Too Wild for Me: Chaper Two - The Match

Kelsey swears she’s fine after last night—the bonfire, the guy who grabbed her, the moment Cade stepped in like it was nothing. She can pretend it didn’t shake her. She can pretend she doesn’t care that he saw the crack in her armor.

But the morning after? She’s wound tighter than she wants to admit… and Cade Lawson is somehow the only person she can’t stop thinking about.

She runs into him at the lumber yard, determined to get the upper hand with teasing and bravado. Cade doesn’t bite. He just stands there—steady, unbothered, maddeningly calm—until she pushes so hard he finally snaps.

One kiss. Rough, consuming, all control.

And then he pulls away like it was a mistake.

Chapter Two

Kelsey

The Match

The morning hits harder than the hangover. Not because of the drinks, but because every time I close my eyes, I feel that guy’s hands on my body—too tight, unfamiliar, too sure I was playing along.

I should’ve shaken it off by now.

I should be scrolling through my camera roll, laughing at blurry bonfire photos, texting Kelsey-brand jokes about the night.

But instead, the only thing stuck in my head is Cade’s hand closing around that guy’s wrist. The steady way he said, “She’s not interested.”

Quiet. Controlled. Like the whole thing barely scratched his pulse.

I hate that he saw me like that.

Last night got out of control, and he caught it. Caught me. I’m not used to anyone seeing that side.

Me being… vulnerable.

I wish he hadn’t seen it let alone stopped what was happening.

I tell myself I’m not looking for him when I cut through the lumber yard on my walk to get coffee. It’s a shortcut. A path I’ve taken a hundred times. Nothing to do with the sound of wood being stacked or the low thud of something heavy being carried.

But I see him.

Cade’s at the back of the lot, loading long boards onto the flatbed of a truck. Sun hits the cut of his shoulders, the sweat darkening the collar of his shirt. His forearms flex with every lift, veins standing out. He works like he’s done it his whole life. Efficient. Quiet. Completely focused.

Of course he doesn’t notice me. Why would he.

I inhale, fix my hair, roll my shoulders back, and pretend my heart isn’t still jittering from everything that went down.

I step closer. “Wow. Look at you. Finally doing some real work.”

His eyes flick toward me. Just one glance. Then he secures the strap on the boards like I didn’t just offer him an opening.

“It’s morning,” he says. “Most people work in the morning.”

I snort. “I work. Just… not like this.”

“Mhm.” He finishes tightening the strap. Not mocking or teasing. Just existing in that steady, infuriating way he does.

It grates more than if he’d smirked.

I fold my arms. “So, about last night.”

His attention shifts fully to me now, and I regret it instantly. His gaze is too level. Too clear. Like he sees everything I’m trying to hide.

“You alright?” he asks, concern etched on his face.

Two words. And they crack something I didn’t want cracked. And God, he says it with that older-guy calmness, the kind that comes from living more life than me.

“Yeah. I’m good. Barely even a blip,” I say, too breezy to be believable. “I’ve dealt with worse drunks.”

A muscle in his jaw ticks, but his voice stays even. “He grabbed you hard.”

“Only for a second.”

He doesn’t correct me, but he doesn’t buy it either. That’s worse. If he’d rolled his eyes or teased me, I could work with that. But this… quiet concern? It unsettles me.

“I’m good,” I insist. “You can stop staring like I’m going to keel over.”

He wipes his hands on a rag, then props one hip against the truck. “I’m not staring.”

“You kind of are.”

“I’m making sure you’re alright.”

There it is again. That simple, steady care that knocks all my defenses sideways.

I tuck a piece of hair behind my ear. My fingers shake just a little, and I hate that he sees it. “I didn’t need saving.”

“Didn’t say you did.”

“But you still jumped in,” I push.

“Guy crossed a line,” he says simply. “I wasn’t about to let that slide. Besides, he shouldn't have had his hands on you in the first place. Simple as that.”

It should make me feel better. It doesn’t. It makes me feel stupid. Exposed. Like last night wasn’t just a scare. More like it meant something that I’m not ready to unpack.

I force a smirk. “Well, thanks for the hero act. Next time I’ll try not to ruin your boots.”

His mouth twitches. Not quite a smile. “Try harder.”

God, he’s impossible.

And somehow, impossibly steady. Which is why I hear myself say, softer than I want, “I’m fine. Really.”

His eyes stay on mine. Quiet. Searching. “Good.”

I break first. I look away, pretending a stack of plywood is suddenly very fascinating. Anything to stop feeling like he’s reading the parts of me I keep hidden on purpose.

“I should get coffee,” I say.

He nods once. “Be careful.”

Two words again. And they hit harder than last night’s waves.

I walk off fast enough to look unaffected, slow enough not to look shaken. But my pulse betrays me. I hate that he got to see me weak. I hate even more that he didn’t use it against me.

And as I leave the yard, one thought sticks like burrs under my skin.

This man is going to be a problem.

I head toward the coffee shop because I need something to do with my hands. If I stand there another second with Cade’s steady eyes on me, I’ll combust. The morning air is warm enough that the walk isn’t bad, but every step feels too loud.

The bell over the door jingles when I push inside. It smells like espresso and sugar and the kind of peace I pretend doesn’t bother me. Two tourists glance over, then lose interest. 

I step up to the counter and order a large iced coffee, extra sweet because I need something to cut through the knot in my stomach. While the barista presses buttons and pulls levers, I tap my fingers against my thigh, a little restless, a little wired.

I keep replaying last night. The guy’s hands. Cade’s voice. The way my breath caught before I could hide it. I’ve been grabbed before. Guys who think touching me is a reward they earned. Usually it rolls right off me. Last night didn’t. It stuck. I can still feel the exact spots his fingers dug into my arms and hips.

Maybe that’s why I hate that Cade stepped in. Because he saw the moment the mask cracked. The part of me I don’t let anyone get close enough to notice.

The barista slides the cup toward me. I thank her and pay, grab a straw, and head outside. I take a long sip and wince. It’s too sweet, but I don’t feel like fixing it.

I wander toward the boardwalk, needing space, needing movement. Shops are still opening, lifting metal gates and sweeping sidewalks. The whole place feels half-asleep, like the town hasn’t decided who it’s supposed to be yet. I know the feeling.

A kid skateboards past me, nearly clipping my ankle. His mom yells after him. A dog shakes saltwater all over my legs when I walk by. Little annoyances, easy distractions. They help for about thirty seconds, then Cade’s face flashes in my head again. Calm. Steady. Hands that didn’t shake even once.

I take another sip and try to force my shoulders to relax. I should be proud I didn’t fall apart last night. I didn’t cry. I didn’t freeze. I didn’t make a scene. I brushed it off. I performed. That’s what I do.

But when I think about his hand closing around that guy’s wrist, it isn’t embarrassment that hits me. It’s the way my pulse kicked. The way something hot curled low in my stomach. The way I noticed him instead of the guy who grabbed me.

I shouldn’t like that. Not even a little.

And I do.

I toss the straw wrapper in a trash bin and keep walking, pretending the coffee is the reason my pulse is still jumpy. Pretending he didn’t get under my skin.

Pretending he didn’t see me.

Because the truth is simple. He did. And I can’t shake it.

I tell myself I’m just walking. Just passing by,  taking the long way back to the house.

I’m lying. Obviously.

Cade’s workshop sits behind the lumber yard, half-open garage door, sawdust drifting into the warm air. I hear the low hum of a sander and step inside before I can talk myself out of it.

He doesn’t see me at first. He’s focused on a board pinned to the workbench, one strong hand bracing it while the other moves steady and sure. His T-shirt is stretched across his back, light catching the lines of his shoulders. He looks like he was carved or sculpted.

My mouth goes a little dry. I hate that.

He glances up when he senses me. Always senses me. “You lost?”

“No,” I say, leaning against the stack of lumber like I belong here. “Just exploring.”

His brows lift. “Do you explore random places like it’s a hobby?”

“Only the ones with interesting scenery.”

He looks at me the way he did last night. Slow and assessing. Like he can see every layer I try to hide. It rattles me more than I want to admit, so I push back with the only thing I know works.

I step closer, close enough to smell sawdust and soap on his skin. “Didn’t get a chance to thank you properly for last night.”

“I didn’t ask for thanks.”

“Didn’t say you did.”

His eyes drop to my mouth for half a second. Barely more. But it’s enough to spike something low and hot in my stomach. I slide my fingers over the edge of the workbench, letting my body angle toward his.

“You always this serious, Lawson?”

“You always this nosey?” he asks, quiet, like he’s offering the line for me to pick up. 

There it is again, that slightly older, steadier edge that makes me feel half-wild just standing near him.

“You didn’t seem to mind last night.”

He steps in. Not fast or rough. Like he knows exactly what he’s doing while I’m still pretending I’m not affected. Just close enough that my breath catches. He sets the board aside, wipes his hands on a rag, and tosses it onto the bench behind me.

“Kelsey,” he says, my name hitting deeper than it should. “What are you doing?”

“Whatever I want.”

His gaze sweeps my face, my throat, the rise and fall of my chest. “That’s the problem.”

“Or the fun part.”

Something snaps in the air. Maybe him. Maybe me. Maybe whatever has been brewing since the fire. His hand comes up to the side of my neck, just firm enough that I’m sure he can feel my pulse jump under his thumb.

He backs me into the workbench without a word. The wood digs into my lower back, grounding me just long enough for him to bend and kiss me.

It’s not soft. Or slow. It’s a hard, consuming crush of his mouth against mine, his fingers curling at my jaw, his body crowding me like he’s been holding this in and finally let himself feel it.

I gasp, and he takes the sound. He kisses like he works. Steady hands, absolute control, no hesitation. Every brush of his mouth is precise, like he knows exactly where to touch to steal the strength from my knees.

My fingers fist in his shirt. I don’t pull him closer. I yank.

His other hand finds my hip, sliding under the hem of my top, thumb pressing into warm skin. It sparks down my spine. I try to find the upper hand, to bite his lip or tilt his head, anything to flip the dynamic.

I can’t. He doesn’t let me.

He kisses me like he already knows the rhythm of my breath. Like he knows exactly how much pressure I can take. Like he knew I’d come looking for him even when I wanted to pretend I wouldn’t.

Heat floods through me in a sharp, dizzy rush. For the first time in a long time, I’m not the one steering the moment.

And I want more. I want all of it. Harder. Closer. Deeper.

“Cade,” I breathe against his mouth, already reaching for more.

Which is why it hits like a slap when he suddenly goes still.

He pulls back. Quiet. Controlled. Like the last thirty seconds weren’t enough to level me.

I blink up at him, lips swollen, breath uneven, brain still trying to catch up. “Why did you stop?”

He drags his thumb across the corner of his mouth, casual in a way that makes me want to shake him. “Because that was a mistake. I’m older than you. I shouldn’t have let it happen.”

My heart kicks. “It wasn’t a mistake and who gives a shit that you’re older than me. Jesus, you act like you’re ancient. You’re only 38.”

His eyes hold mine, steady and certain in a way that makes my chest squeeze. “Thirty-eight isn’t ancient,” he says, voice low. “But it’s old enough to know when I’m crossing a line. I shouldn’t have done that Kelsey.”

“Yes,” I shoot back, breath still unsteady. “You should have.”

He exhales once, a low frustrated sound lodged somewhere in his throat, and looks away like he needs the distance just to think.

“You came here,” He nods toward the doorway. “looking for trouble.”

“Maybe I was looking for a good time,” I snap.

He doesn’t bite. Of course he doesn’t. He just studies me, calm as ever, that infuriating quiet settling back over him like armor. “Matches burn fast, Kelsey.”

I feel it like a punch to the chest.

He steps back, picks up the board he was working on, and braces it against the table like he didn’t just wreck my entire nervous system. Like he didn’t have me melting into his hands a second ago.

“That’s it?” I demand, heat crawling up my neck. “You’re done?”

He acts like he doesn’t hear me. Which we both know is a damn lie.

My voice jumps. “You kiss me like that and then go back to woodworking?”

He shrugs. A tiny one. The kind that says he’s absolutely in control of every breath I take right now. “You pushed. I reacted. Don’t read more into it.”

I stare at him, stunned and furious and lightheaded all at once. I can still taste him. Still feel the print of his fingers on my skin. My pulse still hasn’t settled.

He doesn’t look affected at all.

I swallow hard, fire pooling low, steady and dangerous. “Fine,” I say, stepping back toward the door. “If that’s how you want to play.”

His eyes flick up, steady and sure. “I don’t play.”

That line lands somewhere deep inside me, hot and sharp.

I turn and walk out before I do something stupid. Or beg for round two.

Because one thing is very clear as soon as I hit the sunlight outside.

I’m going to ruin that calm of his.

I’m going to light every match I can find.

And he’s going to feel it.

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