Chapter 5
Wild
Wildflower
Do you think you could help me get my bed and dresser over to your place?
I rub my hand over my face and peer at the screen again through squinting eyes. I must be seeing things—there’s no way Indie texted and asked me for help.
But nope, sure as shit, there sits her text message asking me to come help her move her stuff into my house.
A zing of excitement races through me at the idea of her moving in. When she texted me last night about making the move today, I figured it would be later in the day, knowing the woman’s aversion to early mornings.
I debate about what to text back for a few seconds. Normally, I’d say something to get under her skin—tease her about being eager to see me—but I know that if I want this to work out, I need to be on my best behavior.
Not only do I want this to work for her since I know she’s had to move around a lot over the last couple of years, but selfishly, I really want her here. There aren’t many people I could tolerate living with, but I feel like Ind is definitely one of them—and I’m tired of living alone.
I can be there in fifteen.
It works out great that the house she’s been renting is just down the street from me. We should be able to get her completely moved in pretty fast today.
Wildflower
Thanks.
Anything for you, honey-bun
Sometimes I just can’t help myself.
“What are you doin’? You can’t go that way. You have to turn?—”
Ind lets out a loud huff as she yanks the mattress back in her direction.
“Do you want my help or not, woman?” I ask, dropping my side of the mattress onto the floor.
The death glare she shoots in my direction tells me I can go straight to hell. I love when she gets all feisty like this. Makes me want to kiss that attitude right out of her.
What can I say? I’ve always loved playing with fire.
She begins shoving the mattress through the doorway of her new room on her own. It wedges against the door frame, and she lets out a growl of frustration, tossing her head back.
“Ind,” I calmly state, picking up my side again. “I know what I’m doin’. Just listen to me.”
Her resigned expression gives me hope that she’ll cooperate—at least for a minute. I know my time is short, so I make quick work to finish getting this damn thing in her room.
Five minutes later, the bed is finally in place. We both plop down on top of it and let out a sigh of relief that it’s over.
“Thanks,” she finally says from beside me.
I peek over and see that her eyes are closed. I’m so damn close to her that it’d be easy to lean over and plant a ‘you’re welcome’ kiss on her perfect pouty lips.
And damn, I really want to.
It doesn’t help matters being on this big, soft mattress, either. Images of the last time we were on a bed together start to flood my mind, and I feel blood rushing to places it shouldn’t right now.
Deciding to be a good sport, I quickly sit up and stand from the mattress.
“Any time, sweet pea,” I respond, watching for her reaction.
Sitting up, Ind rolls her eyes dramatically like she doesn’t love the names I give her.
“Will you quit with the damn names?” she asks, not sounding as annoyed as she wants to be.
“Never, sugar pie.” I extend a hand toward her.
She shakes her head and stands from the mattress on her own.
“Look,” she starts. “If we’re gonna live together and not have one of us end up in the morgue, you’re gonna have to stop tryin’ to push every damn button you can find.”
If she only knew how hard I was already trying to be good.
I can’t help the urge I feel to push and tease when I’m around her. She can pretend it doesn’t do the same thing to her that it does to me, but I know better.
“I know,” I counter. “All I said was you’re welcome. I wasn’t tryin’ to start a fight. I’m sorry if it bothered you,” I finish with a smile.
She looks me over like she’s trying to figure out what game I’m playing at. Her hands rest on her hips as she bites down on the inside of her cheek.
“I’m just a little on edge lately. Just give me space, okay?” she finally responds, eyes casting down to the floor and then back up to me.
Moving can be stressful, and I know she does a lot of it. Her being on edge is understandable. Hopefully, now that she’s here, she can start to relax more and stress less.
Nodding, I step closer and throw an arm over her shoulder as I begin walking us out of the room. “I reckon I can do that.”
She lets out a light laugh as she shakes her head. “You’re already failin’,” she states, grabbing my arm off of her shoulder.
We spent the rest of the morning and afternoon moving her things and getting her situated in her room. I was on my best behavior and only pissed her off one or two more times. But in my defense, her ass was practically in my face, how could I not smack it? I’m sure if I would have bitten it like I wanted to, she would have been a lot more pissed off. She really should thank me for holding back like I did. Took some real effort on my part.
By the time dinner rolled around, we were both worn out, and I didn’t feel like cooking much. Thankfully, I had some steaks in the fridge, so I tossed those on the grill for us.
I don’t have people over for dinner often, but it feels nice cooking for two—and not to mention the company while doing so.
When I bring the steaks in, I find Indie in the kitchen, pulling some baked potatoes from the oven. Her hair is swept up in a big clip, and she’s changed into a pair of black sleep shorts and an oversized t-shirt. I can’t be sure, but it looks a hell of a lot like an old shirt of mine that mysteriously vanished last summer.
Deciding she looks better in it, I leave that one alone. You’ll never find me complaining about that woman walking around in my clothes.
We make our plates side by side. I’m usually the one going to everyone else’s houses to eat. It’s weird, but it feels nice to have a real meal at my own place for a change.
Reaching into the fridge, I grab the bag of salad, extending it to Indie first. She scrunches her nose like I just offered her liver and onions.
“No thanks,” she says, grabbing her plate and walking to the table.
“Indie, Indie, Indie,” I shake my head, piling the colorful assortment of vegetables onto my plate. “You gotta balance that plate out. You know there ain’t no dessert if you don’t eat your veggies,” I tease, peering up at her.
“Thanks, Dad . But I’ve made it this far without eatin’ that green shit. I think I’ll be okay,” she says with a voice full of sarcasm.
“Your loss,” I shrug. “I have half a chocolate ice cream cake in the freezer that I hear callin’ our names.”
Taking my seat at the opposite end of the table, she glances up from her plate again.
“I’ll survive.” She pops a piece of steak into her mouth and then puts her attention back on her plate.
As I cut into my perfectly cooked New York Strip, I hear Ind say something just above a whisper.
“What was that?” I ask, not hearing her.
“I said… thanks.” She looks down at her plate and pushes the food around with her fork. “It’s a good steak. You didn’t have to share with me, but you did.” Her amber-brown eyes peek up at me momentarily before going back to the food in front of her. “You didn’t have to help me in my time of need, but… you filled my growling stomach,” she quietly laughs, biting at her bottom lip.
I can hear everything she’s really thanking me for. I’ve learned over the years I’ve known Ind that words are hard for her. Being in a vulnerable situation or talking about feelings are two things she doesn’t like.
Is this arrangement going to be a smooth ride the whole time? Hell no. But I can try my damnedest. Especially if it means I can be there for her in her time of need. This woman hates to ask for help, so the fact that she’s allowing me to step in and do what I can means a lot to me.
Knowing how much she loves it, I shoot a wink in her direction when she looks up at me from her plate.
“You’re welcome, Wildflower.”
The apples of her cheeks lift slightly at the use of her favorite nickname, even though she’s doing her best to keep her reaction unseen. Right about the time that pigs fly will I not notice her reactions to me.
One thing about wildflowers, they’re too beautiful not to be seen.
“Wanna fuckin’ bet?” Indie says saucily, jutting one hip out and crossing her arms over her chest.
“You bet your sweet ass I do.”
She rolls her eyes in that dramatic way of hers. “What are we bettin’?”
It hasn’t even been a full twenty-four hours, and we are already at it again. This woman can’t beat me at Rummy. I’ve been playing since I was old enough to hold a damn card in my hand. She’s only been playing for a few years since we all taught her when she started coming to our family game nights.
I give her a mischievous smile.
“Mouths. If I win… I get to do whatever I want with this dirty mouth of yours… And vice-versa, obviously .”
Her eyes narrow as she scrunches her face, like she’s not on board. But those now pink cheeks tell a different story.
“No,” she shakes her head, her gaze trailing to my side as she pulls her lip between her teeth. “I don’t want your mouth. I want your hands.”
I need someone to fucking pinch me. I have to be dreaming. There’s no way she’s entertaining this bet.
“Alright,” I nod. “I’m good with these terms.”
She jumps up from the table, walks to the kitchen drawer where I keep all my junk, and grabs the deck of red and white playing cards.
What has to be the fastest hand of Rummy I’ve ever played in my life ends with me having no clue what the fuck just happened.
“We’re playin’ to five hundred,” I say, grabbing the deck to shuffle and deal another hand.
“The hell we are. That wasn’t the bet,” Indie states, standing from the table and walking into the living room. “Come on, game master ,” she taunts over her shoulder.
Like the dog I am, I follow her. Because really, did I lose? This was honestly a win-win situation for me.
She lays down and positions herself on the couch, putting an arm underneath her head.
All I can think is, Rose who? I’ve never seen a better-looking redhead sprawled out on a couch in my life.
“Alright, get to work,” she demands, closing her eyes.
“Yes, ma’am,” I smile, not even giving a shit about losing that game. I’d lose every game if this is the price I have to pay.
Bending down in front of her, I begin to undo the button on her jean shorts. Her hand quickly comes out from behind her head and smacks me away.
“I don’t think so, Buddy.” She gives me a sly smile and lifts her opposite hand. “Lower.” I follow the finger she points past me.
She wiggles her toes, tossing her arm back behind her head with a victorious smile.
This is not what I had in mind when she said she wanted my damn hands.
Being a fair loser, I let out a defeated sigh and venture down further. I then make it my mission to give her the best foot massage of her damn life.
As I knead my fingers into the arch of her foot, she lets out a low moan. I knead the spot harder, and her moan turns to a throaty whimper.
Shifting my pants, I glance up to see her watching me with a shit-eating grin.
“Think that’s funny?” I ask, gripping her foot again.
She gives me a little shrug and closes her eyes, relaxing into the couch.
My fingers slowly ghost up her leg, and I watch as the little goosebumps appear. I lightly begin to rub tiny little circles up her bare leg with the pads of my fingertips.
“Wild, don’t,” she warns.
“I’m not doin’ nothin’,” I retort, continuing to make my way higher up her smooth, mile-long legs.
“That is not my foot.” She shifts on the couch, pulling her leg away from me.
“This is an all-inclusive massage. Start at the bottom,” my fingers smooth over the top of her foot, “and work my way up. What… you can’t handle it?” I arch a brow, meeting her stare. “Likin’ it a bit too much there, Wildflower?”
I love being able to touch her like this—something I haven’t been able to do in a long fucking time. But I love even more that she clearly likes it as much as I do. Which is easy to tell by the increasing pulse I feel in her foot that’s still wrapped in one of my hands. I’ve never been more thrilled about my EMT training.
“Times up,” she says, standing from the couch in a hurry.
Before I can say anything, she’s down the hall and to her room, quickly shutting the door.