Wild Kiss (Wilder Valley #5)

Prologue

ROSALIE

I don’t usually make a habit of reading at The Mud Lounge.

I’m one of those people who reads several books each week, and still can’t get enough—a voracious reader.

There are so many good books in the world, and not enough time to read them, but I try.

At this point, I’ll need to be buried with my Tbr pile.

As the town librarian, it’s not uncommon to find me outside work hours with my nose in a book.

Hell, it’s not often you’ll even find me at the bar. I much prefer reading with a bottle of red in my own home. But tonight warrants an exception. I can’t relax in my home, not when he is there.

One could argue I can’t even enjoy my book out in public tonight. I’ve read the same page twice, my brain unable to absorb any of the lines when my mind is riddled with anxiety.

Ugh.

I can’t concentrate because of . . . nope.

No way. I’m not giving my past a single ounce of my energy.

Tonight, I refuse to ponder all the reasons for my current state of unease.

Sure, the fact that I can’t escape into the words of a good book is infuriating.

But I’m stubborn enough not to give in to a spiral of self-pity.

I reorient my frustration with gratitude.

I have a good life. A career I love. My health and good friends. Most of all, the universe blessed me with a beautiful boy, and I strive to be the best mother I can. Sure, our life looks nothing like the one I planned or imagined, but life is full of disappointments.

“Another?” Desiree pauses behind the bar as she passes my almost empty wine glass. Her arm muscles flex as she holds a crate of clean glasses.

“Yes, please.” I glance above my book and smile.

It’s only then I notice an all too familiar form strut in through the door.

His long and lean perfect body is made even better with that fuck-me-it-should-be-a-crime-for-anyone-to-look-that-damn-good face I’d pick out of any crowd.

But Jackson Wilder doesn’t notice me. Not that I expect him to. I sat in this very seat so I could people-watch unobserved.

His tall, slim frame is accentuated by the fit of his jeans and his crisp Carhartt button-down. A toothpick presses between his lips, drawing my focus to his mouth. I try not to stare but it’s useless. Sigh. He has really nice lips. Lips I’m certain would feel amazing on my skin.

Not that I’ll ever have first-hand knowledge on the subject.

God, what is wrong with me?

It’s been so long since I’ve been intimate with anyone, I’m now fantasizing about my friend’s little brother.

He’s off limits, first off.

And so not my type.

Is this what happens when you go too long without having sex?

If I could muster the boldness from the main character in my book, maybe tonight I could leave this bar with someone. I smile at the idea, even if it’s wild. This is a very small town. If I left with anyone, it would have to be a complete stranger. Not Jackson Wilder.

“What can I get you tonight, sugar?” Desiree pauses in front of him.

I don’t know if I imagine it, but it seems there’s a hint of concern in her tone, and it pulls my interest further away from my book.

“Shot of whiskey. And a tall of whatever’s on tap,” Jackson orders, setting his hat on the seat to his right as he straddles one of the backless barstools.

“You got it.”

Desiree pours a shot, and Jackson doesn’t waste a second slamming it back. But when his beer is placed on the counter, he mumbles a thank you and stares into the contents of his glass without taking a sip.

Maeve’s little brother is well known and well loved .

. . maybe even a little too well loved by the female population of Wilder Valley.

Though I understand the allure. He’s handsome, smart, funny, successful, and despite being a bit of a womanizer, he carries himself with a casual, cocky confidence no man in his twenties has the right to.

At least, he normally does.

The deep set of his brow is full of introspection, and I wonder what has him so deep in thought. I almost set my book down to move closer.

That is, until a woman in a short skirt squeezes in next to him. There are plenty of empty seats, but she takes the one next to him and brazenly brushes her chest against his arm before centering her body on the barstool. Her obvious attempt to garner his attention does exactly as intended.

“Hey there, beautiful.” The slow smile that Jackson directs her way makes my breath catch from several seats down—and it’s not even meant for me. “Aren’t you a sight for sore eyes.”

I’ve heard the rumors about my friend Maeve’s little brother, but watching them unfold in real time is like observing an animal in its natural habitat. It’s fascinating.

“Jackson Wilder!” The woman’s eyes dance with amusement and she reaches out to give his arm a playful tap, a barely veiled excuse to squeeze his bicep. “You’re such a charmer.”

“What’cha drinking?”

“Whiskey sour.” She practically preens under his attention.

“Des?” Jackson calls for the bartender. “Can you get a whiskey sour for my friend?”

“Sure thing,” Desiree says kindly, but I notice her roll her eyes as she turns away to retrieve a bottle.

She’s not amused by his flirtations with the woman at his side, and I have to bite back the urge to laugh.

I wonder if Desiree harbors feelings toward the youngest Wilder brother, or maybe she’s seen this move played out too many times to count.

Based on her body language, my guess is the latter.

I came here to read, but since I’m unable to concentrate, this diversion is perfect. For the first time all night, I’m getting a break from my own thoughts.

“What are you doing over here all by yourself?” Jackson asks the woman. “Please tell me your man isn’t ignoring you for a game of pool.”

She laughs, leaning into him and brushing her hand down his arm. “You know I dropped that loser months ago. I’m here with friends, but if you play your cards right, cowboy, I could be convinced to leave with someone else.”

“That so?” Jackson chuckles.

“Put this on your tab?” Desiree interrupts with their order.

“Yes, ma’am.” Jackson smiles at her, then slides the drink to his friend.

I try to place her, but fall short. As small as this town is, if I don’t run into someone at the library or the school pick-up, we’re never crossing paths.

The truth is, I steer clear of people any way I can.

I’m an introvert through and through. If it weren’t for my Friday night book club, I wouldn’t have any friends.

“What are we drinking to?” Jackson asks when she turns toward him and lifts her glass to his.

“How about the unexpected?” Her eyes rake over his body as she says the words.

Unexpected, my ass. There’s nothing discreet about her intentions. Does that line even work? A sliver of jealousy races through my mind as I rein in my own eye roll.

“As long as we’re talking good surprises, I’ll drink to that.” Jackson lifts his beer, a flash of pain crossing his features before a forced smile takes over.

“Oh, honey. I heard about your pops.” The woman lowers her voice, her tone filled with genuine concern.

His dad? Everyone in town knows about his father’s worsening dementia. Did something else happen?

Jackson squeezes his eyes shut for a moment and shakes his head.

“That must be so hard,” the woman coos as she rubs his shoulder.

“It is.” His Adam’s apple bobs when he swallows. “So hard.”

“Aww. If there’s anything I can do to make you feel better, give me a call. I’m free all weekend.”

I’m sure she is. I exhale a scoff.

Jackson’s gaze lifts, catching mine for a brief second from over the top of my book.

Shit.

Busted for eavesdropping, I pretend to read the words on the page while the woman and Jackson flirt.

Though, the more glances I sneak, the more it seems he’s not all that interested in her.

He keeps looking my way. He shifts his body away from her, and doesn’t let his gaze linger on her body.

Not that it stops her from leaning closer or brushing her hands along his arm.

I almost feel sorry for her. With a smile like his, I can see how his politeness could be interpreted as interest.

My phone buzzes atop the bar with an incoming text. I tip the screen to preview.

Maeve: Pops is back in the hospital.

My heart squeezes with empathy for my friend.

A string of texts comes in lightning fast, our group chat asking all the same questions I have, and offering support.

Ryan and Aiden are already on their way to Show Low.

Maeve will head over in the morning. They don’t need anything for now, just to keep him in our thoughts and hope for an easy recovery. I reply with my own message of support.

Me: Reach out if you need anything. I’m so sorry, Maeve.

It’s been a rough couple of years. First, with the death of their mother after her battle with cancer, and then the progression of Tim Wilder’s dementia.

He’s been in a memory care facility for almost a year now, but I see how it weighs on Maeve and her siblings.

They’ve lost so much in such a short span of time.

Someone shouts from across the bar, pulling me back to my people watching.

“I better get back. Thanks for the drink.” The woman at Jackson’s side flashes him a wink before using his body to balance her slightly tipsy dismount from her barstool. “Call me if you’re lonely later.” She points at him, taking a step backward. “And none of that I lost your number BS.”

“Okay, okay.” He chuckles as the woman retreats with her drink.

She drags her gaze over him once more before turning to strut away. Her hips sway exaggeratedly, likely for his entertainment, but Jackson’s already turned back to the bar.

A bubble of laughter escapes my lips despite my effort to hold it in.

“Something funny?”

Fuck. I drag my gaze away from the page I’m pretending to read and meet his gaze. “My book.”