Chapter 27
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
NOW
T wo days after the . . . incident with Wells, I feel like I’m climbing out of my skin. I haven’t talked to him at all, though the urge to text him grows so strong I end up shutting my phone away in a drawer in my bedroom, as if hiding it under a silky pink pajama set might lessen the impulse.
It’s not that I’m avoiding him—not really. I’m just not sure what to say, and I can’t imagine a lame Hey through text would make me feel any less nervous about the state of our relationship.
Or . . . lack thereof.
Because technically, we shouldn’t have one.
Jason’s death and cheating have been the hardest things I’ve ever experienced, but this recent whirlwind with Wells is a third blow I’m not sure I can navigate without crumbling. I try to process how I’m feeling about what happened between us, and it’s like the hardwiring of my heart is fried. I’ve always cared about Wells as a friend, enough that I’ve been hurt in the past when he’s pulled away. But now knowing the feelings he’s harbored all this time, the feelings that rushed through me as I kissed him down by the river, or when I straddled him in his truck . . .
I shudder as a flush crawls up my neck. There’s no denying that my libido is in full working condition. And it wants Wells.
He’s all I can think about, and even though my feelings are a mess right now, I know I want to be near him. These two days without him have felt like holding my breath underwater, waiting desperately to surface. It’s what drove me to text Regan this morning, asking if she had plans tonight.
When she replied that she didn’t, it felt like fate. Wells has been spending most evenings helping his brothers behind the bar at Wild Coyote, and I can’t find a good reason that should stop Regan and me from casually popping in. Worst-case scenario he’s not there, and Regan and I enjoy a drink and have another attempt at catching up where I hopefully don’t cry. Best case? Wells is there, and . . . well, I’m not sure what that would mean.
My biggest insecurity is that he regrets everything that happened. I haven’t reached out yet, but neither has he, and I can’t help but mentally trip over why that might be. It would make sense for him to, since I’ve been his best friend’s girl for five and a half years . . . but I know how incredible it felt to be with him like that , even for just a few fleeting moments, and there’s no way he didn’t feel it too.
The chemistry was undeniable.
Regan and I meet at the gazebo in the middle of the town square with plans to walk together to the bar. It’s safe to assume we’ll both have a few drinks, and aside from a handful of lifts Gus gives out in the mornings before Mustang’s Pizza opens, rideshare apps don’t exist in Saddlebrook Falls.
I get there first and try not to feel silly standing alone on the bright-green lawn. The skirt of my yellow dress sways in the breeze, and I close my jean jacket tight across my chest to block the chill. It’s a night better suited for jeans and a sweater, but I felt compelled to wear my boots with the embroidered yellow flowers. I haven’t worn them since I left for New York, and I forgot how much I love them.
When Regan spots me from the end of the street that leads to her neighborhood, I can feel her calculating my emotional state. I don’t blame her—I wasn’t exactly fine when I saw her earlier this week. Still, something within me has irrevocably changed, as if my very DNA has been rearranged.
“Hey!” she calls out from the edge of the lawn. I realize she’s wearing heels—I don’t think I’ve ever seen Regan in heels—and I walk to meet her so she doesn’t have to step into the grass.
“Hi,” I say back, smiling. “You look great!” I take in her slim-fitted jeans and beautiful ivory satin top beneath a tan blazer. She looks nothing like the girl who left home two years ago with ribbons in her hair. Tallahassee has been good for her.
“Thanks,” she says coyly. “I actually have a date tonight.”
My eyes widen. “I thought we were going out!”
She laughs. “We are. At least for a while—David is picking me up for karaoke in Williamson around nine.”
“ David ?!” I squeal.
Her smile slips into something more bashful. “We’ve been . . . texting.”
“Regan, he’s been our friend since we were fourteen years old. We all text.”
“Yeah but, I mean like, texting .”
“Oh,” I say. I’m . . . shocked. I never would have seen something like this coming, but I love Regan and David so much and would be thrilled if they found happiness in each other.
“It’s super new,” she insists. “And anyway, that’s not what tonight is about.” She shifts on her heels and looks to the ground, and I realize talking about this makes her nervous.
“Hey,” I say quietly. When her eyes rise to meet mine, I give her a soft smile. “It’s okay to be excited about a boy. I’m happy for you—I promise.”
Her exhale is sharp, loosening her shoulders. “How are you doing?” she asks, cutting straight to the point.
My smile grows. I can’t help it, even if it might not make sense to anyone else. I’m not ready to share what happened with Wells—I know how crazy it all sounds only weeks after losing Jason—but I know how sure I feel in my heart that what happened was right . “I’m okay,” I say honestly. “It’s been a hard few weeks, but I’m finally seeing a light at the end of the tunnel.”
She tilts her head. “You seem lighter.”
“I feel lighter,” I agree.
She reaches a hand out to wrap around my shoulder in affection. “I’m glad, Layla.”
My eyes sting with emotion, but for once it’s not sadness.
We make our way down the block to Wild Coyote and find the lot already full of cars. I spot Wells’s truck parked in the same corner he was in the night of Jason’s funeral, and my heart takes a tumble. He’s here .
Inside, the bar is dark. Without any windows, there’s a perpetual feeling of night that feeds into the overall dungeon-like vibe of the place. It’s what has the regulars squinting like raccoons being exposed by a midnight porch light when Regan holds the door open for me and I follow her in. Regan and I squint back, adjusting to the dark atmosphere as we look for open chairs.
Within moments of finding two open seats at the bar, Wells appears from the back. He looks like a dream under the neon lights, his olive skin glowing beneath his dark T-shirt and black cowboy hat. The line of his honeyed jaw jumps when he notices me sitting here, and I nearly fall out of my seat when he approaches.
I feel tipsy and I haven’t even ordered a drink yet. My body sings under his attention, a spark in my chest igniting with a longing I can’t explain. I’m not sure how long it’s been there, but it’s as real as the blood roaring to life beneath the surface of my skin.
His eyes bounce to Regan before they land on me again. “Enjoying your evening?” he asks, the corners of his mouth tugging into the smallest of smiles.
“We just got here,” I clarify. “But that’s the goal.”
He hums, considering, taking a moment to scan the many faces around the bar before he continues. “It’s busy here tonight—you two be careful, all right?”
I roll my eyes. Careful is the last thing I want to be. “You don’t have to worry about us,” I counter, sidestepping the authority in his voice with an attempt of my own.
His eyes narrow, the brown of them solidifying like stone. It’s a look that drips in power, and it sends a shiver through me. “Layla,” he warns. “You know how rough it can get in here.”
It’s true—most indecent and unruly behavior that erupts into gossip starts inside this very bar. With the Bennetts at the helm, it makes the establishment even more risqué. Town lore suggests Wells’s grandfather, who founded the Wild Coyote in the 1930s amid the Great Depression, was as vile and mean as they came. His son, Wells’s father, has instigated dozens of drunken bar fights here that have led to almost as many arrests. My eyes flick to Rhett behind the bar as he pours a beer from the tap into a pint glass, and I think of how he keeps that family reputation alive. Brooks has also had his fair share of fights and scandals, though he’s calmed down over the years. But Wells . . . I’m not sure Wells has a mean bone in his beautiful body.
“You know, I figured that might be where the Wild comes into play in the name,” I say with sass.
He ignores me and politely asks Regan, “Can I get you something to drink?”
Regan eyes the collection of liquor bottles that lines the bar’s back wall, and then the three handles of beer on tap. “Do you serve martinis here?”
Wells’s earthy eyes flash with amusement. “How about chilled bottom-shelf vodka in a regular glass with a wedge of lemon?”
Regan lets out a breathy laugh. “Sold.”
He turns to me. “And for you, sunshine?”
I feel Regan stiffen at the nickname—for as much as Wells has called me that over the years, no one besides his brothers and Jason has ever heard it. I try to keep my voice casual as I answer. “Whiskey,” I say. “Please.”
He knows I only drink whiskey when I’m feeling reckless, and I want him to know that’s exactly what I am tonight.
His throat rolls with a swallow. “Coming right up.”
Regan is just about three sheets to the wind off Wells’s “martinis” when David arrives to pick her up for their karaoke date. If he were anyone else, I’d send him packing and get her home myself. But I trust David, and I recognize the warmth and delight in his eyes when he walks in and sees her—it’s clear whatever is brewing between them is genuine.
When they leave, I turn back to the glass of bourbon I’ve been sipping on for the last hour. It’s only my second one, but I know better than to rush whiskey. Plus, my body is already whirring from being in the same vicinity as Wells, and I don’t want to overdo it and ruin any opportunities to get close to him again.
I steal a glance at the dark hallway that leads to the back office and I’m surprised to find him standing in the shadows. His arms are crossed over his chest, a shoulder leaning against the wall, and he’s watching me with a level of reverence that steals the breath from my lungs.
He gives a small nod over his shoulder, beckoning me to follow him before he disappears around the corner.
My heart thunders, a wild pounding reaching my throat. I turn to find Rhett busy with customers at the other end of the bar, and a quick look around proves that the other patrons are engaged in their own conversations. It’s all the encouragement I need to tip back the rest of my drink and slide off of my stool.
I find Wells in the open doorway to the office, a blue-lit sign that hangs from the hallway wall shining over him. It makes him look even more enticing, and I move toward him like a moth to a flame.
“You look good in neon.” His eyes roam my face before they trail down my throat. And I feel it again: a dangerous pull for more.
It’s what coaxes the question from my mouth. “How good?”
His eyes snap up to mine and I see how they change, how his pupils swallow his beautiful brown irises whole. And he must understand the dare in my bones, because he’s suddenly standing taller, shoulders growing wider as he crowds into my space. He steps toward me so I’m forced to move until my back makes contact with the wall of the hallway behind me. The base of my skull disturbs a frame that hangs, but neither of us addresses it. “Layla,” he breathes, the low timbre of his voice like the softest velvet.
His restraint is cracking, the splintered edges of his control fraying by the second. It feels like all the air’s been sucked out of the narrow space around us. And I might be the world’s biggest fool, but I want him to give in—it would be such a relief to all this restlessness in my heart.
So, emboldened by the tremble of his hand as it settles on my hip and the way I’m burning from the inside out, I decide I’m ready to face this fire head-on instead of running from it again. I brush my nose against his, inhaling the spice of his cologne and those familiar traces of wintergreen, and I say it. “Kiss me.”
I feel the sharp breath he takes in, the way he holds it in his lungs as he looks at me with so much longing I’m not sure I can stand it.
And then he does.
His mouth moves against mine painfully slow, giving me so many chances to stop him, to stop this. But when I let out an eager whimper, his tenderness turns hungry. His hips pin mine against the wall, fingers pressing deep into my skin as he takes what he wants from my mouth. “Fuck, Layla,” he whispers against my lips, darting his tongue out to part me open.
He glides his fingers up my jaw, where they settle possessively behind the nape of my neck as he pulls me closer, deepening the kiss. I wrap my arms around his neck and when a soft moan escapes me, he grunts and skates his teeth along my chin before his mouth presses hot against my throat.
My body practically sings under his touch, and it’s . . . confusing. It’s confusing and damn near terrifying and . . . oh my god his hands are rough and calloused as they whisper up my arms. “Wells,” I plead, but I’m not sure what I’m begging for. He responds with a thrust, pressing his hips further into mine as he lifts my right leg up and over his waist. I nearly cry out as the skirt of my dress slips and bunches where his jeans meet my inner thigh, the buckle of his belt digging into my skin.
“I’ve been going out of my mind,” he murmurs against my temple before leaning down to take my bottom lip between his teeth. “I’ve been fucking dying for this, Layla.”
His confession is a match struck in a room full of kerosene, and I can only hope we’re both not burned by the fire. He drags the stubble of his chin along my throat as I whisper, “I’m going to make a mess of this.” I’m incapable of stopping what’s happening, incapable of any restraint. But Wells deserves an out if he needs one.
“Make a mess of me, then,” he insists, and I lose myself in him completely. His hips rock forward as his hand trails down my side to slip under my dress. Fingers ghost along my thigh, and my breath catches. “Can I go down on you?” he asks, his bee-stung lips slick from my mouth. “Please?”
My core pulses violently at the need in his voice, and when I give him an eager nod, he immediately drops to his knees. “Will anyone find us?”
He shakes his head, lifting my raised leg over his shoulder. “It’s just Rhett and me tonight, and he’s busy out there.”
Of all his brothers, Rhett is the last one I’d want to catch this. There’s no telling what he’d do. But with Wells’s impatient expression between my legs, my need for more outweighs all sanity. And when he tugs my panties to the side to expose my desire, I freeze in heady anticipation.
I look down to watch him in wonder. He keeps the cotton of my underwear pinned with one hand as his other traces my inner thigh. He’s looking at my skin in awe, and it takes a moment to realize what he sees—the imprint of his buckle, where it was branded into my flesh. It takes the shape of a rodeo horse, outlined in red. He thumbs it softly, breath shaking as he whispers, “So fucking beautiful.”
And when he turns his attention back to where I’m bared open for him, his eyes turn black. It takes only seconds for him to take me into his mouth, for his tongue to make contact where I want him most, and I nearly combust on the spot. He hums out a rattling breath and I feel it vibrate through my bones. There is nothing tender about the way he sucks against me, the way his teeth nip at swollen skin. There is only his hunger and my need, and we’re both undone by it.
The impact is so intense that I squirm against his hot mouth, but a strong hand at the base of my spine holds me in place. His other hand disappears beneath him, and when he lets out a soft grunt, I realize he’s touching himself. A wave of pleasure tips inside of me, crashing through every limb, and soon I’m on the precipice of completely unraveling. “I’m close,” I whimper. “Fuck, Wells, I’m so close.”
He groans out a guttural sound, and it’s what takes me over the edge. I cover a hand over my mouth to stifle a cry as my mind blanks. The orgasm is a growing, blasting thing of light, and I don’t know how to contain myself.
“Shh,” he gently shushes from beneath me. But then his forehead presses into my stomach and he’s trying like hell to smother his own groans, and I realize that he’s coming. It takes me by surprise that this would be enough to get him off, too. A savage delight shakes through me. A feeling of power like I’ve never experienced before.
After a long breath, he tips his head back to look up at me, an almost shy smile on his slicked lips. He carefully positions my underwear back in place and smooths my dress back down before he rises.
But he doesn’t back away. Those lips connect with mine, and I can taste myself on them. “Do you have anywhere else to be tonight?” His eyes are sharp and hopeful.
“No.” I shake my head.
“Good,” he says simply, adjusting himself through his pants. “I’m not done with you yet.”