Chapter 33
CHAPTER
THIRTY-THREE
HUDSON
I ’m buzzing. All day, so many faces and too many names, every single one of them with personalities too big to hold in one tiny town.
The way Viv took me under her arm and showed me around her house and land, the obvious pride in her voice, really smacked me in the face with …
something. Something I’m not smart enough to recognize.
Gracie and her intense curiosity about everything.
Jean and Cookie and their exhibit of wooden sculptures.
Bashful Nixon and his five younger siblings.
Queenie, who insisted on reading my tarot cards.
Nox, and the chess game they challenged me to.
I give my head a shake as I work through the muddled feelings that are warring for space in my chest.
No matter how different these Wenders are from each other, they have one thing in common.
They’re happy . Not the type of happy I put on to cover the crushing disappointment of life.
The kind of happy that is bursting out of them.
And when Wilde is around them, it softens him.
Those hard edges melt, and the tension in his shoulders relaxes.
I’d been expecting hostility and intense questioning, not being made to feel welcome.
It’s probably the worst thing I’ve experienced here so far.
Wilde’s watching me over the hood of his truck. “Come on, I’ll buy you a drink.”
“Shouldn’t I be the one making that offer?”
“Not this time.” His leg is getting stiffer, so I let the argument go and frustratingly let him drive. I’d argue if I thought it would get me anywhere, but Wilde has made it clear that he won’t get into the car with anyone driving but him.
It’s a peaceful sort of silence as we trundle along, pulling up out the front of a decent-sized building a few minutes later. It has a wide front porch overlooking the river and tall front windows, and through them, I can make out large ceiling fans circling sluggishly.
“What is this place?”
“A Wilde’s End secret.” His lips pinch like he’s unsure whether to keep talking. “We call it the Cutty. It’s our bar. No one but Wenders knows about this place.”
Again, that odd feeling tries to take over. “Why do you call it the Cutty?”
“Because the drinks have a way of cutting you down.” He strides toward the building, doing his best to hide the pain he’s in. “Come on. One drink. Then I’ll drop you home.”
The reminder that I have to go back there dulls my good mood, but I push it away for now. Any extra time I get to spend with Wilde is extra time I’ll take. I’m determined to piece him together, to figure out his mystery, even as he does everything he can to stop that from happening .
We get inside, and it’s nothing like I expected. Most of the homes I’ve seen today were small and modest, whereas the Cutty is the complete opposite.
It has high rafters and a long gleaming bar down the right, and there’s a seating area down the left with a pool table and jukebox at the back. I turn to Wilde with wide eyes. “This is fancy.”
“It works. We built it.”
“From a professional standpoint, it’s really good.”
He grunts because he always grunts and then rounds the bar to pour two beers.
“You help yourself?”
“Yep.”
“Like, anyone ? But … what if someone steals it? Or drinks too much? Or …”
So help my fucking heart, he chuckles. I didn’t know he could do that.
“Can’t steal what’s free, and we’re all adults smart enough to run our own lives.
” He hands me a glass and joins me back on the customer side.
“The rule is once you’re done, you leave whatever money you can spare, if you can spare some. ”
“But if people aren’t paying for it, how do you afford to keep it stocked?”
“Who said they aren’t paying for it?” Wilde shrugs and takes a sip. “This shit isn’t expensive, and the money left is usually more than enough to replace what we drink. What you’re thinking of is profit. We don’t do that here.”
It’s embarrassing how hard it is for me to wrap my head around that. Ever since starting our business, I’ve been driven by money. Money to cover costs, then money to get ahead, now money to make my brothers’ and my lives easy.
I follow Wilde to a table toward the back. There’s no one else in here, and I don’t know if it’s because it’s still early in the day or because there are so few people in the town to begin with .
Our chairs are side by side, and I have a long drink of the sweet-tasting beer before leaning back and looking at him.
“You have a pretty cool town,” I admit.
His lips twitch. “Yours now.”
“Ask anyone around here and I’m sure they’d disagree with that.”
“True.” His jaw twitches to the side. “Not my town either though. People look at me like a leader because I do so much, and truthfully, I don’t think anyone else wants the responsibility.”
“People always want power.”
Then Wilde shocks the hell out of me when a smile catches his lips. It stretches his jaw wide, and these little creases spread from the corners of his eyes. “You are such a city boy.”
I smile back, but mostly because I’ve run out of things to say. I don’t think I’ve ever seen him smile before, and that’s probably a good thing because Wilde with a sexy trimmed beard and a smile that warms his eyes is enough to make everything inside of me short-circuit.
It slowly slips off his face again. “What?”
“You’re smiling.”
It disappears completely. “And?”
“And … I …” You’re beautiful. I’m in shock. It made something in my chest go ping . “Didn’t know you could do that.”
“I have a mouth, don’t I?”
Before the amusement in his eyes can totally fade, I change the subject. “My dick is well aware of that fact.”
Life flares into his dark pupils. “That one time was nothing. Barely a blow job.”
“Can’t wait until you give me a real one, then.”
He shifts around, arm resting across the backs of both chairs. “You’d never recover.”
“That might be the best challenge you’ve given me yet. ”
“We’ll see.” He finishes the last of his beer. “Drink that, and I’ll take you home.”
Instead of draining my glass, I take a small sip. His eyes narrow, and it brings my combatant side out. “I’m enjoying myself right here.”
“Because we’re talking about blow jobs?”
“Because I’m talking to you.”
Wilde looks like the one who goes offline for a moment. “That’s … no one …”
“How long have you lived here?” He can bumble his way through denying he’s fun to talk to all he likes; I’m not going to let him get away with it. Sure, he’s a minefield of grunts and nonanswers, but the way I feel with his attention on me is too addictive to walk away from.
“Twenty years.”
“Oh, wow. That’s a long time.”
He doesn’t immediately answer, but I can sense one coming. “It’s gone faster than you’d think. Things like birthdays and dates don’t mean much to me. It all just … passes.”
“How old are you?”
“Thirty-seven.”
That means he was only a teenager when he got here. Did he come alone? What happened when he was seventeen that had him land here? I know better than to ask, especially with that contemplative look playing across his face.
“What are you thinking about?”
His large hand scuffs at his beard. “When Ziggy shaved it for me, it was the first time I’ve looked in a mirror in … a long time. Looked older than I was expecting.”
“Old isn’t a bad thing.”
He laughs softly. “I didn’t say old. I said older. Jesus. ”
I reach up and run my knuckles over the short facial hair. My nerves are in my throat as I wait for him to bat my hand away, but he only watches me, curious. “Older looks good from where I’m sitting.”
My voice is huskier than I expect it to be, and instead of disagreeing—or hell, even saying it back—Wilde lifts my glass and holds it out to me. “Finish.”
I guess I’ve pushed my luck enough with him today, so as much as I want to keep teasing him with small sips, I do what I’m told for once. The cold liquid disappears, and then I set the glass down again.
Wilde takes them both, and I follow him to the bar, where he washes them up, dries them, and sits them on a rack. Then he stuffs five dollars into a jar full of cash.
I’m about to ask if it’s ever been stolen, but I think I already know the answer to that.
“Truck. Now.”
I assume he’s had enough of me, but halfway back to Old End, Wilde stops suddenly. Trees hug us on both sides, and there’s no one else in sight, so I’m only partially surprised when he reaches for his fly and tugs down the zipper. His hardened cock springs out.
“Suck it.”
He doesn’t need to tell me twice.
Something about being in each other’s presence all day to the quiet moment in the bar has me needy for it, and I suck his cock like I’ve never sucked one before.
I’m careful of his leg, but otherwise, there’s nothing holding me back from giving in to the way I want to taste him more than I want anything.
It doesn’t take long, and when Wilde floods my mouth with his cum, I swallow every last thing he gives me .
He sighs, sitting back in the chair with his eyes closed as I sit up and wipe my mouth.
“That was unexpected.”
There’s a scratch in his voice when he speaks. “Was it?” His eyes flick open and catch mine, a spark of light in the muted green cab. He’s right. Whenever we’re together, I can’t deny that sex is high on my list of wants, and today is no different. Actually, today probably only made it worse.
Most of the time when I get to know someone, I resent how much I want them. How I crave that high that’s always followed by a crash brought on by how disappointed I am in myself.
But here, with his taste fresh on my tongue, I wait for disappointment that doesn’t come.
“Want a turn?” he asks, nodding to my dick.
“Nah, I’m good.” I’m not good. I very, very much want a turn, but I also don’t want him to have the pain that will come with him giving me head. That bite looked nasty, and there’s no way he’ll deep-throat me without reinjuring himself. I know better than to give him the real reason though.
“Suit yourself.” He turns the car back on, and it’s frustratingly short minutes before we’re back in Old End.
I climb out without saying goodbye, and Wilde doesn’t bother either. Before I can ask when I’ll see him again, he takes off, and I watch the truck disappear down the dirt road.
“How was it?” Kennedy calls from a doorway as soon as Wilde is gone.
How was it?
At first, my brain leaps to the blow job, but then I remember everything else from today.
All those indecipherable feelings come racing back, and I don’t know where to start.
Do I tell him about the people? The Cutty?
That I just blew Wilde in his truck after a moment of actual conversation between us ?
Fuck me, I’m really settling for scraps, aren’t I?
Even acknowledging that, a smile forces its way onto my face and doesn’t give up until I feel like I’m shooting rainbows out of my eyes.
“It was interesting” is all I say before I clap him on the back and get to work. It’s the best mood I’ve been in since I got here.