Wild Card

by Elsie Silver

I glance up, and there she is. The lemonade girl. Woman. Because there is nothing girlish about her. She carries herself with a confident ease, wearing soft, feminine curves like she invented them. 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.

I can hear the threads of hope in his voice, which brings heat to my cheeks. “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.

“Easy, girl. Don’t eat too much.” Easy, girl? I pause, my brows furrowing as I stare down at the two bite-size pieces of food on the napkin in my hand, wondering if I misheard my “boyfriend.” Did he really just tell me not to eat too much? “The fuck did you just say to her?” Bash’s voice is cold as ice from across the table.

“But, Bash, what if you live?” Her question echoes in my head as her warm palm molds to mine. I feel her pulse. It thrums through my body. Hell, maybe I even feel the earth beneath my feet a little differently. All I know is that the first thing that comes to mind is, If I live, I’m coming after you.

He’s too much. I drop his gaze, watching his Adam’s apple bob as he swallows and leans in close, closing the distance between us and coming almost chest to chest. I swear I can feel him inhale as all the air around me is instantly pulled out of reach. “The thing is, Gwen, next time you want to watch me, you should just ask.”

I incline my head toward her, close enough to feel her breath fanning across my jaw. “Careful, Gwen.” She chuckles, but there’s no humor in it. And she doesn’t back down. Instead, her lips move closer to the shell of my ear. “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.

I blink. I had no clue Tripp was still upset over our breakup. “What’s that?” “That he was a fool to let you get away. But that it was just as well because I could fuck you better.” I suck in a breath as Bash’s dark eyes bore into mine.

He scrubs a hand over his wiry, gray stubble. “Sorry, sorry. It’s just that I’m invested. I worked really hard to get you both under one roof.” My head snaps in his direction. “You what?” I suspected something at the hospital—but hearing him so bluntly confirm it still shocks me. “Don’t act so surprised. I love that big doofus like he’s my own, and to be frank, you’re feeling an awful lot like my second doofus.” My heart swells. I never thought being referred to as one of Clyde’s doofuses would be so heartwarming.

I’m standing there making “googly eyes” at her, as Clyde had called it, when he appears in the doorway. He takes one look at the food laid out and then pulls up a seat beside Gwen. “I wish Bash were in love with me. Then maybe he’d make me nice breakfasts too.” I spray my mouthful of coffee into my hand right as Gwen barks out a shocked laugh and thumps a flattened palm on her chest.

The warm sun hits my face, and I let out a deep, satisfied sigh. This is fucking incredible. “I haven’t asked you if you’ve done this before,” Bash says through the headset as the plane rolls along. I can hear him clearly over the loud engines. “No, Bash. You’re my first, so be gentle with me,” I reply with a smile. A smile that only grows bigger when I hear him grumble “For fuck’s sake” in my ears.

I smile. “Bash, this is actually so romantic,” I tease. “You planned me a big birthday party? The perpetual bachelor and town loner invited other people to his trash can just for me?” I get an eye roll now. “Good god, you and Clyde with that Oscar the Grouch metaphor. That really needs to die.” “Why? It’s so cute. Everybody secretly loves Oscar. Yeah, he’s grouchy, but it’s part of his charm. Just like you. If you were too happy, it would just be weird. I would wonder if you were sick or dying or something.” He rumbles a laugh now, shaking his head as he cuts the engine.

“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.” My heart thuds and my tears finally fall. He loves me.