwed something important up. Moving closer to her, I say, “You were looking out for me, Cherry Bomb. I fuckin’ appreciate that.”
She makes wide eyes at me. Bossy fucking eyes. “Don’t you come any closer. And you should appreciate it. I gave up twenty fucking minutes of my life to be team player of the year for you.”
I grin, moving even closer just to stir her the fuck up. A stirred-up Scarlett is my second favourite. It follows closely after a turned-the-fuck-on Scarlett. “I’ll be sure to make those twenty minutes up to you tonight.”
She inhales sharply before taking a step away from me, saying, “I’ll be looking for interest on those twenty minutes.”
My grin grows. “Done. Now let’s pack this truck up as fuckin’ fast as we can so I can get to work on that.”
She doesn’t argue with me again, and with the help of our team, we get everything packed up, and the truck dropped back to Salty Girl. Two hours later, I’ve got a freshly showered Scarlett sitting on her couch with her feet in my lap while I massage them.
“I’ve just found the best reason for this relationship,” she says, visibly relaxing in a way I lock in my memory as a reminder to massage her feet often.
I work the balls of her feet. “You’d take my hands on your feet over my mouth on your pussy?”
She nods. “Not gonna lie, you’re talented with that mouth of yours, but honestly, a girl has to weigh up the things she can do for herself versus the things she can’t, and I’m sad to inform you that I can get myself off really fucking well, but I can’t massage my own feet as good as you do.”
I move swiftly so that I’ve got her under me on the couch. “It seems we should dedicate a fuckuva lot more time to your pussy.”
“Not until my feet are finished with your hands. And just so you know, they are nowhere near finished.”
I kiss her, warring with myself over wanting time with her lips, her feet, her breasts, fuck, with every fucking part of her. This woman has me all fucked up with need. When she pushes her hands against my chest to indicate she’s not joking about me finishing her foot massage, I relent and shift us back to how we were sitting a moment ago.