Too Wild for Me: Chapter One - The Spark
Morning hits harder than the waves that nearly took Kelsey under, but she’s not about to let Cade see her rattled. When she “accidentally” runs into him at the lumber yard, she’s ready with all her usual flirty fire. Cade, steady and unreadable as ever, refuses to take the bait. One quiet look from him hits deeper than any attention she chased last night… and Kelsey hates how much she feels it.
Too Wild for Me
Kelsey
The Spark
The fire’s burning low, but the night’s still alive. Music blares from somebody’s truck speakers, bass carrying across the dunes like it’s got something to prove. A circle of people sway closer to the flames, bottles lifted, voices raised too loud for the hour.
And me? I’m right in the middle of it. Where else would I be?
I lean back against a driftwood log, a beer bottle sweating in my hand, laughing at some guy’s story I’ve already forgotten. He’s trying too hard, gesturing with wide arms, flexing like I’m supposed to notice. I give him a smile anyway, the kind that makes his friends elbow him with envy. He’ll think he won. He didn’t.
That’s the thing: people expect me to be the wild one, so I give them exactly that. Easy smiles, quick comebacks, one too many sips straight from the bottle when someone dares me. It’s not hard. They laugh, they cheer, they label me the fun one. No one looks closer. No one asks what’s underneath.
I tip my head back and let the beer slide down my throat, cool-ish and not too crisp now that the cooler ice has melted. Someone wolf-whistles. Someone else yells my name. I grin, licking the foam from my lip like it’s a performance, because it is.
“Damn, Kels, you’re gonna drink us under the table.”
I wink at the guy across from me. “That’s the plan.”
He blushes, which makes his buddies howl. I take a bow and snag another drink, my skirt swishing around my thighs as I weave through the crowd. It’s too easy. All I have to do is laugh a little louder, move a little closer, and every eye finds me.
It should feel good, being wanted, being noticed. Most nights, it does. But sometimes, like now, I catch myself wondering if they’d still clap if I stopped playing the part. If I sat down, went quiet, and let the noise pass me by.
Probably not.
So I toss my hair over my shoulder, plant myself between two locals who can’t decide if they want to flirt with me or each other, and laugh at the right time. My hand brushes a guy’s arm when I take the bottle he offers, and he looks at me like I’ve already promised him something I haven’t.
It’s always the same. And I’m good at it.
But tonight the fire feels hotter than usual, the music too loud. Every move I make, every smile I hand out, it’s all a little too easy. A little too thin.
Still, I keep at it, because if I stop, someone might notice that I don’t want to go home yet, that the thought of being alone makes my skin itch. That maybe the wild one isn’t half as wild as she wants them to believe.
I take another swig and laugh when someone dares me to dance. My body sways to the beat, skirt rucked up by the wind, my laugh carrying above the crowd. And just like that, I’m back in control.
Exactly what they came for. Exactly what I’m supposed to be.
It’s the shift in the crowd that tips me off, eyes cutting toward the edge of the dunes, attention pulled somewhere else. I follow it and spot him, away from the chaos, half-shadowed by his motorcycle.
Not drinking from a red cup or yelling over the music. Just leaning against the seat, bottle in hand, boots planted in the sand like he owns the spot. A man who doesn’t need the firelight or the noise to make him stand out.
Cade Lawson. I’ve seen him around town, working with his hands, head down, like he’s got no interest in anything but the wood he’s shaping or the boards he’s loading. Tonight’s no different, he looks calm, steady, like the party could burn itself out and it wouldn’t faze him.
My gaze lingers. Not just because he’s broad-shouldered in that fitted tee, or because his forearms flex easily when he tips the bottle to his mouth. It’s his eyes. Steady, level, cutting through the dark like they’ve seen more than anyone here ever will. That’s ex-military in him. I’ve seen it in my dad. The kind of posture that says he’s been places, done things, and come back with zero patience for games.
Which makes him perfect.
I toss a smile across the sand, bright enough to catch. Most guys trip over themselves when I aim one their way. Cade however, glances at me once, unhurried, like he’s got all the time in the world. His eyes drag from head to toe, slow enough to make my skin tingle, then he looks away. Back to his drink.
That’s it.
No smirk. No chase. No stumble over his own feet to get to me. Just one clean sweep, then dismissal.
The nerve.
I sidle closer, hips swaying with the beat, pretending like I’m just shifting spots in the crowd. But my eyes stay locked on him, daring him to look again. When he doesn’t, I let out a laugh loud enough to carry and tip my head back, hair tumbling over my shoulders like a shampoo commercial.
Still nothing.
I catch the eyes of a guy near me and let him pop the cap off my beer. He thinks I’m flirting with him. I’m not. I’m angling myself so Cade has a front-row seat to the way I wrap my lips around the bottle neck, slow and deliberate.
This time, Cade looks.
It’s not rushed or hungry. It’s that same unhurried once-over, like he’s cataloging me piece by piece. And then, just when I think I’ve got him, he tips the bottle back and stares past me at the fire like I’m background noise.
My chest sparks with irritation, or maybe intrigue. I can’t tell the difference anymore.
Nobody shrugs me off. Nobody looks at me like I’m some sideshow they can take or leave. And damn if it doesn’t make me want to climb onto the seat of that bike just to see if he’d finally blink.
Instead, I flash another smile, sweeter this time, and call across the sand, “Careful, Lawson. You keep staring like that, people will think you like me.”
His only reply is the faintest curve of a mouth that looks way too good smirking. Then nothing.
Like I didn’t just set myself on fire trying to get his attention.
I can only take so much.
He’s leaned there all night, cool as stone, watching me without really watching me. Letting every smile, every laugh, every sway of my hips bounce right off him like I’m just another flicker of the fire. And maybe everyone else is satisfied with their little moments of my attention, but I can’t stomach being dismissed.
Not by him.
So I ditch the crowd and head straight for the bike. The sand crunches under my sandals, and I make sure my steps are slow, deliberate—like I’ve got nowhere better to be. He doesn’t move. Doesn’t shift an inch. Just tips his bottle back and lets the firelight catch on the line of his jaw.
When I stop in front of him, he finally lowers it, eyes meeting mine. Steady. Unbothered.
“You play with fire, sweetheart,” he says, voice low and smooth as whiskey. “You’ll get burned.”
The corner of my mouth curves, heat sparking in my chest. “Then you better keep an eye on me.”
For half a second, something flickers there—amusement, maybe interest—but then it’s gone, replaced with that infuriating calm. He smirks, barely, like he’s humoring me. Then he shifts his weight back against the bike, relaxed as ever, and tips his drink again like the conversation’s already over.
I blink, caught between wanting to laugh and wanting to throw the bottle at his chest just to make him react. Nobody brushes me off. Nobody.
“Wow,” I drawl, crossing my arms, letting my skirt ride higher on my thighs when the breeze catches it. “That’s it? One line and a smirk?”
His gaze tracks the movement—slow, deliberate—but he doesn’t bite. Doesn’t lean forward. Doesn’t reach for me. Just meets my eyes again with that same steady look, like he knows exactly what I’m doing and won’t give me the satisfaction.
“You expected more?” he asks, tone as casual as if we’re talking about the weather.
My laugh comes out harder than I meant it to. “Most guys don’t need an instruction manual when I hand them an opening.”
“Most guys aren’t me.”
The words are simple, but they hit like a challenge. My skin prickles. My mouth goes dry. He doesn’t even raise his voice; he doesn’t have to. That quiet certainty carries more weight than any of the cheers or whistles I’ve gotten all night.
I hate how much I feel it.
I step closer, enough that the space between us tightens, enough that I can smell the mix of smoke and clean soap clinging to him. “So what are you, then?” I ask. “Too good for a little fun?”
He tips his head slightly, studying me the way someone might study a flame, close enough to feel the heat but not close enough to get singed.
“Not too good,” he says finally. “Just not easy.”
And then he looks past me again, back toward the fire, like I’m dismissed all over again.
It should piss me off. It does piss me off. But it also hooks something deep and low inside me, because that calm control is more infuriating, and more intriguing, than any wide-eyed attention I’ve gotten tonight.
If I can’t get under his skin, maybe I can lose myself in the crowd again.
I don’t let him see me rattled. The second his attention slides back to the fire, I spin on my heel like it’s me doing the dismissing, not him. My laugh rings out too bright as I rejoin the circle, snagging another drink off the nearest cooler like I don’t have a care in the world. I left the other on near him and I’ll be damned if I go back for it.
Outwardly it seems like I won, even though I know I didn’t.
And damn it, the only eyes I wish were on me, the only ones I actually want, aren’t.
I shove my way back into the circle, their hands grabbing too quick, too eager, like they’ve been waiting their turn.
One loops an arm around my shoulder, pulling me into a half-spin near the flames. I let it happen, laughing, pretending the tug on my waist is part of the fun. But his hand slips lower, fingers digging into my hip like he’s claiming something I never offered.
I twist, still laughing like I mean it, but his grip only tightens. Irritation spikes hot under my skin. It’s not the first time someone’s taken my act too literally, and usually I can handle it. Usually I can stay in control.
This time, though, when I push at his chest to put space between us, he doesn’t let go. His hand slides from my hip to my upper arms, both of them clamped hard enough that the laugh dies in my throat. His fingers bite into my skin, holding me still.
“You’re hurting me,” I hiss, my smile breaking, panic flashing sharp through the haze of noise and firelight. I wrench against him, but he only squeezes harder, grinning like he thinks it’s still all a game.
Before I can shove him off, another hand closes around his wrist. Steady. Unmovable.
Cade.
He doesn’t shout. Doesn’t posture. Just holds the guy’s arm with calm steel, his voice low enough to cut through the music. “She’s not interested.”
The guy bristles, mutters something about me not looking uninterested a minute ago. Cade doesn’t so much as blink. He releases him with a firm shove that leaves no room for argument. “Walk away.”
And just like that, it’s over. The guy slinks back toward the circle, grumbling. My pulse is still hammering, not from fear, more from the quiet certainty in Cade’s voice. Like he could’ve leveled the whole bonfire without raising his tone.
When his eyes flick to me, they’re steady as ever. No lecture. No demand. Just one line, calm as the ocean behind him.
“Careful, sweetheart. Keep playing like that, and you’ll get burned.”
The words land harder than they should. Because I’ve played this game a thousand times, and I’ve never felt anything close to this burn.
The guy’s hands still burn on my arms even though Cade stopped him and he walked away. I should laugh it off, spin back into the crowd like nothing happened. That’s what they expect from, —the wild one who can handle anything.
But my laugh isn’t coming this time. And if I can’t laugh, then what am I? Without it, I don’t know who I’m supposed to be.
I stand there for a beat too long, bottle sweating in my hand, pulse thudding in my throat. When I finally look at Cade, he’s watching me. Calm. Steady. Like he knows exactly what just cracked.
“Thanks for that,” I say, my voice lower than I mean it to be. I try for a smirk, but it feels thin. “Didn’t think you’d care.”
One corner of his mouth lifts, not quite a smile. “Guess you were wrong.”
The words hit harder than they should, and I hate how much they land.
So I turn away and push back into the crowd, bottle still clutched in my hand, laughter rising up around me like I’m supposed to join in. But I don’t. My pulse is still hammering, my skin still buzzing, my thoughts stuck on the man I just walked away from.
And for the first time, I’m not sure if I want to light another fire or if I’m already burning.
Come back tomorrow for chapter two
Copyright © by LS Phoenix
No portion of this story may be reproduced in any form without written permission from the publisher or author, except as permitted by U.S. copyright law.
Published by LS Phoenix
New Hampshire, USA
https://linktr.ee/authorlsphoenix
First Edition: November 2025
Cover Design by LS Phoenix
