Page 53 of Wicked & Wildflower

I made sure we stopped by Debbie Michaelson’s house—the patron of my father’s who told him she wouldn’t bring her car to the garage anymore after my brief stint with her grandson. I made sure to showcase what areformed playboyI am, taking my girlfriend’s daughter trick-or-treating this Halloween rather than getting shitfaced at a party. I made sure to say the girlfriend part out loud too, mostly just because I like the way it rolls off my tongue and I enjoy the sound of Dahlia’s breath hitching every time I say it.

My favorite moment of Halloween, though, was when Darby dared Leo to take Lou’s pillowcase and go up to one door completely by himself. She knows as well as I do how hard it is for him to turn down a dare. The best part was when the owner of the house recognized him and asked him to sign a t-shirt. Caught up in the midst of that, Leo forgot to ask for candy, and Lou sent him back up to the house a second time.

I hear Dahlia call down to Lou that it’s time for bed, then the sound of their footsteps ascending the stairs from the front of the house. I know I don’t have any reason to stay, but I don’t want to leave without saying goodnight to Dal, without having just one quiet moment alone with her.

I decide to make small talk with my brother for a while and hope that Dahlia comes back downstairs before she goes to bed herself. I stop short as I enter the living room, finding Leo and Darby both asleep on the couch. Lou’s pillowcase is lying on the floor, candy spilled across the rug.

Both of them are breathing deeply, my brother sitting almost upright with his fiancée sprawled across his chest. One arm splays around her waist while the other sits at his thigh, her hand nestled in his palm.

I watch that hand flex, his fingers tightening around hers, as if, even in his sleep, he needs to remind himself that she’s still there. She hasn’t left him again.

“Do you think we should wake them up?” Dahlia’s whispered words startle me as she appears at my side.

“No.” I shake my head. “They look peaceful. Plus, he’ll wake up in a few hours when his back goes out anyway.”

She laughs quietly as she brushes past me and begins to pick up Lou’s candy. Wordlessly, I squat down to help her. Once we finish, she takes everything into the kitchen and, like a moth to her flame, I follow. She’s wearing a pair of joggers and a black tank top. I can tell by the way her breasts bounce as she reaches into the top cupboard for a glass that she’s not wearing a bra.

My hands are balled into fists at my sides, aching for her touch. I want to step into her, want to feel her body against mine again. I want to grab those lush hips, touch that soft skin. I want to taste her again. I need to be reminded of what those pillowy lips feel like.

“Everett?” Her voice breaks me from my trance.

“What?”

“I said thank you…for tonight.” She laughs to herself, and the sound makes my cock jump. She laughs so prettily. “You really went above and beyond in your fake boyfriend duties.”

She puts an emphasis on that term, and I decide I hate that word.Fake. Nothing about tonight—the way I acted, the way I felt—was fake or forced.

“It has nothing to do with our arrangement, Wildflower.” I find myself rounding the kitchen island, closing the space between us. “I care about Lou,” I say, towering over her now. “I care about you. I want you to understand…” I sigh, slowly lifting my hand and tucking a piece of wild hair behind her ear. “Regardless of this arrangement, no matter how long it lasts, I’m gonna be here. For her. For both of you.”

Her ocean eyes swirl with hope and hesitation—and the war within them is enough to bring me to my knees. She’s searching my face rapidly, looking for the lie that she’s so used to being told. I let her search; all she’ll find here is honesty.

I drop my forehead to hers, keeping my hold on her face. Both of our eyes close, and I feel her sigh against my lips. I want so badly to kiss her. Feel her. Taste her.

But I don’t. I don’t close the gap because, as always, the ball is in her court. I wait for her to decide what she wants from me, knowing I’ll give her all of it.

It’s this moment—with her lips nearly touching mine, her skin beneath my fingers—I realize I don’t want drunken nights at the bar or random hook-ups with people I barely know anymore. I don’t want surface level. I don’t want temporary.

I want to clean candy up off the ground with her. I want to help her do the dishes, to watch her dance around the kitchen with her daughter. I want to hear them laugh together and be the reason for their smiles.

But I know I can’t tell Dahlia that, because every promise she’s ever relied on has been broken. I have to show her that this isn’t an arrangement for me. This isn’t fake. She may be mine for show, but I’m hers for real.

All I’ve got to do is prove it.

20

Wildflower

Say Thank You

The rasp of knucklessounds from the other side of my office door. They’re not hesitant like Adam’s, not delicate like Scarlett’s, not clipped like Jeremiah’s. Leo never knocks.

It’s a comforting feeling that I’ve grown to know my colleagues well enough to understand who’s knocking on my door just by the sound.

There is only one person who knocks with the back of their hand, knuckles clattering against the wood in a rough tone.

“Come in, Mr. Ramos,” I call from my desk chair.

The door swings open, and he takes up the entirety of the entryway. He leans against the frame in a long sleeve Hurley stretched tight across his broad chest, a pair of black jeans, and boot-clad feet crossed at the ankles. Eyes glittering with mischief, he flashes me that wicked smile. “Mr. Ramos? I like that.” Stepping into my office, he places what appears to be an iced coffee on my desk.

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