Page 32 of Wicked & Wildflower

Wicked

I’m Not Scared Of It At All

Can we talk?

My breath catches as I stare at the message from Dahlia. We haven’t spoken in four days, not since she very clearly reminded me that she had zero interest in having me as part of her life. I’ve been giving her space ever since, while not-so-discreetly begging my brother for details on what the hell happened with her ex that spooked her so much.

Leo doesn’t tell me shit, though.

“What are you staring at?” My dad’s voice breaks my thoughts as I look up from my screen and realize he has been extending the socket wrench I asked for.

Of course. At Lou’s next lesson on Sunday?

I shake my head, typing out my response quickly and slipping my phone back in my pocket. “Nothing.” I take the tool from him and get back to work on the 1982 Chevy Corvette we’re restoring. “Just had to return a text message.”

“Your eyes lit up like a kid who just found out they’re going to Disneyland for the first time,” Dad mutters under his breath. “Someone we should know about?”

“Not yet,” I answer honestly.

My dad’s head lifts from where he works beneath the hood, surprise accenting his brown eyes. “Well, that’s four more letters than I’m used to hearing.”

I snort.

“I think that could be good for you, you know,” he adds.

“What makes you say that?”

“You keep telling me to let this place go, and part of the reason I can’t is because I’ve been here so long, I don’t know what to do with myself when I’m not here.” He sighs, going back to his work. “But,” he continues, “another part of the reason is because you’ve got a reputation on you, kid.” I catch his gaze as he looks at me again. “And some people don’t want to work with you because of it.”

I roll my eyes. “I’m not offended by people who’re unwilling to patronize a business owned by a queer man, and I’m surprised you’d be concerned about those customers anyway.”

“You know me better than that.” His tone is rough. “Fuck those assholes. They can go elsewhere. I’m not talking about your sexual identity, Everett. I’m talking about your sexcapades all over town and the bruised hearts you leave in your wake.”

I fight the twitch in my lips at that. “A bit dramatic, Daddio.”

“I am not,” he counters. “Debbie Michaelson has been coming here for thirty years damn near, and last week, I found out she drove her ass out to Carlsbad for a goddamn oil change because you ‘ghosted’ her grandson after two dates, and she doesn’t wantto upset him by coming here.” He steps back from the car and wipes his hands on a rag. “Whatever the hell ‘ghosted’ means, I don’t know, but it doesn’t sound good.”

I groan. “I told Clay I wasn’t looking for something serious.” I drop my wrench on the table next to me and stand up straight, stretching my back. “It’s not my fault if people misconstrue my feelings when I make my intentions abundantly clear.”

“I’m not saying you’re a bad guy, kid. I’m not. All I’m saying is that it’s a small community, and unfortunately, personal and professional can get mixed up a lot easier around here than in a big city. So, you’ve got to keep that in mind when fuckin’ around town.”

“Christ,” I mutter.

I’ve always been one to chase a good time. I’m not afraid of commitment or relationships. I’m not afraid of falling in love. I had a good example of what a marriage should look like growing up, and I’ve always felt like it was something in the cards for me. But being exposed to such a prime example of what love is supposed to look like makes you realize all the times that it’s simply just… not there. I’ve always wanted to wait until I found the person I could look at the way my dad looks at my mom.

He has always said that you’ve got to find that one who makes you feel like every love song was written just for them.

My dad has a habit of stopping when he hears a song that makes him think of my mom, making her dance with him right then and there. Doesn’t matter where they are—crowded restaurant, the grocery store, or the kitchen; if he hears a love song, he takes her in his arms and spins her around until they’re laughing and breathless.

I always knew I’d never been interested in settling down until I found someone who made me want to do that too.

But I always make my intentions clear. I’m not afraid of seeing someone more than once, and I’m not opposed to a one nightstand, either. I like to spend time with people until I simply feel like our connection has run its course. Sometimes, we remain friends. Other times, we go our separate ways. No hard feelings and no regrets.

I make sure that’s clear before I ever take a person to bed, but I can’t help if feelings get hurt in the process every once in a while. Clay’s a great guy, but he’s not the person I want to dance in the middle of the grocery store with.

It’s not often I get stuck on someone enough to consider seeing them for more than a few times, and as of late, the only thing stuck in my head are stormy blue eyes.

“I’ll be more careful,” I say. “I know I need to start making the businesses my top priority, and I’ll make sure I put the integrity of them first from now on.”

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