Wild Card

by Elsie Silver

For the ones who were told their dreams were too dreamy but who went on to

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

I may be pushing forty, but I’m in great shape, and it might feel good to release this tension.

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.

He’s just encountered a modern-day Marilyn Monroe—but she’s even more buxom. Loose, platinum waves fall next to full cheeks and a button nose. But it’s her big blue doe eyes that are a fucking kick to the gut. They’re so vibrant, I swear they trend toward a lavender tone.

I deemed her pretty before, but I was wrong—she’s fucking gorgeous.

“Hi. I’m Bash. And I think our definitions of invite might be wildly different.”

It would appear “Bash” is short for Sebastian Rousseau. Even his name is hot, I think to myself distractedly.

“I’m thirty-nine.”

“Well, color me relieved. If you were born in 1928, you’d be altogether too old for me.”

“How old are you, Gwen?”

“I’m twenty-seven, Bash.”

“Sorry, what was that? Did you say that you’re scared?” “Gwen.” “Don’t Gwen me.” A dimple on his right cheek pops up. “Gwenyth?” “Nope.” I continue taking slow steps back toward the conveyor. “Gwendolyn?” I wink at him. “Nope. Sorry, that’s first-date information.”

“What are we calling tonight, then?”

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

“Sorry, this must be hard for someone your age,” I call back. And for the first time, he laughs. It bursts from his throat like it’s a relief to let it go. It gives me the fucking giggles.

“Fuck, Gwen. You…” I peek over at him, and his eyes are trained on the belt below us as he shakes his head before settling on, “You have no idea how badly I needed this.” “What? To race some weird girl in the airport?” He chuckles, and my spine tingles. “No. To blow off some steam.” I glance back down and nod. “Rough day?” “Rough week.”

“Found out I have a kid I never knew about. Met him for the first time yesterday.”

“He’s twenty-four.”

“Fifteen and in high school? Yeah. Haven’t seen her in decades, but I ran into her brother at a fundraiser, and he let it slip.”

“Yes. Only an hour to ask for your number.”

“Me playing chase on the moving walkway didn’t scare you off?”

“Not at all.”

Beautiful doe eyes, more lavender than blue. Eyes I haven’t seen in eight months. All the air leaves my lungs in one rough exhale. Because I’d know those eyes anywhere. I’ve dreamed of them.

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.

But now the season has ended, and he’s around. A lot. Possibly too much for my taste. This always happens to me. I meet someone who seems great, and then they slowly start to annoy me. They get attached more quickly than I do, and I end up feeling locked in, tied down, stuck.

Am I using alcohol as a coping mechanism today? Yes. Do I care? No.

Me as fuck

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

“You ghosted me. So don’t bother playing dumb. I can handle the rejection but not being treated like I’m an idiot.”

“But this is just fucking weird. And what’s worse is he’s out there disrespecting you to your face, and that makes me want to break something…”

“Bash, I waited months for you to contact me. If I’d gotten those messages… You have to know I would have responded.”

Four months later…

FOUR MONTHS LATERRRRR??

Sorry, I’ve been obsessing over your girlfriend for months, blew my shot because, in the fog of pulling an all-nighter, I missed one fucking number, and now I’ll never have her.

“Seems to me that little prick could use some fucking with.”

100%

“I know you don’t want to talk about it, but I’m going to anyway. So listen up. Just because you got horny at fifteen and that kid has half your DNA, it doesn’t mean you need to let him treat you like shit while you constantly beat yourself up over his existence. And for what it’s worth, when doomsday hits, he’s not invited to my bunker. But you are.”

I LOVE CLYDE

He reminds me of my friend Emmett, a professional bull rider on the WBRF circuit. He travels a lot, so we don’t see each other often, but when we do, we just pick up where we left off.

NEXT BOOK?!?!?!

It hits me with a pang in my stomach. Makes me realize all the domestic milestones I’ve missed out on in my life. Not because I’m averse to them, but because I’ve been thwarted at every turn.

Rhys pipes up with, “Do you know him from yoga?”

I love him

Go look at something purple, Clyde teased yesterday. And all I could think was, I can’t. Not when everything purple reminds me of Gwen’s unusual eye color.

“At least then I wouldn’t have to spend all my free time with a guy who cries as he masturbates while thinking about his son’s ex-girlfriend.”

Lmaooooo

Fucking Sebastian Rousseau.

“Only you would say it’s just a kidney. He’s…he’s been so sore. So resigned. This is…” I suck in a trembling breath. “Bash, this is a new lease on life. You’re saving him.”

“For fuck’s sake,” Bash growls. “You’re killing me.” And then he stuns me by reaching forward, his fingers cradling my jaw as calloused thumbs sweep my tears away with a touch far gentler than I would have expected.

“Oh, good. You two have kissed and made up,” Clyde rasps as he hobbles down the hallway. “We didn’t kiss,” Bash snipes, right as I say, “There’s nothing to make up about.”

“It will help ground you. Feel the pulse of the earth on your bare skin.” I scoff, and she peeks out one eye. “Shut up and lose your socks, Sebastian.”

“Who the fuck told you that?”

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

“They agreed with me that your house is too far from the hospital to be safe or to conduct proper follow-up care. So in about ten days when you get discharged, you’ll stay with me—like we talked about—and we’ll have to hire a live-in aide. They can take the spare room upstairs since you’ll be on the main floor.”

This is stern on the outside and soft on the inside. This is a man who bristles and grumbles but folds when it matters.

“You’re being a little shit-disturber, aren’t you?”