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.

A ghost of a smile touches his lips, and god, I bask in it. I’m certain that when I sat down, he found me annoying, and now I have weaseled my way into an entirely different territory. Which is a huge relief because I can’t handle people not liking me. That’s the stuff that eats away at me and keeps me up at night.

I blink up at her, wanting to go back to the part about her dad. Or the comment about her size. Because I barely know her, but I’m pissed off that anyone could make her feel that way about herself. I’ve been in her presence for just over an hour, and I can tell she’s got a knack for helping people. For making a dark room feel just a little bit brighter. And that’s not something you can learn in the pages of a book.

She warms me. And a cautious optimism surges from within. It makes me think that maybe—just maybe—despite my surliness and sour mood, she might be enjoying my company.

She’s borderline hypnotic. Flexible and feminine. And there’s something incredibly bold about her doing this right here and now, beside a man she barely knows. She doesn’t give a fuck what I think. Nor should she. And I admire that about her.

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

And I tell myself it’s just goodbye for now and not forever. Because the world works in mysterious ways, and it would never squander a meet-cute like ours.

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.

What can I say? I’m a sensitive gal. I’ve always felt things just a little more deeply.

“And I allow myself to acknowledge that I am not every person’s cup of tea. Maybe I am more than they can handle. And that’s okay because I’m quite fond of myself and no one can take that away from me. I’m at peace with who I am, so what you think of me doesn’t matter.”

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

I can tell he’s all bark and no bite. I grew up with bite. And this? This isn’t it. This is stern on the outside and soft on the inside. This is a man who bristles and grumbles but folds when it matters.

“In the military? My dad.” “Impressive.” Her head joggles, like she doesn’t quite agree with my assessment. “Almost as impressive as the depth of my daddy issues and the uniform kink my upbringing sent me out into the world with.” She barks out a laugh, and I try not to choke on my own saliva. “Jesus, Gwen.”

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

“I mean, you must be handy.” “I’m both.”

I find myself fixating on the smell of him, willing him to look my way. To say something. To throw all that loyalty and commitment that I admire about him out the fucking window and cross a line.

I plan to settle down, find a steady job, or start a family. I grew up with this feeling of never being good enough, never trying hard enough. Never quite fitting in. I’m sure the unrelenting questions were my dad’s way of motivating me—it was the drill sergeant in him—but they only stifled me.

My throat aches as the reality of our situation crashes against me in a sudden wave. It bowls me over. The sharp bite of cold water stealing all my warmth, drowning all my unfailing optimism.

“Gwen. I can’t fuck it all up. I can’t cross that line, no matter how tempted I am.”

I simmer and stew over my opening up for the rest of the night.

“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 poor kid waxed poetic about you all night,” Bash cuts me off, speaking between languid kisses down my chest, his tongue darting out over the tops of my breasts. “For all the wrong reasons but still. I had to sit there and pat his back over it. And do you know what I was thinking about the entire time?” 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 can’t ask him to make this mess. Not when he’ll have to face the fallout. It means he has to be the one who doesn’t care. He has to come to me and say mess be damned. But Bash cares a lot. Beneath that stony exterior, he has the biggest heart.

“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.

“Gwen, listen. I’ve known him for years now, and he might be one of the best people I know. Prickly and ornery and set in his ways, but good. He’s been hurt. He’s been told a few too many times that he isn’t good enough. Between his ex-wife and Tripp’s mom, he’s learned the hard way that people use him as a stepping stone to the life they really want. He expects to be left behind.”

“And those are tough wounds to heal. Especially for a man so paralyzed by all his own regrets. He’s stuck. I see it, and I bet if you looked hard enough, you’d see it too. But when he met you? You shook him up. It changed something. It changed him. And I reckon that if you have the fortitude to keep at him, he might just soften up for you. It won’t be easy. But nothing worth having ever comes easy.”

Am I serious about him? I mull over the question, but it doesn’t take long. I am. There’s a reason I took the position in this town, a reason I moved on from Tripp immediately. And there’s a reason I’m sitting here sick over him. I don’t tell Clyde any of those things. But I do nod. And then I turn the TV back on right in front of him, determined to catch sight of Bash.

I know what it’s like to not be able to stop thinking about someone. I know because I’ve been there with Gwen. Even during an active fire, I think about her. Even when I know I shouldn’t, I think about her.

But then I think of Gwen. And yes, even Clyde. My strange, complicated, ragtag little family. Or at least the only people who will be there, waiting for me when I get back. Which is better than no one.

I stare at the spot where I know I’ll fit so perfectly, wondering if I’m crossing a line I shouldn’t. I decide I don’t care. I decide that where Sebastian Rousseau is concerned, I’ll take what I can get. It might not be forever, but I’ll settle for right now. So I slip under the duvet and let him hold me.

But it’s so much more than that. It’s the realization that she’s everything I want.

I may not be great at talking about my feelings, but I am great at showing them.

“You’re taking my flying?” I sound incredulous, and it makes him chuckle. “Okay, good. I’m glad you’re not freaked out.” “Freaked out? Are you kidding me? This is amazing! And if I die?” I wink at him. “What a way to go.” He volleys back with my own words: “But what if you live?”

“Head out of the gutter, Rousseau. I’m trying to be strapped in safely here.” I get an eye roll as he settles in front of me and lifts an oversize headset over my head. His gaze locks on mine as he grumbles, “My head’s been in the gutter since the first time I laid eyes on you.”

“Ah!” I squeal, breathless with laughter as I clap enthusiastically. “Look at you go!” Bash laughs now, the deep sound vibrating through my headset. “Gwen, this is my job. It would be like me clapping when you roll out a yoga mat. Even though when I see that ass in leggings, it makes me want to.”

All I can see is her. All I can feel is her. All I can taste is her. I’m fucking drowning in her and I wouldn’t have it any other way.

“Gwen, baby, I need you to be quiet. 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.”

“Fuck me…that was⁠—” “Just the beginning,” I finish for her before dropping a kiss to her back. “Dear universe, I forgive you,” she murmurs with a delirious giggle, and I can’t help but shake my head. Yeah, the universe messed with us. But it also gave us this. And we’re only getting started.

“My eyes,” I say, “they’re up here.” He grumbles, gaze flicking up to mine but only for a beat. “I know that.” He drops his gaze back down again. “I wasn’t trying to find your eyes.”

I know I’ve said it a couple times, but it’s true. With her, nothing seems like that big of an ask. It turns out that when I care about someone—when I love someone—I’m willing to do anything for them. Join a stupid bowling team that I never really wanted to. Give them a kidney. Play Disney Princess with some shitty raccoon.

All I know is that I have to trust my gut. And my gut says I belong here, with him.

“Fuck,” he groans. “This is not helping me want to leave.” I shoot him a sultry wink. “Gotta keep you coming back for more.” He sobers for a beat. “I’m never going to get enough. I can promise you that much. I’ll always be coming back to you.”

I swallow, struck by the sincerity in his words. I’ve never wanted to stay in one place until now. I don’t know what the future holds, but I’m desperate for it to be here. With him.

“Don’t go, okay? I know everything here is complicated and terrifying. But don’t run this time. Please stay. We will work it all out.”