15. Wilder
Wilder
I’ve never ice skated. In fact, normally I wouldn’t be caught dead near a Sweetheart Ball.
Although, near as I can tell, this is less of a ball and more like a tailgate on top of a frozen pond.
The wind howls through the gulch, making it a pretty chilly time.
But it’s easy to forget that when Oz smiles at me as we grab ice skates from the pile Bluebell directed us to.
Ahead of us, Hadrian’s already flying to the middle of the lake with Bluebell in his arms. When he sets her down, she immediately flails, and he grabs her, hauling her against his much larger figure.
My insides ache with longing. I don’t know how long they’ve been together, but the way they look so comfortable, it’s amazing.
“Twenty years,” Oz says with a light laugh, pointing to Bluebell and Hadrian.
I turn to him, confused. “What?”
He chuckles. “That’s what twenty, almost thirty, years of friendship looks like when the friends become lovers. They’re so cute.” He sighs. “He’s a gargoyle, so when you know, you know.”
He freezes, tensing next to me as he bats his lashes and looks up.
I clear my throat to move past the awkward moment.
I don’t know where Saint is, so I can’t dig into the look on Oz’s face right now, but it’s just as well.
The way I rolled on top of him, and he arched his ass into me in that tent?
That was dangerously close to feeling real.
It felt real to me at the time. I thought it was a dream, but instead I touched him without his permission.
Part of me is pretty sure he was awake and into it, but my feelings about that are complicated.
My body’s feelings are less so. Watching Oz’s big fingers deftly pull the strings of his skates tight makes me wonder what those fingers would feel like caressing down my chest, down my abs and lower.
It’s been a long time since my last boyfriend, almost two years.
I’m out of practice but not out of desire.
And I haven’t lived with another male in almost a decade.
I’ve been on my own, and that’s been fine.
But this morning after Oz left, I found myself staring at his vision board again. I’d been so quick to dismiss it, but my mother always said the devil’s in the details. Oz’s details say a lot about him. Which is how I know that being publicly affectionate is likely something he enjoys.
I stand on the skates, careful to balance on the thick plastic covers over the blades.
When I lift a hand for Oz, he takes it lightly, pulling himself upright.
He’s steady though, which surprises me. Lifting his wings, he flares them slightly, I imagine to either make it easier or start flying if he’s about to fall.
“Wish I had wings,” I mutter. “Must be nice to just leap into the sky if you’re about to hit the ice.”
He laughs. “The last time I saw a pixie bull rider get bucked off, he just crashed right into the fence. Didn’t even bother to fly.” Glancing around, he plants both hands on his hips. “Is Willa gonna appear for this thing? She’s been incommunicado for days.”
Shrugging, I walk carefully across the rocky beach with Oz’s hand in mine, watching the path for anything obvious we might trip over.
He snickers. “Don’t worry, mate. If you fall, I’ll catch you and fly you upright.”
“Absolutely not,” I say with a huff as I step onto the ice. But no sooner have I said it, I slip and nearly end up face first on the frozen surface.
Oz bursts into hysterical laughter, stepping gracefully over with no problem. He bends to his knees, tail lashing behind him as he smirks at me. “Didn’t think I’d have to save you the literal first second, big guy.”
Grimacing, I stand and straighten my jacket. “I’m fine,” I manage.
He laughs again. “Mhm, okay.” He lets go of my hand. “Maybe you should keep your appendages to yourself until you get fully balanced.”
The way he says “appendages” makes me think of appendages other than the ones he’s referencing. Gods, I’ve got to stop thinking about sex, or the upcoming nights’ll be mighty awkward. It’s bad enough he’s sleeping in my bed, and the whole thing smells like him.
Testing my balance, I lift a foot and pull the skate cover off, shoving it in my pocket.
Oz hops into the air, flapping quickly as he lifts his feet and removes his covers.
They go in my pocket too. I grumble a little more about the inconvenience of not having wings.
It takes me a full minute to get the other cover off, and Oz spends the whole time flying next to me, poking me with the spade-shaped tip of his tail as I grunt and growl and shove him away.
“You always this irritating?” I grab his arm and yank him to me. He’s still flapping in the air, his body brushing against mine. And he looks zero percent concerned about my trollhandling him. If anything, his sexy little smirk just gets smirkier, if that can be a word.
“Yep,” he pipes up, thumping the tip of my nose. “I aim to please, Wild or Wilder.”
Grumbling, I press forward across the ice. My first sliding steps are awkward, but I pick it up fast. If I’ve got anything, it’s balance, given my choice in careers. Oz follows me, but he does rely on his wings from time to time. Still, he seems to catch on a little faster than I do.
Half an hour later, we’re certainly not pros, but we’re gliding somewhat easily across the ice, doing our level best not to bump into anyone else.
Bluebell and Hadrian dive past us, but she’s as gangly as a new calf, and he has to save her every two seconds.
Eventually, they’re both in hysterics as he grabs her and darts up into the sky.
“See!” I laugh and point to their departing forms. “Wings are way easier!”
Oz laughs, but just as he does, he loses balance and falls against me.
I’m ready and catch him, his body in my arms. It’s a good opportunity, so I take it, smiling down at him.
Lifting a hand, I drag my fingers along his angular jaw, tucking dark purple hair back behind his pointed ear.
Without thinking too much about it, I move my fingers to the spiky tip of his ear and stroke it.
Shit, I touched him again without asking.
He shudders against me, mouth dropping open as amethyst eyes fall to my lips. “That feels so good,” he murmurs, gaze flicking back up to mine.
His words encourage me. Surely he’d say if he was uncomfortable.
“It’s supposed to feel good,” I say with a low growl, loving how he sinks harder against me. Leaning forward, I bring my mouth to his ear, knowing others are staring at us, halted in the middle of the frozen pond. “Tell me the truth, Ozifer. Did you enjoy what happened in the tent?”
He jerks away from me and throws a dramatic hand over his heart. “Me? Absolutely not. I would never. How dare you accuse me of such a thing.” Fluttering his lashes, he pulls out of my grip and skates backward, away from me. “You can’t steal my table and my ass, Wild or Wilder.”
Grinning, I watch as his skate hits a divot in the pond. He jerks and falls on his ass too fast to fly and get away. With a big chuckle, I glide to him and bend down, hauling him upright.
I pinch his side as he settles against my bigger body. “That’s what you get for running from me.”
Oz bats his lashes. “Maybe I like to be chased, Wilder. Had you considered that?”
Visions assault my mind, filling it with devious thoughts as my nostrils flare. Like before, I bend low and bury my nose in his neck. I get the faintest hint of masculine aftershave and something more delicate, like cedar.
“Will the Sweetheart dates please join us on the stage?” Lemon’s voice rings out over the ice, distracting us both.
Males begin leaving the ice to gather their shoes. Oz looks at them briefly, but his focus returns to me. “Well, I guess I’d better go.”
I still haven’t let him go. In fact, I think his comment makes me pull him closer because the idea of letting go is so unpalatable.
Dark lashes flutter against amethyst cheekbones. “Wild, I—”
“Will the Sweethearts—cough, cough, that’s you Ozifer—please join us up on the stage?” another announcement rings out over the crowd.
“That’s me!” Oz chirps as he pulls ever so slightly away. “Wish me luck and maybe drive up the bidding if you can.”
Forcing a supportive smile, I watch him go. He leaps gracefully into the air, pulling his skates off as he heads for where we left our shoes. At the shoe station, Saint sits alone. Oz is careful to sit at the far end of the log, but Saint moves closer.
It boils my blood, watching the male who hurt Oz’s feelings try to get close to him again. I’m not a fool; I see what he’s doing. And I couldn’t blame Oz for taking Saint up on any sort of offer he might make. They have history, even though Oz doesn’t appear to care for him in the slightest.
Moving carefully, I cross the pond and pull my skates off. It’s a relief to stick my feet back in cowboy boots where they belong. Oz is already gone, having disappeared toward the stage set up at the far end of the pond. Saint’s still seated on the log, slowly pulling fancy wingtip shoes back on.
“I hate this fucking cold,” he mutters.
I’m gonna pretend I don’t know he’s talkin’ to me, because the longer I spend around this guy, the more I wanna deck him for his attitude.
Then I remember he’s the key to my deal getting done, so I glance over with a big fake smile.
“Ain’t you from New York City, Saint? I know it gets cold there, and the humidity makes it a hundred times worse.
I been there once. That wind whippin’ between the buildings about froze me to my core. ”
He offers me a halfhearted smile. “That’s why you take a Town Car everywhere, have someone else open your door, and you don’t go outside or, gods forbid, walk anywhere.”
“Hard for me to imagine that,” I admit, resting my forearms on my knees. “I grew up on a farm in Laporte, used to get up at four a.m. every mornin’ to feed the animals with my mom. The cold is just a part of farm life.”
“I’d hate that. So would Oz,” says Saint, smirking at me.
That pulls a real chuckle outta me, and I shoot him a wry look. “I’m not sure the Oz you think you know is who he is these days.” I think about how he huddled against me inside the sleeping bag. “He loves his warmth, of course, but he’s happy here. We’re happy here,” I tack on.
Saint stands and stretches, lifting his arms above his head, a move that reveals the lowermost portion of his abs. “If you say so, Mister Lane.”
I watch as he goes, trying to see what Oz might have seen in him. Ashbourne moves easily through the crowd, stepping with the telltale grace of a vampire. But it’s still clear he’s uncomfortable in the way he hunches and looks from side to side constantly.
Another announcement tells us the date auction is starting any minute, so I leave Saint behind and pick my way through groups of monsters to the main area.
Folks I’m starting to recognize are crowded around a small stage.
Fifteen or so monsters stand with Lemon, who holds the microphone.
Her mate is there, as well as Hadrian and one of the bartenders from Betty’s Burger Bar.
I don’t recognize the rest, but it’s nice to see the community come together like this.
Although, from everything I’ve read and seen so far, Pine Gulch hosts a lot of events. Like I told Oz, events ain’t really my thing, but it’s easy to see the Gulchers are a tight-knit group. While there are plenty of tourists, everyone acts like they know everyone.
The crowd starts to get rowdy, catcalling at the males up on stage. Oz winks and waves at a few select folks, and I find myself looking around, wondering who he’s so friendly with.
No. No, Wilder, no. I can’t get possessive over my fake boyfriend. What the hells would Willa say if she were here? And where even is she? I haven’t seen her for a few days, which is not at all atypical, but still. It’s not like her to miss a party.
“You missin’ me, Wild?”
I turn, surprised to see her standing by my side. She chuckles and slips her arm through mine.
“Don’t worry. You’re not this transparent to anyone else. Just me.” She looks around at the gathered crowd. “Big turnout. Lots of cool monsters here. I’ve been spending some time with the haven for the last few days, getting to know her nooks and crannies. It’s been…interesting.”
Glancing down, I frown. “What do you mean, interesting?” It’s then I notice a bruise along her jawline, coloring her pale green skin nearly emerald. Spinning, I release an angry growl. “Who did this to you, Wills? What the fuck happened?”
She shrugs. “Nothing you need to worry about. I wanted to get a better sense of this place, and after doing so, I like it for you. I really like it for you. And I might like it for me too, if you’re sticking around.”
“That depends on us finalizing the sale,” I remind her.
She looks toward the stage, smiling and waving at Oz. “Don’t worry, big brother, I’ve got my eyes on that prize.”
Except, when I look at where she’s looking, she’s still staring at Oz. Well, that makes two of us, because I’m starting to think he might be the best prize a man could get.