23. Evangeline
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
evangeline
A fter saying goodbye to Micah’s tearful mom—doubly overwhelmed by news of my leaving and a rock star’s surprise appearance in her son’s lesson—I head back to the room where I left Wilder.
Outside the door, I pause to listen to him playing. He unplugged his guitar so the sound isn’t as rich, but there’s no question of his innate talent. Or the song, which is one of ours.
“I see your shadow on the glass, Fairy.”
I press a hand against my tumbling stomach. Get your shit together. Steeling myself, I walk inside. The latch clicks behind me, the tiny sound making me flinch.
Wilder’s fingers flatten over the chords, his smile falling, brow furrowing. “Hey, what’s wr?—”
“Thank you,” I blurt. “I can’t tell you how much that meant to Micah. And me. How did you even know when—” I pause when I realize the answer is obvious. “Rye.”
He nods, still frowning. “I want to say ‘you’re welcome,’ but from the look on your face, I’m not sure you actually meant that.” He lays his guitar in its case and stands. “I, uh—I wanted to see you. I’m sorry if I crossed a boundary I shouldn’t have.”
“Why haven’t you come over the last two nights?” The words burst out of me without permission, expelling from the tender place inside me I’ve been studiously avoiding.
He looks startled, then relieved, then ravenous as he takes a step toward me. I suck in a breath and he stops, scanning my face.
“The truth?” he asks.
“Always.”
“I was going to come back over after rehearsal Sunday, but when I was getting ready to leave, the guys laid into me. They said I was giving off needy, codependent vibes. So I’ve spent the last two and a half days freaking out about it while missing you and trying not to call you a thousand times or show up at your house.”
I blink in surprise, then laugh as the underlying emotional strain of the last days drains away.
Wilder takes another step toward me, his shoulders losing some of their coiled tension. “Tell me why you’re laughing?”
I shrug, my grin slowly fading. “Next time, can you talk to me about what you’re feeling? I’ve been low-key wondering if I scared you off Saturday night.”
Long legs eat the space between us until we’re chest to chest, his hands cradling my head as I stare up at him.
“Nothing would ever scare me away from you.” The low, fervent words hum in my marrow. “Saturday night was perfect. You’re perfect.” He sighs. “The guys did have a point, though. I’m needy as fuck when it comes to you. I could barely sleep the last two nights without you, so we might as well check the box next to codependent as well. Shit, if you wanted to put a collar on me and drag me around by a leash, I’d let you.”
“Okay,” I whisper.
His brows rise, lips twitching. “Okay, what? Okay you like the idea of a collar on me, or okay you forgive me for not knowing what the fuck I’m doing when it comes to you?”
“The second one.” I tilt my head. “Maybe the first one, too.”
He drops his forehead to mine. “I don’t deserve you.”
Lifting onto my toes, I kiss him softly. “I don’t know what I’m doing either. Case in point, instead of asking you what the hell was going on?—”
“You got all up in your head about it, then shoved everything in a little box at the back of your brain.”
My mouth drops. “What?”
He kisses my forehead. “You’re my favorite song. I know every note. Plus, you’re a Taurus. Overthinking and compartmentalizing are your thing.”
My scowl of annoyance makes him laugh. Releasing me, he walks back to his guitar and closes the case. Over his shoulder, he asks lightly, “How was Sunday brunch?”
The shift in topic startles me. Then I understand what he’s getting at— he knows me —and I cover my cheeks to hide their quick flush.
“I, uh…”
Wilder chuckles as he stands, case in hand, and approaches me. He sets the case beside us, then tugs my fingers away from my face.
“I promise I’m not trying to make you feel bad. I know why you haven’t told your parents about us—for the same reason that when I told my parents, I asked them not to mention it to yours.”
Sadness tinged with guilt swiftly eclipses the surprise that he told his parents about us. Brunch on Sunday was exhausting, and not just because of Wilder’s welcome interruption of my sleep the night before.
I hate lying to my parents, even if it’s lying by omission. I hate even more that it’s becoming easier by the day. But I can’t handle the alternative, which is telling them Wilder and I are officially together. The look on my dad’s face weeks ago is a thorn in my memory. I never want to be on the receiving end of that expression again.
“They don’t hate you or anything,” I say quickly. “It’s… complicated.”
“I get it. It’s going to take time to prove to them that I’m not a fuckup anymore. But we have time. Right?”
My mouth goes dry at the careful words, the suggestion of a deeper question beneath them.
“What are you asking me?”
He takes one more step, and I tilt my face up to maintain eye contact.
“Will you be my girlfriend, Evangeline?”
My pulse trips over itself. “Aren’t I already?”
His eyes simmer. “Answer the question.”
“Yes,” I say breathlessly. “I’d love to be your girlfriend.”
His smile expands, deepening dimples and filling my head with sparkling fog. “Good. What are you doing tonight?”
You, I think, and his eyes flash like he heard the thought.
“Why? You want to take me on a date?” The skin around his eyes tightens, his smile freezing. Realizing my mistake, I add quickly, “Not in public or anything. I don’t expect that. Especially since, you know, my parents… and people with cameras, and crowds, all that stuff.” I laugh, the sound a tad shrill. “Do you even read the comments on your socials? They’re wild. I’d be worried someone might knock me out and kidnap you?—”
His index finger presses to my mouth, silencing me. I gasp and he takes advantage, dragging his finger along the inside of my lower lip. My breaths turn choppy. His eyes flicker up long enough for me to see his wide pupils, then lower back to my lips.
“Such a pretty, pretty mouth,” he whispers, sinking his finger past my teeth. “Suck.”
All rational thought suspended, I close my mouth and suck, shifting forward at the same time so his finger sinks deeper. He grunts, hips twitching. The hardness behind his zipper grazes my belly. My mouth waters. I grab his belt buckle, ready to drop to my knees and finally, finally taste him, but his other hand seizes mine.
A whine of protest warbles in my throat. Wilder sucks in a breath, his finger curling against my tongue. “Fuck, baby. You want me in your mouth? Stretching your jaw and throat like I stretch that pussy?”
My clit throbs at the gruff words. I press my thighs together against a sudden sharp pang and nod. His eyes close briefly and he rocks into me.
“Dammit,” he hisses, shaking his head. Lust and conflict sit clearly on his face. “I can’t believe I’m saying this, but you’re not giving me a blowjob right now. Remember where we are?”
A modicum of sense returns. I hear muted piano keys being struck in a nearby room, the bright, metallic sound of a snare, muffled voices of teachers and students. My eyes widen in horror, my libido shutting off like a faucet.
Wilder smirks as he slips his finger from my mouth, popping my lower lip against my teeth before lowering his hand and tucking it in his pocket. All the while, he watches me with that impish, cat-like precision.
“You’re welcome,” he murmurs silkily.
I rub my palm over my burning forehead. “Thank you. I don’t know what I was thinking.”
He bites his lip, a smile shining in his eyes. “I’m at least seventy percent to blame. You’re incredibly hard to resist.”
“So are you,” I whisper.
His expression softens. “The reason I asked what you were doing tonight is the guys and I were wondering if you wanted to come over for dinner. Kind of a reunion slash catch-up situation. And a celebration, too, for signing with Indigo yesterday.”
It takes me long seconds to process the words, the majority of my thoughts still on a hamster wheel of how close I came to throwing my ethics out the window.
“Um, at your house?” I finally ask.
Wilder nods, a concerned crease forming between his brows. “Despite what just happened, a big part of why I came today is because I don’t want you to think sex is all I want from you.”
“I don’t.” My quick denial causes his brows to arch. Knowing that he’s a second from once again proving how well he knows me, I lift a staying hand. “I’m not saying that to avoid confrontation. I really don’t feel that way. Besides, if you only wanted sex, there are a million women out there who don’t have our baggage.”
His lips press together, then relax. “I like our baggage. It’s a little beat up, sure. Covered in peeling stickers and dents. But the insides are irreplaceable. There’s only one you . Only one us . If I could take you out on normal dates, I would in a heartbeat.”
My insides melt. “You would?”
He nods solemnly, but there’s a telling twinkle in his eye. “As long as it wasn’t crowded. And there were no fluorescent lights anywhere. And we stayed within ten feet of an exit at all times. You know… normal date stuff.”
A laugh burbles out of me and he grins. Almost as soon as it forms, his smile falls. He shifts toward me, the heat of his body curling against my front. So close. Not close enough. When I register the intensity in his eyes, my stomach does a backflip. My heart receives a similar memo, suddenly racing.
“Evangeline, I know it’s been less than a week, but I need you to know?—”
A knock on the door right beside my head makes me yelp and jerk forward. My forehead collides with Wilder’s chin. We both curse.
Molly’s laughing voice reaches our ears. “You guys all right? Sorry to kick you out, but April needs the room for her five o’clock lesson.”
“Absolutely, sorry!” I say—too loudly based on Wilder’s soft chuckle as he scoops up his guitar case. “Be right out!”
I scramble to grab my purse and water bottle, thankful for my habit of spending the last few minutes of each lesson having the student help me tidy the room. When I move to open the door, Wilder’s fingers catch my wrist.
“Meet me back at your house.” The low, firm tone sends a zinging shock through my body. My eyes fly to his. “We can leave your car there since it will be dark soon. I’ll drive you home after dinner. I’m staying the night, by the way.” He pauses for a quick breath. “Say ‘Yes, Wilder.’”
The ache between my legs intensifies so fast it flirts with the border between desire and necessity. Saturday night plays behind my eyes. Behind his eyes, which watch me with penetrative focus.
A much older memory rises out of nowhere, playing from start to finish in seconds. I was six or seven. Wilder and I were caught outside in a spring downpour. My fault—I’d pestered him relentlessly to push me on the swings until his dad stepped in and told him to. Wilder was so annoyed with me that he pushed me too hard and high on purpose. Eventually I threw a fit and told him to go away.
He was halfway back to the house when the clouds opened and freezing rain poured down so fast and hard it soaked me in seconds. The sound was shocking. A vast, rushing roar that sent me stumbling away from the swings in terror—a terror that grew wings when I realized I couldn’t see Wilder anymore. The house and pool had likewise disappeared. The swing set ten feet behind me was barely distinguishable behind undulating, liquid curtains.
Then the rain shifted to hail. Stinging bullets of ice struck me all over, my sweater useless as a shield. In a mindless panic, I started screaming, running blindly toward where I thought the house was.
Wilder caught me, jerking me off my feet and hugging me so tightly I could feel his ribs beneath my cheek. He yelled about the pool and how I could have drowned, but I barely heard him because I was so relieved . Then he covered my head with his arms. For what felt like hours but was probably a handful of seconds, I trembled in a cocoon of his wet sweatshirt and steady heartbeat as the hail battered him.
I remember thinking the world was ending, but it was okay because we were together.
Looking up at him now, I feel it again—that the world around us is a roar. A never-ending storm. But I’m safe because we’re together.
“Yes, Wilder,” I whisper.