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.

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’m too damn old to be gawking at a pretty girl in the airport.

Dude! You’re barely 40 and single!! You’re not that old! I’m 40! 😂

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

feel like a teenager again—that hot, fluttery feeling unfurling in my chest because a cute boy just asked me for my number. But this is so much better because he’s a hot man. With big fucking hands and a deep fucking voice.

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.

Yeah. Rosie sounds far too intrigued for this to be safe.

🤭

“Feels good. And as I’ve always said, ‘If it feels good, do it.’” I glare at Clyde. He’s got that shit-eating grin on his face. I swear he’s like a child sometimes. “Clyde, that’s not something you’ve always said. That’s a Sloan song.” He grumbles. “Huh. Maybe it was, ‘If it makes you happy, it can’t be that bad.’”

🤣🤣

He giggles. This grizzled old man giggles. Like a little girl.

❤️

Because Gwen isn’t just hot as fuck. She’s kind. And fun. And thoughtful. And flexible.

“Goddamn, you must be good with your hands.”

“Do you want me to come upstairs and get you settled as well? If you keep this attitude up, I can hold a pillow down over your face to make it stop.”

“We’re taking good care of this kidney because no one else likes you enough to give you one.”

“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.”

“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.”

I love Clyde! 🥰

You can be seen and heard in my house.

Clyde scoffs. “It’s not complicated. You look at her like she hung the moon, and she’s the only woman in the world who finds your shitty attitude to be endearing.”

You can scream for me later. But right now, I need you to shut your mouth and take this cock like the good girl I know you can be.”

It turns out that when I care about someone—when I love someone—I’m willing to do anything for them.

“What are you doing?” I whisper, watching the silhouette of his head move across my chest, lips dragging reverently over my collarbone. “Admiring you.”

🫠💓

I won’t sign up for walking around on eggshells in my own home, trying to figure out what’s wrong or if I’ve offended you. It’s stressful and unhealthy,

You and Gwen, you’re like Fight Club. You know what the first rule is.”

Emmett stands with his hip cocked and his arms crossed, wearing that signature blank expression on his face. Happy, sad, excited—it’s all the same look with this man. Unless, of course, he’s spotted a beautiful woman in the vicinity. Then, the most dazzling TV-worthy smile appears on cue.

There’s an embroidered patch over his heart that spells out Eaton and I focus on that instead.

“Hi. I’m Beau.

“You’re my limes, Bash. I’m the tequila. You and me? We’re gonna spend the rest of our lives making margaritas, okay?”