Chapter 6 – Teagan
A loud crow's call echoes outside the window as I open my eyes. I reach up to rub them sleepily and stretch, taking in the unfamiliar surroundings of Wilder’s pool house that I’ve slept in all night, now in the daylight.
I check the time on my phone—six a.m. already.
Sleep has been a stranger to me lately. Between the anxiety over returning to Houston and gearing up for another semester of school, I’ve been on edge.
Helping Shawna plan her wedding has added to the chaos.
Late nights have become the norm as I sift through old undergraduate notes, my mind constantly buzzing, never quite able to settle.
It’s a strange mix of nervous excitement about the future, and a feeling of being an imposter in my own life.
But last night… last night was different.
After Wilder, with his quiet intensity and skillful hands, gave me an earth-shattering orgasm with nothing more than his mouth, sleep came easy.
And not just easy—deep, uninterrupted. For the first time in months, I actually slept.
Not a stir, not a single restless turn. It’s not lost on me that it’s the best sleep I’ve had in a long time.
Sure, I wasn’t planning on jumping into bed with the first guy I meet while visiting a new city for my sister’s bachelorette weekend, but I wasn’t kidding when I told Wilder that guys who love animals are a major weakness of mine.
And, well, it doesn’t hurt that he’s hot as hell, broody in that way that makes me want to unravel him.
Very different from the guys I’ve casually dated back in college—those who wear their arrogance like armor, acting as if they have everything figured out while still stumbling through life like everyone else is.
Wilder, on the other hand, has a quiet confidence, a sense of knowing that makes me feel like maybe none of us actually know what we’re doing, and that’s okay.
He’s quiet in the way that has me leaning in, listening closely when he finally does speak.
I know I’m on the precipice of a big shift in my personal life in a few weeks and maybe this is the catalyst that I need to push me into my new studies.
I strip off Wilder’s button-up shirt, the one that I’d fallen asleep in, and hang it over the bedframe. Then I tug on my tight, black dress and heels from the bar last night, feeling every inch of the discomfort that’s been hidden under the cover of darkness.
I stand back up to look in the lone mirror in the room and immediately cringe at my reflection.
I look ridiculous. What was I thinking, letting Shawna convince me to wear this?
In the dim, late-night hours, I could almost pretend I felt good in it, but now, in the harsh light of morning that’s streaming through one of the pool house windows, it’s all too clear—my face, smudged mascara and all, says how awkward I feel.
I just hope Wilder doesn’t look at me the way I’m starting to look at myself: like a one-night stand who’s now about to do her first ever walk of shame.
I quietly tiptoe to the door, heart pounding in my chest, and slowly crack it open.
Through the narrow gap, I see him already awake—his back to me as he works in the cramped kitchen of the pool house.
The sizzle of eggs and sausage fills the air, mingling with the rich, earthy scent of freshly brewed coffee.
I take a deep breath, savoring the warmth and comfort of the moment and the way it feels familiar.
He’s shirtless now, wearing only a pair of jeans that hang low on his hips, the fabric stretched tight against his strong, muscular frame.
His back is like something carved from stone, every muscle rippling beneath his skin as he stirs the eggs, or reaches for his mug.
I hadn’t gotten a good look at him last night, but now I can’t tear my eyes away.
His body is a perfect balance of strength and lean grace—broad shoulders, a narrow waist, and not an ounce of fat on his bones.
There’s a gentle twang of country music playing softly from a speaker nearby, and the whole scene feels like something straight out of a cowboy romance novel.
The kind where the hero doesn’t even need to speak to make your pulse race.
One look of his stormy eyes and you’re on your knees, begging to take his cock for breakfast. And frankly, after last night, I’d like to.
"Have a seat and let me feed you," he commands without turning around, catching me completely off guard and making me jump.
Thankfully, his quiet demeanor means I won't have to endure a barrage of questions for being caught obviously and unashamedly, drooling over him. I wipe at my mouth because yup, there’s drool there and then pad towards one of the empty chairs surrounding the tiny kitchen counter.
He turns around, a big grin stretched across his handsome face as he places a plate in front of me.
My eyes shamelessly fall to his boxy abs and then move lower, trying to see if I can find any remnants of what happened last night.
I’ve never had a guy come in their pants before and that might have been the hottest thing I’ve ever witnessed.
He grins like he knows what I’m checking for. “I changed my clothes.”
I nod and bite my lip, trying to conceal my smirk.
“Didn’t feel comfortable sleeping in that.”
I choke on a laugh as he raises his brows. “Are you hungry?”
I nod, “This looks amazing. Thank you for cooking. I wasn’t… expecting this.” Because I really was expecting to wake up and be taken back to the bar and on my merry way.
He slides the plate toward me, his gaze never leaving mine as I pick up the silverware and take a bite.
I feel his eyes on me, tracking the movement of my lips as I chew slowly.
In the daylight, he’s even more striking.
A hint of stubble dusts his jawline, adding a rugged edge to his already chiseled features.
His dark brown hair is a mess but in a way that I love with a single, dark curl falling on his forehead.
His piercing green eyes, the same shade as my own, catch the morning light just perfectly.
Green has always been my favorite color, but it looks even better on him—an intense shade that seems to capture me.
I’ve never had a one-night-stand make breakfast for me, or watch me this closely while I eat it, but oddly, it feels normal and comforting doing this with Wilder.
In a weird way, it feels like we’re friends, bonded over what we did last night.
The guy doesn’t talk much but I get the sense that he’s extremely observant to make up for that.
He clears his throat. “I’m going to jump in the shower and then I’ll take you home. Your sister’s house? Or the bar?”
I can’t hide my disappointment that he’s trying to get rid of me already, but I nod as I take another long sip of my coffee to conceal my expression. “My sister’s fiancé’s house is where I'm spending the weekend. You can take me there.”
He nods again, then turns without another word and heads toward the bedroom to shower.
Fifteen minutes later, I’ve finished my breakfast, but my appetite shifts the second Wilder walks back in.
My heart stutters, tripping over itself as I take him in.
He’s wearing the button-up flannel I slept in last night, paired with ripped, well-worn jeans that hang low on his hips and scuffed work boots that have clearly seen their share of hard days.
My jaw drops. It’s unintentional, but there’s no stopping it. That’s my shirt. Well, the one I was just wearing. Did he put it on by accident, or does he like that it smells like me? The thought sends a rush of heat straight to my core, pooling low in my belly like liquid fire.
If he’s wearing it because of me, he doesn’t say a word—not that I expected him to. I doubt he’d admit to something like that even if it were true. But I can’t help but wonder as I study him.
His green eyes are serious now, sharper than they were last night, like he’s already mentally checked into whatever task lies ahead.
And then there’s his hair—dark brown and wet, slicked back from his shower, with a few stubborn strands curling at his collarbone.
It’s such a simple thing, but somehow it makes him look even more sexy.
My gaze trails lower, over the way the flannel stretches across his broad chest and the way his sleeves are rolled up just enough to reveal the corded muscle in his forearms. The damn man looks like he belongs in a magazine spread for sexy, small-town farmhands, and I’m not even sorry for staring.
“Everything okay?” he asks, his voice low and rough, breaking the spell and snapping my attention back to his face.
“Uh, yeah,” I reply quickly, feeling heat creep up my neck and settle in my cheeks. I realize I’m still staring, so I drop my gaze to the table, fiddling with the edge of my coffee cup like it’s the most interesting thing in the world. “Just thinking.”
“About what?” he asks, stepping further into the kitchen.
You. The shirt. The way you’re making my pulse race just by standing there. But I don’t say any of that. Instead, I shrug, trying to play it cool. “Nothing important. Just have a big weekend ahead of me with the bachelorette party.”
“Alright, you ready to head out?” he asks, his voice low and easy as he grabs a cowboy hat from the counter and places it on his head. He hadn’t been wearing one last night but now that I see it there, I decide this cowboy version of him is the one I like best.
I hop off the chair, grab my purse from where it’s hanging, and follow him outside to his truck where he opens the door for me like a perfect gentleman. I climb into the passenger seat, and as we pull out onto the gravel road, silence settles over us—comfortable, but thick with unspoken questions.