8. Wilder
Wilder
I spent most of the day wrapping up details to move my things from Laporte to the new ranch once the paperwork’s done. Then Willa reappeared from her time with the girls, and I took her to lunch to discuss the deal details.
Hours later, I’m lying on the sofa considering all the ways my ranch deal could go south, when Oz sneaks quietly in.
Ginger follows him, tail tucked as she skirts inside and heads for the bedroom.
He follows her, hitting the bathroom before eventually dropping into the bed.
The mattress springs creak beneath his weight, and he leaves the light on.
Pages flip in a book. He must be reading or something. Maybe he’s like me and sometimes can’t turn his mind off. Yet his breathing is slow and deep. I listen for the sound of his heartbeat before remembering he’s a gargoyle, and his heart will be silent until a mate claims him.
That must feel so odd, for nothing inside you to ever race or pound?
Makes me think about bull riding, that heart-pounding sensation while the bull’s doing his damned best to throw you. In that moment, a heartbeat’s the only thing I ever heard, and I felt it all the way to the tips of my toes. Not having that? I can’t even fathom it.
I wake to sun rays drifting lazily through the window and across my face.
Normally, I’m up with the birds, but I didn’t fall asleep until after Oz got home, so I didn’t wake up when the sun rose.
An ache in my bad shoulder has me rolling onto the floor and stretching long, trying to pull the muscles into a more comfortable position.
I hold five or six positions for a minute each, doing the poses my physical therapist suggested.
It’s not real clear to me if they’re actually helping, but they’ve gotta be better than doing nothing.
The cottage is chilly this morning, so I stalk to the corner and start the fire in the wood-burning fireplace. I’ve got no idea what Oz plans to do today, but it’s an hour until BrewHaHa opens up, so I assume he’ll want to march over there straight away to get to his table.
I grimace thinking about the table war. It already feels so far away. I need to take it as a good sign that Willa took to Oz so quickly. If she feels like this is gonna be fine, I’m sure it will.
Yeah, I’ll just keep repeating that to myself.
The sound of a throat clearing has me turning and standing. Oz is across the room on the other side of the dining table, holding something behind his back with a little smile curving his dusky purple lips upward.
“Err, good morning, hubby,” he says in a sweet little tone. “I made something last night because I’m more of a visual learner. I’d like to go over it with you this morning if that’s okay? Then I’m going to head to BrewHaHa and, well, you can come…if you want.”
My brain’s blanked out, though, because he’s talking, and I barely comprehend the words. “What in the hells are you wearing?” I wave at the getup draped over his lithe musculature.
He glances down his body, running his left hand down his abs like he’s trying to find what I’m referencing. “My conversation hearts onesie? These are my literal favorite pajamas because they keep me warm.” His smile falls. “I get cold a lot, and I prefer to be warm.”
I stare at him. It’s one giant outfit all connected together…
purple long sleeves and legs, and it’s fitted enough that it hugs tight to his junk.
Fuck, I’m staring at it now. But the bulge between his thighs is neatly outlined and covered in tiny conversation heart candies.
I’d bet ten dollars if I look closely, they have dirty messages on them.
“You gonna wear that every night?” I force my gaze away and head to the coffee maker, going through the motions as I stop trying to picture Oz’s dick beneath that fabric.
“Umm.” He sits at the breakfast table. “I just wore shorts and a tee last night, but I was pretty freezing, even snuggling Ginger and your sister.” He lets out a wry little laugh. “Speaking of, where did Willa even get to?”
I shrug. “She’s got a mind of her own and she’s…nosy’s the best way to put it. She calls it inquisitive. Never does keep any particular schedule. She’ll show up when she’s needed or wants to. You’ll see.”
He scoffs. “You’re not worried about the fact that she didn’t come home last night?
“No…” the word trails off when I turn to find Ginger slinking into the room wearing, and I’m not joking, dog pajamas that match Oz’s. She yawns and wags her tail slowly, walking past the stove to join me. Her butt hits my feet, and she looks up with those pretty amber eyes.
“Don’t insult her pajamas,” Oz warns. “She is also cold-natured, and I think it kinda functions to calm her down. She loves putting them on, so I had to start getting us matching outfits.”
I say nothing. A dog in jammies? What can I even say? He’s not my mate, and she’s not my animal.
Instead, I wave the coffee pot toward him. “You need a cup?”
He wrinkles his nose. “Naw. I’m a BrewHaHa latte sort of male. I’ll wait till I go there. Why don’t you have a seat though, so we can go over this little project?”
Dropping into the closest chair, I focus in silence as he does the same across from me, setting a sheet of paper down between us.
Then he unfolds the paper so it stretches nearly three feet wide and three feet tall, taking up almost the whole table between us.
The entire thing is covered in cutout pieces of magazine with random words and pictures of men together. Plus…dancing?
“Hear me out,” Oz starts, resting his hands on the…whatever this thing is. “As I mentioned, I’m more visual, so this is a couples vision board for the next few weeks.”
I cock my head to the side. “Couples vision board? What do we do with it?”
He smiles softly, and it’s radiant because it almost looks real. I need to remember that this entire situation is fake and of our own making. Nothing about our interactions is real.
“Seeing the girls at BrewHaHa yesterday really cemented for me how we’re faking this, not only in front of Saint, but the whole town.
We have to make it good because otherwise this’ll fall apart, and you won’t get your ranch.
I won’t get my money, and it’ll be bad for both of us.
Not to mention, you’re a Gulcher now, and you’ll probably be in my bar quite a bit, so I don’t want things to ever be weird.
So—” He thrums his fingers over the cluttered surface.
“This is meant to spark conversation about the vibes. Yesterday, we covered facts about one another, but how do we want to seem? That’s what I did here. ”
I take a big gulp of hot coffee, trying to center myself around this. After a quiet moment, I look over the table. “Anyone ever tell you how extra you are, Oz?”
His mouth drops open, then he sits back and scowls. “You’re paying me, so I’m trying to do the job and make it look good. Do you not want that?”
“Of course,” I start, but he’s already up, disappearing into the bedroom.
Fabric hits the floor, and then he zips into new clothing.
When he reappears, he’s dressed with his bag over his shoulder.
Without saying anything, he stalks to the door and yanks it open, Ginger following after, still wearing her PJs.
Oz halts in the doorway, glancing over his left shoulder and wing at me.
“Saint Ashbourne used to always tell me I was too much—too brash, too loud, too sexual, too much of everything I loved about myself. And eventually, I made myself so small to fit into the box he made for me that I didn’t recognize who I was.
I moved here to start fresh, and I promised myself I wouldn’t make myself small like that again, and I haven’t.
” He lifts his chin. “Don’t ask me to start, Wilder. ”
I stare as he and Ginger disappear out the door.
It snicks quietly shut behind him, and the cottage shudders around me, sounding as distressed on the outside as I now feel on the inside.
Regret and unhappiness brew in my gut, filling me with an uncomfortable sensation like worms eating at my innards.
That hurt his feelings, what I asked. And I didn’t mean to, but I did anyhow. I need him, but even more than that, I don’t like that I upset him. This is exactly why I’m usually silent. I’m often misunderstood, and I don’t have the best bedside manner, according to Willa.
Looking down at the vision board, I take in what he put together. There’s a gay couple ice skating. Two men riding horses together. Male gargoyles holding hands. Chocolates, flowers, kisses on the cheek. Drinks with friends. He’s showing me what he thinks we need to do to make this look real.
We’ve got to put on a good show, that much is clear.
But I wonder if, beyond that, it’s what he deeply, deeply wants for himself. Coffee in hand, I sit at the table and stare at the board. Maybe if I really focus, I can figure out my new boyfriend.
And a really damn good apology.