Page 7 of Wicked & Wildflower

I haven’t met Leo’s brother, Everett, yet. He’s the co-owner of Heathen’s Surf Co. I guess he recently took over their family business from his dad too. Between running them both, he’s busy. Another reason Monica is a bit lonely, I’m sure.

“Do you know why Leo moved the offices from town hall over to Heathen’s?”

The Pacific Shores Small Business Initiative is a partnership with the city funded by Leo to bring awareness and support to small business owners in the community. When Leo found out I had a degree in marketing and graphic design, he immediately offered me a job as their Marketing Director. I’m not sure if they actually need the help, or if it’s something he made up for me so I’d have a place to work. Either way, I’ll be partnering with small businesses inside the initiative to help promote them online.

The initiative was originally based out of town hall, but Leo recently moved it to the loft above Heathen’s when he converted it from his studio apartment into a workspace.

“I think he wanted it to feel more homey and comfortable. Plus, it cuts down on commute time for Everett and himselfwhen they have meetings.” Monica shrugs. “It’s coming along nicely, though. So is Honeysuckle.” The flower shop Leo bought my sister. He’s currently got the empty space next to his surf store being gutted and refurbished with her vision in mind. She plans on opening early next year. “You should go check it out this week. Bring some brownies and say hello. Just ask for Everett when you arrive; he’ll show you around.”

She’s smiling mischievously to herself, but I’m far too tired to question it.

4

Wildflower

Get Your Fucking Hand Off Her

Incessant, annoying, obnoxious buzzingcomes from my back pocket as I cross the parking lot.

I balance the three containers of brownies into one arm as I pull my phone out. It’s my dad again. I know eventually, I’ll need to answer his calls. He has been leaving voicemails, but I delete them without listening. It’s just a confrontation I’m not ready for.

He has no rights to my sister or myself anymore, but we didn’t think he’d try this hard to get a hold of us after we left. Darby ditching her own wedding humiliated him, and knowing that I hold the key to his livelihood, I thought he’d finally let us go. We embarrassed him, hurt his reputation, and possibly even his business. We thought he’d want nothing to do with us ever again, and we’d be able to put our childhood behind us.

Instead, he’s been more persistent than ever.

I’m not ready to face it yet.

So, I hit ignore for what feels like the millionth time in the last month. As I move to put my phone back in my jeans, a text message from him comes through.

I know where you are. We need to talk.

I delete it immediately and pocket my phone just as I step up to the front doors.Heathen’s Surf Co. is sprawled across the entrance with an emblem of a wave next to it. The entire boardwalk is lined with wooden, beach shack-looking suites that all share walls. It’s that charming, classic, California look. The pier stretches out far behind them, with the Ferris Wheel, wooden roller coaster, and a restaurant at its far end. Palm trees line the sidewalks between the boardwalk and Main Street.

Heathen’s sits on one end of the boardwalk. The door is painted orange, lines of multi-colored surfboards propped up outside to my left. The rumble of construction hums from next door, where work is being done on what will become my sister’s business. As I walk inside, I take notice of the dozens of surfboards hanging from the wooden beams along the ceiling. One in the center of the space has Leo’s name written across it.

They don’t just sell surfboards, though. They’ve got everything someone wishing to live the California lifestyle could ever dream of possibly needing. Wetsuits and swimwear, clothing, sun glasses, handmade jewelry. They even sell shoes and skateboards. There are professional photos of surfers framed on the walls, along with some beautiful paintings of beaches and the local coastal towns.

“Hi, can I help you?” a voice calls out from the far end of the store.

I walk up to the cashier and set the brownies on the counter. A cute young man with glasses and a nose ring smiles at me.

“Hi, I’m Dahlia, and I’m going to be working here in a few weeks. I just wanted to stop in and introduce myself to the other staff.” I hold out a container to him as my eyes filter around the space behind the desk. “I was told to ask for Everett?” The man nods as he pulls out his phone and begins typing away. “I brought brownies. Everyone tells me I’m a great baker, so I thought what better first impression than to–” My nervous rambling ceases as I freeze, taking in the sight before me.

A huge canvas photo hangs above the counter behind the man’s head. Two unnaturally attractive men sit on twin surfboards in open waves, smiling at each other. I know one of them is Leo—blue eyes, dimples, and sandy blond hair. It’s the man next to him who has my skin prickling with awareness.

Tan skin. Dark beard. Chocolate eyes. Thick arms covered in tattoos that run the length of his neck to his fingers. From this distance, the ink all morphs together, but I know that up close, he’s got roses and thorns on one hand, violets and vines on the other. I took note of them when I watched those hands grip my thighs and lift me onto his…

I try to shake the thought away, but it comes roaring back anyway.

Lift your leg, cariño.

You’re taking it so well. Come for me.

The memories send flutters straight to my core. I haven’t been able to get those words, those eyes, or those arms out of my head over the last week. I don’t even know the man’s name, but he’d obliterated me to pieces. Made me… God, I hate even thinking the word in my own head. He made me lose myself in a way that no other man ever has.

I wanted nothing more than a quick release. I didn’t want to know his name. I didn’t want anything that could potentially tie me to him again. I don’t have the time or energy for a man in my life right now, in any capacity.

I stare at the photo of the stranger I fucked in a bar, and my stomach plummets as I wonder how the hell he knows my soon-to-be brother-in-law.Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

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