Chapter 27
Indie
“ Q uit your lollygaggin’ and get out here!”
I slip my favorite brown boots on, grab my coat and bag from the hook, and head out the door. The handle doesn’t budge when I check that it’s locked before throwing my coat on over my shoulders.
Daytime hasn’t been too bad, but these crisp fall nights are getting colder and colder.
Hopping in the vehicle, I slam the door just because I know it will piss him off.
“Ind, don’t think I won’t take you over my knee right here,” Wild warns, putting the Bronco in reverse and throwing his arm over the bench seat to pull out of the driveway.
I roll my eyes and avert my gaze from his exposed forearm, which is right next to my head. The sleeves are pushed up on his black hoodie, leaving me with a mouth-watering view. It’s the one with the large camo logo in the center, and I wonder if he wore it on purpose, knowing it’s my favorite one that he owns.
“What’s the matter?” he questions, shifting into gear. “You look sad. Need a shoulder to put your legs on?” he teases.
My middle finger goes up between us as I narrow my eyes and smile.
Wild quickly reaches out and takes hold of the offending finger. Using it as leverage, he leans in closer and pulls me toward him. We come nose to nose now, and my eyes journey down to his parted lips as he’s about to speak.
“Do that again, and I’m gonna put this finger somewhere else, little firecracker.”
A rush of adrenaline courses through me, and I jerk my hand out of his hold.
“You wouldn’t dare,” I quip—when really I want to say, I dare you, just to see if he would. But who am I kidding? I know he would.
The playful look on his face causes my treacherous body to hold its breath as I subconsciously tuck my lip between my teeth, gnawing at the flesh, waiting for his next response.
Wilder Beckett has always been the sexiest man I’ve ever seen. Throw in that golden retriever personality, and I’m totally screwed when it comes to him.
“Do it and find out,” he smirks, kissing my hand and releasing it.
As we drive down the paved street, the depraved side of my mind takes over, and I debate when I should flip him the bird next.
Sooner rather than later , I decide.
We are going to be early to game night anyway. Might as well make a little pit stop.
“So,” I say, facing him. “Still think you can get me there faster?”
At first, I don’t think he’s going to remember what I’m talking about. But a few seconds later, his eyes dance with mischief, remembering the rain check we had.
“Babe, you know I could do it faster. I’m too selfish, though. I like seein’ all the faces you make and hearin’ all those sexy sounds come from those pretty lips.” His gaze goes to my mouth before turning and pulling to the side of a dirt road.
Sliding the bench seat back, he flips his hat around, pats his thick, denim-covered thigh, and lifts his brows.
“Hop on, Wildflower.”
When we pull up to Lucy and Cal’s place, Wild lets out a sigh. Looking ahead to see what the problem is, I see Carson’s truck parked out front.
I laugh. “Does it kill you that you weren’t the first one here?”
He looks over at me thoughtfully, shifting the Bronco into park and turning the vehicle off. “You know… not as much as it used to.”
That’s a crazy thing to hear from Wilder. This man loves game nights and is always the first one to arrive—usually several hours early.
When we walk inside, I’m surprised to see Wren sitting at the table. We don’t usually have game night during the middle of the week, but with everyone’s crazy schedules, this is what worked out this month for all of us.
“How did you get here? I didn’t see your?—”
“Carson picked me up,” she cuts in. “Did you guys bring the drinks?” she adds, changing the subject and petting the orange cat in her lap.
I hold up the case of Dr.Pepper and sit it on the counter. The fact that we were supposed to bring drinks tonight totally slipped my mind until I asked Wild to stop at the gas station so I could wash up before we got here. Our roadside escapades got a little carried away, and I definitely didn’t want to show up smelling like sex.
Walking over to the kitchen table, I’m greeted by two wet noses.
“Hi, guys,” I say, reaching out and petting Lucy and Cal’s dogs.
Severus lets out a yelp of excitement while Sirius continues to sniff my arm. The fact that Lucy and Cal both owned black labs and named them after fictional characters from the same book series was kismet.
“Y’all better have eatin’ your Wheaties this mornin’. You’re gonna need all the help you can get to beat me tonight,” Wild announces to the group, popping his neck from side to side.
I’ve always found it entertaining how seriously he takes game nights.
“Don’t get ahead of yourself. It’s my night to pick,” I say mischievously, giving him a smug smile.
Wild might win game night the majority of the time, but we all know his kryptonite.
He grins back at me. “Alright,” he nods. “Go ahead. Bring it on, Wildflower.”
Wild walks to the counter where the stack of games sits. He returns with the box in his hands, plopping it down in the center of the table, knowing exactly what I would pick.
“You done it now, Ind,” Wren laughs, sitting the cat back down on the floor. “He’s got that serious face on.”
Lucy, Cal, and Carson walk over and sit at the table, plates of food in their hands.
The rest of us make our plates, and we all catch up while we eat the food Cal and Lucy prepared for us. Cal never used to cook for game nights, but since meeting Lucy, he’s seemed to have grown a fondness for it. With two kids on the way, I hope for his sake he really loves the activity.
“How the hell do you eat like that…” I point to the plate, “and look like,” I motion my hand over Wild, “like that ?”
“You been checkin’ me out, Ind?” His lip tilts up as he shovels the last bite of his carrot cake into his mouth. His second serving, mind you.
I stare at him, unblinking, the smirk never leaving his face.
“It’s alright, I don’t mind. You look all you want. I’ve been doin’ the same,” he adds, his eyes traveling over me. “Besides, by your standards, ain’t this healthy? It does contain a vegetable, after all,” he states, recounting our conversation when I justified chips as vegetables.
Having no argument with that logic, I shake my head and turn my attention back to Wren, who is telling Lucy about something that happened at work.
After we all take care of our plates and put away the food, we sit back around the large kitchen table.
“Alright. Let’s set it up,” Wild states, grabbing the box from the center of the table. “Miss Scarlet?” he asks, holding the piece in my direction.
I push his hand out of the way and reach into the box.
“Professor Plum. Always.” I grab the purple piece and place it on the board.
“Let’s make this a little more interesting, shall we, sugar booger?” Wild states, grabbing more items from the box and placing them on the table.
The nickname causes a laugh from Lucy. I roll my eyes so far back that I’m almost positive I see my brain.
“How so?” I ask—like I have no idea where this is going.
“A bet. Me and you.” He motions between us with his finger, his eyes never leaving mine. “If I don’t win, you get whatever you want.”
Clue is a game of strategy; therefore, Wild never wins this game.
“Fine,” I agree, realizing he didn’t say that I had to win, only that he had to lose.
“Just like that? You don’t even know what the other side of that deal is,” he says. “We didn’t?—”
“I know I’ll win,” I shrug one shoulder. “Or, at least I know you’ll lose,” I laugh, helping Lucy pull the rest of the little weapon pieces from the box.
“We’ll see about that,” he grins, grabbing his glass of sweet tea. “Motivation can be a good drivin’ force, Ms. Jones.”
Turning his attention to the rest of the group, he holds up a finger to each of them and says in a serious voice, “And there will be no sabotagin’ me.”
“I’m not doin’ it.”
“You have to. I won. My choice.” Wild grins at me from the driver’s seat.
Of course the universe is on his side, and he won Clue tonight. In all the years we’ve had family game night, he has literally never won that game—not once .
“How’d you do it?” I ask, turning to face him.
“A magician never tells,” he says, making a zipping motion across his mouth.
“That wasn’t a magic trick,” I deadpan.
Making a locking motion over his mouth, he pretends to toss the key out the window. He continues to watch the road as we make our way back home down the dark street, headlights illuminating the path in front of us.
Giving up, I lean my head back against the seat, knowing he’s not going to fess up to cheating.
We usually always have music playing while we drive, but tonight, neither of us has put anything on. The silence carries as we turn down street after street. When we finally turn onto our road, I look back over at him.
“I’m serious, Wild. Pick somethin’ else. I’m not showerin’ with you,” I say, reaching to the floorboard to grab my canvas bag that’s sitting at my feet.
“Ind… it’s just a damn shower. It doesn’t have to go anywhere else. Just let me wash your hair.” He reaches over and plays with the end of my wavy locks.
“You wanna wash my hair? … And I’m supposed to believe nothin’ else is gonna happen while we are in there?” I ask skeptically.
We already had sex once today, and that needs to be enough. If I do it too often, my head is going to get too confused.
Wild’s lower lip tucks into his mouth as he bites down, hazel-green eyes sweeping over me.
“I’ve been dreamin’ about runnin’ my hands through that hair for the last two damn nights. So yes, I wanna wash your hair.” He turns off the Bronco and reaches for his door handle. “If you can’t keep your hands off of me after that,” he shrugs, “well, that’s your own doin’.” He opens the door and hops out, leaving me an overthinking mess.
I want to take a shower; it’s been a long day… I need a shower… We could save water.
And I really do love it when he washes my hair.
“Fine,” I huff, throwing my door open. “Just a quick shower.”
Wild never looks back. The smug bastard already knew I’d cave.
With every step closer I get to the front door, the faster my heart beats in my chest.