28. Reed
I’m in hell. That’s the only explanation for this, because there is absolutely no sane reason I should currently be sharing a room with Wilder Miles again.
Especially while pretending I don’t already know exactly how warm he feels, both inside me and in bed beside me.
The worst part? It’s not even the sex. Okay, maybe partly the sex, but mostly it’s everything else about him, every little thing that I learn that somehow only makes him more likeable.
This version of Wilder nobody else really gets to see.
The one away from all the cameras and reporters, the sponsorships and obligations, it’s entirely different to the one before me now.
He’s lighter, more playful, like the constant tension in his shoulders eased the second he was back with his family, and finally I truly understand the man behind all the headlines.
Most people only see the arrogance in the interviews, or the cocky comments after the races.
The smirking party boy who breaks all the rules and still somehow wins, making everyone lose their mind.
That Wilder is all sharp edges and spectacle, a version of himself he has crafted so perfectly, that they don’t see right through it.
Keeping everyone exactly where he wants them, but this version is something else entirely.
Wilder is currently sprawled across one of the chairs beside Casper, on the outdoor terrace, as if they haven’t spent a moment apart.
He keeps stealing drinks straight from his cousin’s hand just to annoy him, throws popcorn at Bobby anytime he says anything too serious about back home, and teases Knox and Beckett openly about all their shared conquests.
He’s so much more relaxed with all of them, well, all of them except Caden.
With him it’s different, not in an obvious way.
In fact, I think I might be the only person picking up on it.
No one else seems to sense the awkward yet shared understanding between them, or how they seem to be communicating silently without a word, or maybe they just don’t care.
Still, I notice the way Wilder keeps watching him, whenever the conversation drifts to the politics back home at The Academy, or anyone mentions The Underground.
The way he keeps pulling Casper back into conversations whenever Caden frowns at his phone.
It’s like a routine he has perfected, but I don’t know why.
That’s the thing nobody sees, that Wilder protects people without making it obvious.
Underneath all the recklessness and flirting, there’s someone devastatingly attentive hidden in there.
Someone who gave me a piece of myself on that yacht in Greece.
Someone who bought me the most thoughtful gifts I have ever received without having to ask.
Someone who slept beside me every night for a week just to make sure I was okay.
And maybe that’s why I’m in trouble.
I could handle the public version of him, the cocky racer, the serial flirt, the chaos magnet.
The one who seduced me with ease on that balcony and was completely unapologetic about it, but this one?
The one who looks after me and cares for his family and friends.
This version gets under my skin in ways I don’t know how to survive.
He’s a weakness I cannot allow myself, one my father would never allow, not publicly, not privately, not ever.
It doesn’t matter that the second Freddie turns eighteen my father will substitute him as his heir.
Heir or not, the son of Prescott Lamont doesn’t get to fall into bed with whoever he wants.
Especially when the person he wants is a man.
My life has always been decided for me in a thousand tiny, invisible ways, and no matter how far away I go, those chains still exist. That is still my reality, except out here it’s significantly harder to care about it, when I know exactly how good something could be.
When I remember his tight grip on my waist as he owned me on that balcony, when I remember his rough lips on mine at the top of that castle.
When he commanded my every move as he shared me with Matteo, and when I saw the lethal look in his eyes when he saw what my father had done to me.
Turns out that despite his reputation, Wilder Miles might be the best man I’ve ever met.
It’s why Casper looks at him in absolute awe, despite the fact they spend ninety percent of their time insulting each other’s racing techniques.
It’s why Knox and Beckett turn to him at the end of every race, looking for ways to improve and knowing he will give them his advice.
Why Matteo knows his friendship is worth more than ever sharing a bed with him.
Why Bobby rolls his eyes at his every joke, even though he flew half way across the world to catch up with him.
Why even Caden, the cold and brutal, almost terrifying Caden Miles, allows his sharp wit and harsh words, because they are a family.
Not just one born by blood, but one built on loyalty and trust, and one I could only dream of being a part of.
“You are so full of shit,” Casper snaps, shoving Wilder beside him, but Wilder is only smirking.
“I beat you three races in a row,” he shrugs, once again stealing the drink from his hand and taking a sip.
“You absolutely cheated,” Casper claims, looking more annoyed now, as if they have had this fight many times before, but of course, Wilder isn’t fazed in the slightest.
“Nah, you just sucked,” he tosses back, shifting beside me.
“Didn’t you bribe a mechanic?” Beckett cuts in, as if he is trying to recall what actually happened.
Wilder pretends to think about it, but then shakes his head. “Nah, that sounds made up.”
Caden takes a slow sip of whiskey beside his brother. “You definitely bribed a mechanic.”
Casper’s eyes widen and he immediately points victoriously. “I knew it!”
Wilder shrugs unapologetically. “Okay, but technically it worked.”
Bobby groans into his drink, and from tonight I can tell he is the quiet one who puts up with all their chaos. “I genuinely hope you all get arrested one day.”
“You can’t arrest someone for being too talented,” Wilder tells him, that cocky smirk of his firmly in place, as Bobby flips him off.
“You can absolutely arrest rich idiots,” Beckett replies, staring at Matt, who apparently has been arrested before.
Knox leans forward, grinning. “Speaking of arrests. Reed, you absolutely have to come to The Underground with us when we are back home.”
The Underground is the biggest illegal race track in America, and aside from racing and fighting, also houses crime and gambling, if rumors are to be believed.
The kind of organization reporters whisper about without ever naming directly, because people connected to it tend to disappear from conversations very quickly.
And Caden Miles runs it all before he’s even legally old enough to drink in the States. Which is actually terrifying.
“Tell him about what goes down there,” Knox adds, and I notice the way Wilder instantly goes quiet.
“Nothing to tell,” Caden says calmly.
Casper nearly chokes laughing. “That’s such bullshit.”
“He blew up a guy’s car last semester,” Knox tells me casually, and I snap my attention his way.
“Excuse me?” I ask, almost sure I misheard him, but when I look at Caden, I find him smirking.
“It wasn’t a big explosion,” Caden confirms simply. “And he deserved it.”
“You can’t keep saying that after committing felonies,” Bobby mutters.
Felonies? As in plural?
“Yes I can.”
“Honestly?” Casper says thoughtfully. “It was kind of iconic.”
Their exchange should make me feel uncomfortable, nervous even, I’m sandwiched between racing superstars and apparent criminals, people so far out of my usual circle and comfort zone, and yet I have never felt more at home.
After that conversation ends, the rest of the night follows the same pattern.
Casper teasing one of them, Bobby exasperated, Wilder amused, and Caden shutting it down, like they are a well-oiled machine.
At some points they even all sign to one another, seamlessly slipping between talking and ASL like it’s second nature, and all I can do is be enthralled by their dynamic.
I don’t have this kind of relationship with anyone, not even Eloise. Sure we’re close, but not like this.
At some point Casper puts music on, immediately arguing with Knox over who has the worst taste, apparently a normal feat for them.
Bobby disappears inside twice to make drinks, and returns both times looking more annoyed than before.
Beckett somehow ends up halfway across the outdoor couch with his feet in Knox’s lap, while Cade sits slightly apart from everyone else, quiet and watchful beneath the glow of the heaters.
And Wilder? He stays directly beside me.
He isn’t touching me, barely looking at me, and certainly not flirting with me the way he usually does now that we have an audience, which should be a good thing.
Except every now and then he shifts slightly, his knee brushing mine in a featherlight touch, that I wouldn’t even register if it were anyone else.
And every time it does, it feels as if my entire body is on fire.
It sparks an impossible feeling that, maybe if circumstances were different, I could’ve belonged somewhere like this, but fantasies are dangerous things for people like me, and I know I need to go to bed.
Thankfully Caden is the first to excuse himself, much to his twin's dismay. “Oh, come on, Cade, just one more drink!”
His brother only stares at him blankly. “No.”
“See what I have to put up with?” Casper says to me dramatically, having been addressing me all night. “It’s emotional abuse.”
Caden doesn’t respond, just drags his eyes over his brother, before looking at Bobby and communicating something silently.
It’s only now I realize that, despite how many drinks Bobby has poured, he’s only nursed three drinks all night.
Caden is also sober, but I can’t help but wonder if that is their usual MO.
Wilder said Bobby is his cousin’s right hand man, but it’s only now I’m seeing it in action.
“You tired, Blue?” Wilder asks quietly, cutting into my thoughts.
“A little,” I respond, still watching how Caden moves in tune with his twin.
Wilder hums beside me, and I can feel his eyes on my face even without looking at him. “You look happier here.”
The words catch me off guard, enough that I finally glance toward him, and there he is, looking at me too closely again. “That’s because nobody here wants anything from me,” I admit before I can stop myself, and Wilder’s expression shifts slightly at that.
Not pity, that’s something I never see in his stare, but still he holds it, as he asks, “Are you sure about that?”
My heartbeat stumbles instantly, because I know exactly what he means, and judging by the look in his eyes, so does he. I stand abruptly, before I can do something stupid like lean toward him. “I’m going to bed.”
Wilder leans back against the couch, watching me carefully through the firelight. “Already?” His face is blank, but I can tell he is amused.
“Yes.” His mouth twitches slightly.
“Okay, Blue.”
I quickly say goodnight to everyone else and head inside, making quick work of having a shower and getting ready for bed.
Once I’m done, I put on my headphones and pull out my laptop, to get some work done at the desk.
I took a few photos earlier of the guys out on the deck, ready to post with a clever caption about unwinding before the EWC.
I stayed locked in for about an hour, posting on all Wilder’s social media platforms, before responding to some emails, and checking his schedule with Laura.
By the time I’m done, I turn to find Wilder walking out of the ensuite, apparently determined to make sharing a room with him as hard as possible.
He’s wearing nothing but black shorts, his hair still damp from the shower, and the tattoo on his chest still glistening with water.
His focus is on his phone, no doubt scrolling through everything I just posted, like he isn’t the single most distracting person alive.
I sigh at the cruelty and his eyes flick up to mine, dragging over me ever so slowly. Not subtle, he’s never subtle, but it’s both possessive and checking in nature. “You’re staring again,” I mutter, moving to set my phone on the nightstand, mostly so I have something to do.
“Can you blame me?”
I ignore him and move toward the opposite side of the bed, pulling back the covers carefully. Wilder finishes drying off as I get comfortable, but the second the mattress dips, I shift slightly.
“You know,” he says casually. “This would be less awkward if you stopped acting like I’m about to attack you.”
I look over at him flatly. “You literally flirt with me like it’s your full-time job.”
“That’s because you’re hot and constantly annoyed by me. It’s fun,” he teases, aiming to lighten the mood, and I hate that I laugh.
I hate it even more that his expression softens at the sound, and for a second neither of us move.
It would be so easy to cave, give in to my baser needs and take what I know he is so desperate to give me, but that wouldn’t be fair to either of us.
So I slide beneath the blankets and turn off the bedside lamp, before I can make another mistake.
Beside me, Wilder shifts once against the pillows. “Night, Blue.”
My chest aches stupidly at the nickname. “Night,” I whisper back.
It’s the last thing either of us say, but sometime in the night, I wake briefly to find myself drifting unconsciously toward his warmth again.