The Wildcat (Playing to Win, #2)

by Bella Matthews

“Fair warning, though. If a man’s got to brag, he’s usually full of shit.”

“Arrogant,” he corrects me. “Not cocky.”

“Cocky men have to brag, sweetheart.”

“Arrogant men know what they’re capable of and don’t worry about proving it. We just do it.”

“Don’t fall in love, Cross.”

“Evil twin. You’d better not be fucking in my office,” the furious voice shouts. And what does my sun-kissed goddess do? Her curls tumble over her shoulder as she turns and smiles at me. “Guess we should have been faster.” Fuck.

“Chill out, Madman. I’ll be out in a sec.” My eye twitches. “Madman?” “I told you. Little brother. Not boyfriend. Don’t go getting all upset now, big man.”

“A shoe, huh?” I nod. “Call the girl, Cross. A girl doesn’t leave a shoe if she doesn’t want to be chased.”

“Go ahead, baby. Tell her your name.” Oh. My. Goodness. Can an ovary explode? And if so, why the fuck did mine? I’ve never had a daddy fetish.

“You’re welcome to have a seat over there and watch the class, Mr. . . .” Guess I should have asked Cross his last name before today. “Wilder,” he offers, and I smile. “See you after class, Mr. Wilder.” Kerrigan turns around and hands the pink bunny to Cross. “Bye, Daddy.” Guess that answers that question. I really should have asked more questions.

while my daughter walks through the door to an open dance studio, holding Everly Sinclair’s hand. Everly Sinclair. My Cinderella. Holding Kerrigan’s hand.

I rock back on my heels and force down the lump forming in my throat as my two worlds collide. My kids haven’t come up in the little time Everly and I have found to text since that night at West End. Her teaching dance here somehow didn’t manage to come up either.

A lesser man would step away. Less sure of himself. Less sure of what he wants. Less willing to put in the work. But I’m no lesser man. I know what I want, and it’s on the other side of that window.

“You’ve met my daughter before, haven’t you, Mr. Wilder?” “I have. We met once over the summer,” I admit, a little nervous that she’ll ask more. “She’s not the easiest person to get to know, but she has the biggest heart of all my children.”

“Okay. How about is there a Mrs. Wilder I should know about?” “There is.” I nod and sip my coffee. Damn, this is good. “You’re married?” Everly’s eyes bug the hell out of her head like I knew they would. “No,” I shake my head. “Never married. Mrs. Wilder lives in Maine with Mr. Wilder.

“I haven’t heard from her since she left months ago. She signed away her rights to . . .” I tip my head toward Kerrigan. “And to Jax,” I add. “Jax?” Everly asks, clearly confused. “Jax is my baby brother,” Kerrigan says without looking up from her hot chocolate. “Baby brother?” Everly bites down on her lower lip. “Wow. Two kids?” “Yeah, two kids. And my brother and sister live with me too. I guess you could say I’ve got my hands full.”

“I guess it’s a good thing you’ve got big hands.”

“You still want to take me out, Cross?” “I told you already, Everly. I’ll tell you what I want, and you let me know if that works for you. And what I want hasn’t changed.” Because I want her. “I have a one o’clock football game tomorrow. How about you pick me up at six?” “I can do that.”

“I’ll see you next week, little miss.” “Bye, Miss Evie,” Kerrigan whispers. “I’ll see you tomorrow, Cinderella.” Her pretty face pinks up again before she heads for the door. “Miss Evie looks more like Sleeping Beauty than Cinderella, Daddy.”

“Oh yeah?” She nods excitedly. “But Miss Evie is prettier,” she says with an innocent awe in her voice. “Yeah, baby. Miss Evie is definitely prettier.”

“Evil twin will skin you alive if you fuck up her baby.”

“Hennnnnyyyyyy,” she squeals. “You grew.” Hendrix picks her up and squishes her to him. “Two inches since you’ve been gone. Doc says I’ve got another one or two in me still.” Nixon rounds the front of the cars and throws an arm around my shoulder. “Told you, little brother. You’re a grower not a show-er.”

“Hellooo . . .” Leo snaps his fingers in front of my face. “What the hell am I? Chopped liver?” I reach up on my toes and kiss the giant pain in my ass’s cheek, then shove him toward Mom and Dad’s front door. “Nope. You’re my favorite. Just don’t tell the others.”

“Damn, that’s good.” Grace’s shoulders droop. “I wish I had your metabolism.” I slide my finger back to the cake. “Everly Amelia Sinclair. Do not finger fuck the cake.” Grace and I giggle at Mom’s use of the F bomb. “Uh-oh. She cursed and middle-named you.”

She never gets middle-named because good twin never does anything wrong.

“Oh, good lord. Stop grilling your daughter,” Mom groans. “Cross Wilder’s daughter. He’s a dad at the studio.” “You can question her. Why can’t I?” Dad grumbles. “Cross Wilder, the hockey player?” Hendrix asks around a mouth full of food. “Chew,” Mom chides him while I choke on my water. “Did you say hockey player?”

His Philadelphia Revolution hockey jersey. “Oh, what the fuck?” I mutter. “Everly,” Mom and Dad both snap. “Sorry. I just—” I cut myself off. Damn it. “I avoid athletes.”

“Your daughters are grown women. They’re intelligent. They’re beautiful. And thanks to you, they’ve been raised around overbearing, arrogant, alpha males their whole lives. They’re going to date at some point. I wouldn’t be surprised if they ended up with overbearing, arrogant, alpha males, also thanks to you.

“She’s not gonna date him if he’s got a kid,” Nixon argues. “Why not?” Grace bites back, and I bury my face in my hands. Nixon looks at her like she’s lost her damn mind. “Because she’s not you, Gracie. Evie doesn’t do serious. And kids make it serious from the get-go. That’s not Evie.” “The hell?” My head snaps up, and I glare at Nixon. “Who says I don’t do serious?”

“You do, evil twin,” Leo adds. “She’s not evil,” Uncle Tommy defends me, then smiles his bighearted, goofy smile. “Maybe a little devious sometimes.” “Hey,” I call out, and Uncle Tommy winks. “I can do serious if I want to. I just haven’t wanted too.”

Grace and I have been known as the good twin and evil twin our whole lives. I play along with it most of the time. It’s just easier to give people what they expect than to fight to be seen differently. We’ve all got our roles to play. But still . . . it gets old.

“I was just talking to Grace, and she mentioned that West End guy from the summer was Cross Wilder. Why didn’t you tell me you hooked up with one of my players?” “Umm . . . So, I may not have known that little detail until today.”

“Cross Wilder doesn’t strike me as a guy who’s going to play your game your way, Everly. And honestly, I hope he doesn’t. I think he could be good for you. But only you can decide to give it a chance.”

If I’m being honest with myself, I’m not sure I’ve been fine for a long damn time.

The bartender from West End, who I’m not entirely sure doesn’t have a thing for Everly. I lift my chin. “Hey, man.” “Still chasing evil twin?” the guy asks while he looks at me like he’s assessing a threat. “Something like that.”

“You chasing her too?” I half expect him to throw a punch until he laughs. Hard. “Fuck no. She’s psychotic.” Yeah . . . not what I was expecting. “Dude. No. Seriously. No. That one is all yours. If you get stuck for conversation, ask her about the seagulls on the beach. You’ll thank me later.”

But I’m learning quickly, I may never actually be ready for Cross Wilder.

“I really don’t want to like him, and he’s making that really hard for me. He’s serious. A relationship guy. A dad. And let’s not forget, he’s a professional hockey player.”

“No, Cinderella. We rushed this once. Now, we’re going to take it slow. You’re going to let me take you out again. You’re going to let me pick you up at your door, without arguing, and walk you back at the end of the night. Because that’s what you deserve, and that’s what a man does.

We’re going to slow this down, so maybe the next time you’re acting skittish, you’ll stay still instead of pulling away . . . until you’re ready to push forward. I’m a patient man, Everly, and something tells me you’re worth every second of the wait.”

“This is why you’re the good twin.” “No. They call me the good twin because you scare them. You’re the fearless twin. You always have been. You try everything first, so when I do something, it’s easy because I already know it’s safe. It’s been like that since we were little. And when I didn’t like to talk, you did it for me. They said you were loud, but you weren’t.

You were protective. It makes you seem wild and bossy and makes me seem sweet and shy. When in reality, you were brave, and I was scared.”

“That’s a very specific coffee order, Mr. Wilder.” Damn small town. Everyone knows your name. “It’s for a very specific girl . . . if she’s still at work.” “She’s still there.” Her smile grows. “Have a nice night.” Small. Fucking. Town.

“Come over to my house for dinner.” The words are out of my mouth before I even realize what I’m saying. I don’t bring people home. Not women. Not friends. Not anyone. My house. My family. My kids. They’re private.

“Yeah,” I groan as my lips graze hers on their way to her ear. “Say yes, Everly.” “Not a date.” “Dates are romantic. Trust me, a screaming baby and the Disney channel are about as far away from romance as you can get.” Hopefully, it’s not as bad as it sounds, but I’m probably setting us up for a shitshow.

“Holy shit, Grace. He walked in the shop in gray sweatpants and a white t-shirt, and his hair was wet, and his ball cap was on backward, and . . . and he remembered my coffee order and brought me exactly what I like, and now I’m on my way to his house to have dinner with him and his kids, and I’m freaking the fuck out a little bit here.”

“He brought you coffee?” “One pump chocolate, one pump raspberry.” “Holy shit. That’s like your love language,” she squeaks. “I. Know.” “Okay, breath. You can do this. Pull your big panties up and act like the bad-ass bitch you are.” “A, my panties are not big.”

I grab my bag from the front seat and walk over to Cross’s truck, trying to ignore the nerves clawing at me. He’s got a Sweet Temptations bag in one hand and a hockey bag thrown over his shoulder. And my goodness . . . He really does makes sweatpants look almost pornographic, and I’m here for it.

“You Wilder boys do not make the best first impressions, do you?” “Yeah . . . That’s Ares,” Cross groans. “Watch out for him. He’s not housebroken.” “Dude. I’m not a fucking dog,”

Ares argues as Bellamy walks in, holding a cranky-looking baby, who I’m assuming is Jax. “You’re totally a dog, and nowhere near housebroken. You’re also kinda always in heat.” She hands Jax off to Cross. “Don’t bother denying it just because Everly is here.” “The fuck? I’m not in heat.”