Wild Card

by Elsie Silver

For the ones who were told their dreams were too dreamy but who went on to make them come true anyway. And for my awful high school English teacher, Mr. C, who looked me in the eye at sixteen years old and told me I’d never be a good writer. Thanks for the motivation.

When life gives you lemons…” It squeezes the acid right in your fucking eyes.

And that voice? It’s the furthest thing from girlish. That voice is all grown-up. It’s not giddy or overly bright. It’s all honey and spice, smooth with a hint of heat—borderline sensual without even trying.

“Okay, Top Gun. I’m sure someone whose home was saved by your perfect aim and huge set of brass balls would describe your contribution as ‘exaggerated.’”

“Oh, tonight? Tonight is just our meet-cute. It’s the night we’ll tell our kids about one day. Remember?”

To the outside observer, it would appear that I’m staring at the guy I showed up here with. But they would be wrong. I’m staring at his dad.

“The fuck did you just say to her?” Bash’s voice is cold as ice from across the table.

He reminds me of my friend Emmett, a professional bull rider on the WBRF circuit.

And then, a couple of months later, I’ll check the standings on the WBRF website and give him shit for not being number one. I get back a “fuck you,” and I also give that a thumbs-up.

All I know is that the first thing that comes to mind is, If I live, I’m coming after you.

“The thing is, Gwen, next time you want to watch me, you should just ask.”

“Or what? You might man up and take something for yourself for once?” I snap. I take something for myself for once. My hands dart out and grip Gwen’s waist. “You know what?” I snarl, yanking her toward me, staring at her plush mouth as her lips softly part—no doubt to say something infuriating. But I don’t let her get a word in edgewise. “Fuck it,” I mutter. Then I kiss her.

“That he was a fool to let you get away. But that it was just as well because I could fuck you better.”

It’s the simple things. It’s building a life with someone. I’d settle for just that.

“Wow,” I sigh. Because no other word seems to do this view justice. “This is beautiful.” “Yeah. It is,” Bash agrees. But when I turn back to face him, he’s not looking out the window. He’s looking at me.

“You’re a fucking wild card. Unpredictable and never what I expect. You scare the hell out of me every damn day. But today more than any of them. Because I thought I lost you.” His voice cracks. So does my heart. “And I love you, and I hadn’t even gotten the chance to tell you.”