Wild Side (Rose Hill, #3)

by Elsie Silver

Tabitha, sister of my new tenant, is hot, looks like she thinks I might have bodies buried in my basement, and has a mean handshake.

“He is a dad, whether or not he wants to admit it. And for what it’s worth, I think you should name your team the Man-Children.”

It reminds me of the first day she walked away from my house. Our eyes catch for a beat. And then she’s gone.

Tabby Cat. I shake my head. More like a black cat.

I wish I could say I don’t think about Tabitha.

But that would be a lie. Because much like the very first time I met her, I can’t get the woman out of my head. Haven’t been able to for the past two years.

Rhys Dupris may be easy on the eyes, but he’s a fucking nightmare for my heart.

“You’re consistent at least.” “Consistent how?” “Consistently mean.” I drink and let out an unladylike snort. “You try working in a kitchen with a bunch of dudes your entire life. It’s part of my charm.” I wink at the giant man beside me.

“Not my fault you aren’t man enough to handle me. But look, Scotty is.” Rhys glares, but I ignore his sour expression and let out a whistle.

“I wouldn’t go to your room with you anyway, Rhys. You’re trying to fuck me over, not fuck me, remember?”

Lmaoo

This woman needs a target for her anger.

Someone to blame so that she hurts a little less.

And without even thinking it through, I decide I can be that person for her.

Awww

“Hey, asshole. I made you a bowl of carbonara so that I won’t have to hear your stomach all the way upstairs. I didn’t even poison it. Bon appétit and good night.” The door creaks as she closes it, but then it stops. Light spills down the stairs once again as she adds, “Oh, and I sleep with a gun under my pillow, so don’t try anything weird.” I drop my chin, and a smile curves my lips. Because I’m pretty sure that—in her own way—Tabitha Garrison was just nice to me.

I love her lmaooo

When I become Wild Side, everything falls into place.

“What the fuck is that?” “A cat. Her name is Cleocatra.” “Why?” Yeah, he’s not seeing the humor in this at all. “You can call her Cleo for short.”

Lmaooo

I look down at the bouquet in my hand and bark out a laugh. Fucking Cat Whiskers. What a man.

So today I smile shyly, grateful that Rosie is here as my maid of honor and that Skylar is sitting in a pew. Over the past several weeks, they’ve been the closest things I’ve had to friends in a long time. We don’t work together, and they don’t need anything from me—they’re just happy to spend time with me. Hell, they make me happy too, and at a time like this, that’s special.

Her mental health was a constant uphill battle, and she struggled, but she had a soft heart. It kills me that no one sees her the way I do.