Chapter 23
CHAPTER
TWENTY-THREE
MAISIE
Oh shit.
Oh god. Oh god.
OH GOD.
There are two of everything—I mean, three if you count how many Saints I’m seeing right now, but then again, the floor is also kind of swaying beneath my feet, so it could be that.
My mouth feels weird. Numb and tingly? How is that even possible?
“Lennon. I need to talk to you. Right. Now,” I say, grabbing her hand and tugging her away, until we’re out of earshot from her bodyguard boyfriend.
“It’s your birthday!” she singsongs, and I grab her face with both hands. Well, like, sort of her ear, and one hand in her hand, but you get the point.
“Len, focus.”
Thank God she’s the more sober one of the two of us.
She’s only had a couple of drinks, and that’s because if she got too drunk, then she wouldn’t remember all of the disgusting things Saint will be doing to her tonight—more information than I needed to know, but still.
God, what was I even going to say?
I already forgot. The lights are too bright.
My clutch begins to incessantly vibrate, and I drop my hand from Lennon to clumsily get the latch open, then pull out my phone.
UNKNOWN NUMBER: Here. You’ve got five minutes to get your pretty little ass outside, or I’m coming in.
UNKNOWN NUMBER: Do not try me tonight, Maisie. You got what you wanted and you’ve pushed me too fucking far.
Gulping, I flip the screen toward her.
This is what I was going to tell her.
Her brow pinches. “Wh—”
“Wilder is here.”
“Oh my God.” Lennon’s eyes go wide, and she glances around to make sure no one has heard, stepping closer. “What do you mean, he’s freaking here? At the busiest bar on campus? Full of students?”
I nod. “Yes. Welllllll…” I trail off and wince. “I kind of emailed him this really long email about how I don’t like his dick, and I don’t care about him at all, so then he called me, and I may have FaceTimed him and showed him my dress and told him thatIwasn’twearinganypanties?”
Lennon screeches, “Oh, you dirty girl! But, wait, I thought you were done with him?”
She gives me the look.
You know, the one where the person who knows you better than you know yourself is telling you that she knows better?
“I am done!”
When she continues to look at me with that smirk and that look that tells me she doesn’t believe me whatsoever, I groan.
“I am. We’re just going to… talk. I can’t let him come in here. Saint and Bennett would see him, and can you imagine? God, it would be a nightmare.”
She nods. “Yeah, you’re right. You’re going to talk… with your va—” I slap my hand over her mouth, and she giggles against my palm.
“Seriously, you have to help me stage a… I dunno, a getaway? Your bodyguard cannot see him.”
Lennon’s eyes roll when I reference Saint, and I drop my hand.
“You’re sure you want to go with him? Because you’re kinda tipsy, Mais. He’s not pressuring you, right?”
“No, Len, I… Yes, I do want to go with him. For sure. I’m annoyed at him, but yes. It’s my birthday…”
She finally nods. “Okay, I’ve got this. I’ll meet you by the front door, but do not go outside by yourself, okay?”
“I promise.”
I do as she says and wait near the exit, constantly checking the time on my phone because the closer it gets to the five minutes Wilder says I have before he comes in, the more worried I get.
I have absolutely no doubt that he will do as he says, and that’s not going to be good for either of us.
Thank God, Lennon reappears a minute later, and we dash out the doors into the cool night air.
She’s the first to spot him and starts toward his truck because my head is spinning. Literally, I feel like the girl from The Exorcist right now.
I am absolutely not walking in any semblance of a straight line. Lennon’s arm is looped in mine, keeping me upright in my heels.
A drunken giggle spills out of me when I see Wilder’s expression. He looks like he wants to murder me… or maybe kiss me.
Maybe both?
“Maisie…” he mutters when we stop in front of him, and I can’t seem to get the giggles under control.
No judging me. I’m just a girl who has had way too many drinks because it’s my freaking birthday. I get one night to act like a stereotypical college girl.
His gaze darts to Lennon’s, and suddenly, it dawns on me.
“Ohhhh. Shit. I wasn’t supposed to tell you,” I say, turning to glance at my best friend, lifting my hand to cover her eyes. “Shhhhhh… Pretend you have no idea who he is.”
“Maisie, you’re not whispering,” Wilder says with a long, ragged sigh.
Oops. I was trying to whisper though. It’s the thought that counts.
“I’m not going to tell anyone. That includes Saint. But I’m only doing that for my best friend. Because I’d do anything for her.”
“Yeah? You let all of your friends get so fucked-up they can barely walk?”
Oh shit.
I don’t even have the chance to yell at him because Lennon pins Wilder with a hard glare. “Uh, you’re the reason she was going to spend her twenty-first birthday sad and alone. Asshole.”
If I weren’t teetering on the edge of falling over and maybe throwing up, I’d give her a high five. I’m so proud of how fierce she looks right now. That’s my girl.
Wilder just sighs dejectedly. Guess he doesn’t want to fight with her because he’s watching me sway on these heels.
He reaches for me, but Lennon’s already there, steadying me.
Her gaze bounces between us, and she sighs. “This is what Maisie wants, and she can make her own decisions. Don’t misunderstand the situation, Wilder. I don’t care who you are, whether you’re a professional hockey player, a coach, a billionaire—if you hurt her, I’ll punch you in the dick.”
I toss my head back as a laugh pours out of me until the point that my eyes water.
My best friend, who’s all of, like, I dunno, five four with her skates on, is standing toe to toe with this man, who’s at least a foot taller than her and could literally pick her up with one arm.
Ask me how I know…
With balls bigger than his.
Or at least she’s acting like they are.
The corner of Wilder’s lips curls into a slight smirk before he nods, expression turning less mean-ish. “Noted.”
Ugh, my head is already starting to hurt.
“Good. Glad we’re on the same page. Also, she’s never gotten drunk before, so… just get her home and take care of her, okay? It’s her twenty-first birthday; she only gets it once,” Lennon adds, and his eyes flare, the age difference between us glaringly obvious, per usual.
Who cares that I’m in college and you’re a coach? I want to scream it, but even in my drunken, chaotic state, I don’t.
At least, not yet.
Lennon pulls me into her arms and hugs me so tight that I can hardly breathe before she pulls back and stares at me.
“You have your phone, right?” When I nod, she keeps going.
“If you need me, I’m a phone call away. It doesn’t matter what time it is, I’ll come pick you up.
And I have your location, and I’ll randomly show up, just to make sure you’re good.
” She says the last part louder, and I giggle, realizing it was not for my benefit but Wilder’s.
His jaw is tense, but I see the hint of a smile, the one he’s trying to hide away.
Lennon knows that I’m safe with him. She knows that I would’ve chosen this tomorrow, or yesterday, or even a week ago. The man is her boyfriend’s coach. Not like he has anywhere to run where she can’t find him.
“Love you, byeeeee!”
With one last, lingering look, she turns and walks back to the bar, which thankfully isn’t far, so I can watch her until she disappears back inside the entrance.
“So…” I mutter. “You’re here. Why is it that you’re here again?”
I know that I’m taunting him, but it’s way too much fun to stop.
Likely will not be so fun tomorrow, but right now, all of my fucks are gone. Probably still inside the club at the bottom of those fruity drink glasses.
All six of them. Or was it eight of them?
“Get in the truck, Maisie,” is all Mr. Big Dick and Bad Attitude says with his stupid hot face, his stupid hot muscles stretching his T-shirt.
When I don’t move, my feet staying planted in place, crossing my arms over my chest, his brow arches.
In the kind of way that says try me.
And God, do I want to. Maybe it’s the alcohol, or maybe it’s just the fact that I like pushing him, but I like seeing him teetering on the edge of something invisible but inevitable.
I want to make him as crazy as he makes me feel.
Tugging my lip between my teeth, I don’t move, knowing that I’m baiting him, wanting him to cross the line he keeps drawing between us. Like he doesn’t just blow right through it every single time he tries to put it back.
“Do you have any fucking idea what I want to do to every motherfucker in that building who saw you in that dress tonight?” he rasps as he steps closer, every hard piece of his front pressed against my front, but his hands remain fisted at his sides as he shakes his head, his eyes wild.
“Knowing you were in there, moving that pretty little ass around, dancing with nothing underneath this dress?”
I wish that my breath didn’t quicken from how close he is. I wish that my heart didn’t always pound like it’s trying to burst out of the cage holding it back simply from the smell of him, or the fact that he feels familiar and comfortable in the most intimate way.
I shake my head.
“You make me fucking crazy, Maisie. You make me want to risk everything just for a taste of your sweet little college girl pussy. Risk my entire goddamn life to have you again.”
Oh my God.
Is the ground moving, or is it him?
I reach out to steady myself, my fingers tangling into the front of his shirt, and he sighs, a tortured sound tearing out of his throat. “Just get in the truck. Okay? You’ve been drinking all night, and you’re barely standing. Please, just get in the truck.”
My eyebrows shoot up.
A please from Wilder Hawthorne?
Damn. I’m way drunker than I thought.
It might be the way that he murmured the word or the look on his face as he says it, but for once, I do as I’m told and brush past him, walking to the truck without muttering a single bratty response.
As badly as I want to.