10. Wilder
CHAPTER TEN
wilder
T he hands that were on Evangeline’s luscious body are now on Kendra’s shoulders, steering her away from the bathroom. Halfway down the hallway, she digs her heels in and spins to face me. Brown eyes full of a familiar blend of cunning and curiosity narrow.
“The bathroom? Really?”
My eyelids twitch as she echoes the same words Evangeline used but with an entirely different meaning. I glance back to see the door still closed. All I want is to go back inside. Be inside her . I want it so badly I can barely breathe.
I force my focus back to Kendra. “It’s not what you think.”
She glances below my waist, then lifts a sculpted eyebrow. “You know I don’t care. Why all the secrecy?” She takes a sultry step toward me, pressing herself to my chest. “We usually share.”
“Not this one.” The rough words slip out. Kendra’s eyes instantly shimmer with suspicion.
“Why not?”
Her gaze veers past my shoulder, narrowing on something. Someone. My spine stiffens, prickling under the scrutiny of mismatched eyes. When the sensation fades, I glance back to see Evangeline walking away from us, back toward the party. Hips swinging. Blond hair waterfalling over a cropped leather jacket.
She’s probably going to find Michael Dresden.
Fuck that guy.
“No. Not her.”
My head swivels back to Kendra. Despite the Botox keeping her forehead smooth, it’s easy to see she’s furious. I’m not surprised. She doesn’t know much about Evangeline’s and my history, but she possesses the same instincts as all women. She recognizes a great white shark in our waters.
I want to laugh in her face. Laugh at our fucked-up excuse for a relationship. We barely tolerate each other unless we’re high, and we both sleep with other people. Sometimes together, sometimes separately.
Rye hates her and thinks she’s using me. I know she is. But I’m using her, too.
“She’ll never accept your life, your needs,” continues Kendra, misinterpreting my silence. Her voice is smooth now. Cajoling. “I know you don’t want to lose what we have.”
She lifts a hand to my face, cool fingertips on my jaw.
Evangeline’s fingers were warm.
Irritation flares inside me. Pulling Kendra’s hand from my face, I frown. “You think I can’t find someone else? There are at least ten people in my living room right now who would happily set me up.”
Her lips compress, nostrils flaring. Just as fast, her expression clears and a soft smile forms. The same smile that sucked me in when we met. When I thought she was a nice, normal girl. Someone I could tolerate and have a good time with. Introduce to my parents so they’d get off my back and stop thinking I was hung up on Evangeline.
By the time I found out Kendra’s smile was as fake as mine most days, I lacked the motivation to cut her loose—due in large part to the pills she sells to me.
“Wild.” My name is wrapped in syrupy superiority. “Think about what you’re saying. You can’t trust any of these people. You think they want you to succeed?” She shakes her head, eyes pitying. “You and I both know they’d love nothing more than to bring you down. You don’t want to risk that, do you?”
Unfortunately, she has a point. Outside of Rye and the guys in the band, the list of people I trust starts and ends with my family. But even that trust only goes so far. None of my friends or family know about the rigid control I maintain day in and day out. How I self-medicate in order to show up as the frontman my band needs. They don’t know that once every few months, I cut myself off and spend a week in the misery of withdrawals.
They all think my weird, periodic ritual of locking myself in my room for days is a part of my songwriting process. It’s not entirely a lie—I wrote the bulk of our next album while my skin felt like it was melting off my bones. But it’s not the whole truth. I do it so I won’t become a true addict, upping my doses over and over until I can’t function without the drugs.
There’s only one person who actually knows my secret and that’s the woman in front of me… who just oh so subtly threatened to sell me out if I dump her.
I wish I could hate her, but thanks to a night last year when she poured out all the details of her twisted childhood to me, I have a damned soft spot for her. I understand why she is the way she is, and if she doesn’t quite understand why I am the way I am, then she accepts it. Accepts me.
Would Evangeline accept me as I am? The narrow line I walk? The method I use to manage my demons? Definitely not. And the kicker? If she did, I’d lose respect for her. She’d cease to be the woman I’ve put above all others in my mind and heart.
My muse. My Fairy.
Kendra slips her arms around me. I don’t pull away, but I don’t embrace her, either.
“I’m sorry, Wild. I had a knee-jerk reaction, and that’s not fair to you.” She exhales noisily against my chest. “You know what? If you need to sleep with her once to get her out of your system, then go for it. I trust you. You won’t break what we have.”
My heart stutters, adrenaline shooting through my veins. “You don’t mean that.”
Kendra gazes up at me. Her face is impossible to read, but the look in her eyes is sly. “I do. In fact, the more I think about it, the more I think it will be a good thing.”
I frown. “That’s an abrupt shift. Me sleeping with Evangeline will be a good thing? Why?”
She draws away from me and shrugs. “I’ve heard rumors about her.”
My eyebrows shoot up. “From who?”
She inspects her manicure. “An old friend of mine dated her for a while last year. You don’t know him.”
I swipe a hand over my face, exhausted with this conversation. “Enough with the manipulation tactics. Spit it out.”
She gives me a satisfied smirk. “He said she’s a bad lay. Boring. He wasn’t her first, but he said it was like fucking a virgin.”
For a few seconds I just stare at her, stunned by her audacity and an overwhelming need to rip this random guy’s head off.
Then I replay what happened in the bathroom. The way Evangeline arched against me, rubbing herself against my hand. Her breathy moans and clutching fingers, panting breaths and flushed cheeks. How her body fit against mine like a puzzle piece I’ve been searching for my entire life.
I think about how she came apart on my fingers three years ago even though she fought it. How she initially fought her reaction to me tonight, too. How she gave me the fucking green light, and if it weren’t for Kendra’s interruption, I’d be balls deep inside her right now.
Sex with Evangeline will be explosive. Call it masculine instinct or learned experience, or maybe I’m finally realizing how bored I’ve been. Kendra knows all the tricks—so do the women she brings into bed with us—but something has been missing for a while. Authenticity. True abandon. I’m sick of performative sex with women who are more concerned with moaning at appropriate times than actually enjoying themselves.
There’s never been anything artificial about Evangeline’s response to me or mine to her. Not mentally, emotionally, or physically. Time apart didn’t dilute our alchemy. I’m starting to wonder if anything ever will.
“Wild? What are you thinking?”
My eyes narrow on Kendra. “Talking shit about another woman’s sexual history is low.”
She flushes, decent enough to be embarrassed. “I only repeated what he said.”
“Uh-huh.” I pause, eyeing her like she’s a scorpion about to strike. “Do you really mean it?”
She doesn’t bother pretending confusion, though her nod lacks confidence. “Sure. Once. And don’t bring her here.”
I can’t completely smother my reaction. Excitement. Anticipation. Relief. Kendra sees it all. She doesn’t say anything. Neither do I. But in our silence is an acknowledgment that on some deep level we know this is a mistake. It’s in the pinched skin around her eyes. The layer of disquiet that sits atop my elation like oil.
But I can’t stop myself.
“Tonight?” Kendra asks softly.
I nod shortly. I can’t wait anymore. I’ve waited so long already.
She looks past me toward the party. Toward the dozens of people, most of them superficial friends and hangers-on, who show up whenever I want. When she turns back to me, she wears a bright, false smile.
“In that case, I think I’ll have some fun, too.”
She wants a reaction. My jealousy. Possessiveness. Sometimes I pretend I feel them for her sake because while I don’t love her, I’m not a complete dick. But I can’t pretend tonight. I can’t feel anything but my need.
Bending forward, I brush a chaste kiss on her cheek. “Be safe,” I tell her.
“You too,” she whispers.
She walks away, her head held high, off to find an unsuspecting man or couple to keep her entertained. I wait thirty seconds, then follow, weaving through the throngs of people in search of a white-blond head. When I don’t see Evangeline in the living room or on the deck, I swallow a surge of trepidation. Has she left? Did she leave alone ?
When I see Michael Dresden chatting up a brunette on a couch, I breathe a sigh of relief and pull out my phone to text her. My fingers hover over the screen.
What the fuck am I supposed to say? My girlfriend says I can fuck you, so are you down?
I rub my forehead.
“Wild! Did you see Eva?”
I turn to find Eddie and Jax approaching me from the deck, matching grins on their faces. The brothers look so similar they’re often mistaken for twins—or they were until Eddie adopted his signature neon-green mullet last year.
“I did,” I say, my fingers curling around my phone.
“It was so good to see her, right?” asks Jax. “She said she’s already getting calls from venues after that writeup from Illoka.”
Eddie nods rapidly. “She’s killing it. We have to catch her next show.”
I like Eddie and Jax. They’re great musicians, low-drama roommates, and all-around decent guys. I’ve even forgiven Eddie for kissing Evangeline before me.
But right now I want to strangle them both.
“I’m actually looking for her. Any idea where she is?”
Jax’s expression falls. “Sorry, man. She just left. Said she was tired.”
Eddie laughs. “She still hates parties.”
A knot of tension inside me releases.
I slip my phone in my pocket, then clap my hands to their shoulders. “Can you hold shit down here? Kick these fuckers out before dawn?”
Eddie blinks in confusion, but he’s thankfully too buzzed to put two and two together. Jax, on the other hand, raises a knowing eyebrow.
“Sure,” he says dryly.
Eddie lifts his beer in a salute, turning away from us to shout, “The Thompson brothers are in charge, assholes!”
There’s a chorus of laughter and cheers. Jax rolls his eyes. Someone cranks the music higher, and under Eddie’s encouragement, the entire living room turns into an impromptu dance floor.
I nod at Jax, then slip away in the chaos.