Page 87 of The Summer of Wild

He slides his jeans up his long legs as I hone in on the dimples in his back, right above his perfect ass.

I lead the way down the stairs and to the kitchen. Wilder stops in the hallway and stares at the only Winthrop family photo taken professionally when I was eight.

"You were cute," he says before he runs a hand down the length of my arm and tangles his fingers with mine.

"It's too bad we went to different elementary schools," I wink at him. "We could've started fighting sooner."

"Is that what you think we did?" Wilder grins.

"Pierre said it was rigorous foreplay," I hitch a shoulder.

"I think Pierre might be on to something," he chuckles. "You talk to Pierre about me?"

"One time," I state pointedly, "because you said we'll see about spending the night with me."

"What's wrong with we'll see?"

I laugh and cup his cheek in my hand. "Those aren't exactly the words a girl wants to hear when she offers her house and her body to a boy."

"Blondie," he sighs, "I live with old people. I had to make sure they would be okay without me for a night."

"What about all the nights you spend with all the other girls?" I cross my arms over my chest.

"You act like I've fucked a thousand women," he shakes his head at me, dark locks of hair curling around his ears.

"No," I purse my lips. "More like a few hundred."

"You really think that low of me?"

I shrug. "I don't know. I don't want to know. I think it's better I don't find out how many other girls touched your body before I did."

He squeezes my fingers. "At least you didn't witness Cash popping your cherry. Or the last time he fucked you."

"I'm sorry," I apologize, annoyed with myself. Why can't I stop thinking about Cash coming home or all the girls that Wilder's stuck his legendary Wild Cox in?

Because you're jealous.

"Toast?" I force a smile.

"Blondie, what's going on?"

"Nothing," I lie. "I'm fine." No, I'm not. But I'm not sure how to tell him that I want to yank out the hair of every woman who saw him naked long before I did.

I think I need help. This cannot be healthy.

I pull out the toaster as Wilder hops up onto the kitchen island. I plop in two pieces of toast and grab an array of jams—grape, strawberry, and blueberry—and butter.

"Come here," Wilder holds a hand out.

I exhale before letting my feet carry me over to him. "I'm not crazy."

"I never said you were," he rolls his eyes before running a hand through my hair.

"Why did you stop to look at the picture in the hallway?" I decide to change the subject as I situate myself between his legs.

He glances down at my cleavage before meeting my eyes. "I guess because I don't remember what it used to be like. I can't remember a life before living with my grandparents. It sucks knowing my dad lives a town over with the family he picked over me but doesn't want anything to do with me. You're lucky that you have parents who love each other."

I chew on the inside of my cheek. "I'm sorry you had to go through that."

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