Wildly Inappropriate (Wild Bluffs #2)

1. JT

Chapter one

JT

Seven Months Ago

“Only losers read books in bars,” someone says, pulling out the stool next to mine. I glance over my shoulder at the interloper and…Lila Walker. Of course it is. She haunts my dreams, why not my daytime hours as well?

“I didn’t realize Lucifer gives his demons a day off,” I reply, taking a gulp of my scotch. With her dark black hair, sinful body, and wicked tongue, I’m not that far off with my comparison. She’s temptation in a pint-sized container.

“Mother Lilith insists her favorites are allowed to come to Sin City at least once a week to collect new souls to torture.”

I almost spit my drink out but catch myself before it’s too late. “Um, when did you start learning things about the mother of demons?”

She rolls her eyes. “I’ve told you I read. Is it really so hard to imagine I might’ve learned a thing or two?”

When I don’t reply, she continues, “Fantasy—well, romantasy—is one of my favorite genres. There’s a lot of Hades/Lucifer/demons lore that gets brought in.”

“I thought you preferred romance novels?” I ask, realizing too late that I’m dragging out a conversation I don’t want to be in.

“I do. Romantasy is essentially the result of fantasy and romance having a baby. I like fantasy, but I’m much more down to jump into the world of fae, kings, and battles if there is a decently significant romance component.”

“Oh. Huh. I haven’t read much fantasy or fantasy-adjacent books, I suppose.”

Lila and I have been at each other’s throats since the fall after she turned 18, and after six years of arguing every time we’re near each other, it feels weird to be having a normal conversation—even one that started with some light “you’re a demon” insults.

We’ve been on a temporary truce the last few months since we were forced to work together to help her brother—my best friend—get his life back together. I met Jameson Walker when we were both playing in junior golf tournaments across the country. We were some of the top-ranked golfers heading into our final year on the tour, and in a strange turn of fate, we ended up at Cal State, where we became teammates, roommates, and friends. Now we both play golf professionally.

This summer, Lila was so worried about her brother hitting rock bottom that she all but forced me to visit Jameson in the little Colorado town he’d been holed up in: Wild Bluffs. I will never admit this to her, but Lila was right—Jameson did need someone there to support him. I don’t mean to toot my own horn, but I’m, without a doubt, one hundred percent responsible for giving him the push he needed to get together with his current girlfriend, Bryn.

Lila looks down at the gray, coverless book I’m holding. “What are you reading? Is it one of the books I recommended?”

“Yeah. A Devilish and Dastardly Duke,” I say, picking up the book and flipping through the pages.

“Wow. Turns out you can listen to reason. Who knew?” She smirks. “It’s such a good story!”

Lila signals for a drink—I guess we are hanging out now. I’m not particularly pleased to be spending time with one of my least favorite people in the world, but I’m not going to be the one to show weakness by leaving.

“Wait. That one is like the third book in that series. Did you start with book three, or have you already read the other two?” she asks.

“I’m not a monster, Lila. Of course I’ve read the other two. Who reads books out of order?” I leave out the fact that I’ve also read two other series since she first dared me to read a romance novel. She also annoyingly suggested that if I was embarrassed to be seen reading them, I could remove the dust jacket or buy an e-reader. Coincidentally, my e-reader arrives at my house in California this week—I need the convenience of e-books with as much time as I spend on the road, traveling to tournaments. To be clear, it’s not that I’m embarrassed per se, but romance reader doesn’t exactly align with the image I’ve carefully cultivated for myself.

“Well, technically, they are stand-alones in the same universe, so you could read them in any order you want,” Lila says.

“Do you do that?” I ask.

“God, no. That falls into the chaotic evil bucket for sure.”

“It feels more like chaotic neutral to me.”

Her nose twitches in disgust. “Blasphemy. Seeing the end of someone’s story before reading their book is the worst. But then again, so are you. So maybe you do read them out of order.”

I ignore her dig. “But you know they end up together anyway. It’s a given for the genre.”

“Trust me on this. You want the backstory so you’re invested when the author gives you little snapshots into their HEAs in the later books.”

“HEAs?” I ask.

“Happily ever afters! Come on, JT. Learn the lingo if you’re going to read romance like the big hitters.”

“I think you’re overselling yourself a bit.”

“Romance readers are taking over the book market. Almost half of romance readers finish a novel within a week. We are the big hitters in publishing these days.”

“You’re such a nerd.”

“Takes one to know one,” she shoots back like a child.

I finish my scotch, signaling for another. I don’t typically drink more than one on the night before I have to golf, but for some reason, possibly self-flagellation, I’m not ready to call it a night yet either. My group’s tee time is late enough tomorrow that I should be okay with just one more drink.

“So, update on Project Don’t-Let-My-Brother-Get-Back-Together-with-Alexis: I met Bryn today,” Lila says. I know most people would say she looks excited, but I know better. She’s smug about meeting her before me.

“I think we need to workshop that project name a bit more,” I reply. “Jameo mentioned Bryn might be here. I’m glad she came.” I intentionally don’t ask her anything more, knowing she’s dying to tell me.

“Aren’t you going to ask me what I think of her?”

I sigh, pretending not to care. “I suppose. What did you think?”

“Oh, she seems awesome. We just finished having dinner together.”

Lila dives into the story about meeting Bryn on the course today while following Jameson’s group, and I try to ignore the prick of jealousy that hits me at her words. Jameson was out with his sister and girlfriend while I sat here alone at a bar. Not that I couldn’t have my pick of women. I’m a professional golfer and have been successful for several years now. I have women I can call in all the major cities if I’m interested in a night of fun. Unfortunately, fun just isn’t doing it for me anymore. Instead of leaving me satisfied, my last few hookups have left me feeling empty. I blame these damn romance books Lila recommended. Fuck. I wonder if she knew this would happen and did it on purpose. I wouldn’t put it past her.

Lila orders another drink as well, definitely not limiting herself to two tonight. Though I suppose that’s fair. She doesn’t have anything to do besides watch golf all weekend and then head back to Denver for her classes on Monday. She’s 24. Why shouldn’t she get drunk on a Thursday night in Vegas?

Unfortunately, I’m annoyed to find that drunk Lila is a lot more fun than the Lila I’m usually dealing with.

“You’re a lot more fun when you’re not around Jameson,” she says, mirroring my sentiments.

“I’m fun all the time, Pipsqueak. You’re the one who went from being my pal when you were fourteen to not being civilized four years later. That wasn’t on me.”

It might be on me, though. That party we went to together during Thanksgiving break her freshman year of college—I know I didn’t handle things like I should have. But she didn’t either. And when she came out punching when I showed up at her house for Thanksgiving the next day, well, I wasn’t just going to lie down and take her insults, clever though they usually were. Now, we can barely be in the same place without getting into loud arguments, no matter how inappropriate the setting. Except for tonight, apparently.

I watch her as she continues to tell me about Jameson and Bryn, distracted by the flecks of light reflecting off her eyes, the dark green that is unlike any I’ve ever seen. I know people say they’re just like her brother’s, but—nope. The thought of her brother pulls me back to reality. This is Lila. The girl who turned from cute tag-along to feisty foe to enemy. I know we’ve been on friendlier terms lately as we try to save the sinking ship that is Jameson Walker, but no way am I going to let her catch me with my guard down.

“So why are you here alone?” I ask. “Couldn’t get that nerd boyfriend of yours to fly to Vegas with you on Jameo’s dollar?”

Lila slowly swivels on her stool to face me, and I swear someone put her in slow motion. Even her dark eyebrow lifts at an irregular pace. “Rude, JT. We were being civilized.”

I take a long pull from my drink, realizing as I swallow that the bartender replaced my empty second glass while I was thinking about Lila. Well, too late now. I guess I’m having three tonight. Luckily, I ate…nothing. I was going to grab dinner before Lila sat down. Shit. I may be a bit tipsy the night before a tournament. Not a good choice on my part. Fucking Lila.

“What? Did this one not live up to your expectations either? Did he run before you asked him to marry you, or after?” I ask.

“Wanting to date someone who isn’t a complete asshole isn’t that high of an expectation to have for a man, JT. I’m not asking them to marry me today, I just want to know it’s on the table.”

“It’s a lot to ask when they’re 24.”

She huffs out a non-reply, finishing her drink.

“He’s 26.”

“It’s the same thing. Not a lot of 26-year-old men are interested in shackling themselves to someone permanently.”

“Wow. You’ve got such a high opinion of love,” she says, laying the sarcasm on heavily.

“I think, of the two of us, my opinion of love and marriage may be more correct.”

“Doubtful. Plus, look at my parents. Look at your parents, for shit’s sake.”

“Your parents are the anomaly, Lila. You have to know that. My parents, on the other hand, prove my point exactly. I think they like each other okay, but saying it’s a love match would be a bit strong.”

She snorts into her drink. “You said ‘love match.’”

I glare at her. Of course I said love match . She’s been polluting my brain with tales of romance for months now.

“So what happened with your most recent not-love-match?” I ask.

“He dumped me.”

“Ouch.”

“Well, technically, he just ‘clarified we weren’t dating.’” She fiddles with the little black straw in her cup, her eyes fully focused on the row of TVs behind the bar.

“Tough look for you,” I taunt.

“You did sort of help me save face in the whole thing,” she admits begrudgingly.

I raise an eyebrow, and she sighs before continuing, “It was that first night you texted me about Jameson, and Andrew may have noted that I was talking to another guy.”

“And?” I press.

“And when he saw a man’s name—your name—on my text messages, he jumped to the conclusion I was talking to some other guy. Oh God, you should’ve seen his face. He was so relieved he didn’t have to break up with me. And since I didn’t want to look like a loser who thought we were more than we were, I just went along with it.”

“Wait. He was glad you were texting another guy? Not jealous like any normal guy would be?” Like I would certainly be if I were in his place. Wait. What? No. I didn’t mean that. I would be relieved, just like him, that Lila Walker didn’t think we were dating.

“Yep. So, in a way, you actually made something better for once in your life.”

“Except for now that asshat thinks we’re dating,” I say.

“No. He thinks I was talking to some guy named JT two months ago.”

“It’s still possible he put two and two together.”

“He is getting his master’s in engineering, so I would hope it’s at least possible.”

“Do you still like him?” I ask, not knowing why I care.

She lets out a low, self-deprecating laugh. “I don’t know. It’s humiliating, though. Can you imagine if he had realized I thought we were dating?”

Before I have a chance to answer, she continues, “And now I’m clearly inebriated enough to be telling this to you , which means it’s likely time for me to go to bed.”

She’s not wrong. I’d normally be all over embarrassing information about Lila. I don’t know if it’s the alcohol, the slice of tan skin peeking out under the edge of her skirt, or the lack of our usual chaperone tonight, but I don’t feel the spark at the thought of taking her down with a barb right now. Instead, I extend my hand, helping her off her stool.

“Come on, Pipsqueak, I’ll walk with you to the elevator.”