Page 61 of Wilder Heart

Wilder laughed. “Let’s see how dinner goes. I don’t want to make myself sick.”

“Fair enough. I’ll go put our order in.”

Without Cash to act as a buffer, Wilder noticed a few curious glances pointing his way. Some of the faces were familiar, but no one dared to approach. He settled back in the chair, watching Cash’s broad back through the crowd with a relaxed air. It had served him well in prison, that faked confidence.

Cash turned around, shooting him an easy smile, and suddenly that confidence didn’t feel so fake after all. God, he was handsome, his sun-tanned body packed with functional muscle and effortless authority. He had a commanding presence, but not a domineering one. He set Wilder at ease in a way no one else ever had. He could trust that Cash would have his back, wholly and completely.

When he returned with a little plastic number that he set in the middle of the table, he leaned in and said, “Keep looking at me like that and I’ll have to take you home early.”

Wilder bit back a grin. “We rode with Clyde.”

“I know how to Uber.”

Wilder blinked. “The fuck is Uber?”

Cash laughed. “It’s kind of like a cab service. There’s an app.”

“And we have thathere? In Roselake?” He thought cab services were only for big cities.

“Yep.”

“Huh.”

The food came in increments. Their drink trays were first. Six sodas, six beers, all in miniature glass steins. There was more than enough for both of them, and Wilder didn’t know where to begin. Cash gestured for him to choose first, so he picked out a pale ale and took a careful sip, humming at the pleasantly bitter taste. There was a hint of lemon, and he found himself taking another sip right away.

“Good choice,” Cash said. “I’ve always liked that one. They call it the Summer Sun Ale.”

They traded sips of the beers. Wilder wasn’t fond of the very dark stout, so Cash took that one and let Wilder have the pale ale. When their pretzels arrived, Wilder realized how hungry he was. He tore into his, groaning as steam rose from the fluffy bread, and dipped it into the cheese sauce. His eyes rolled back in his head at the first taste, and he heard Cash snort into his beer.

“Will you be offended if I say this is better than sex?” he teased.

Cash laughed. “You’ve been deprived of good food, so I won’t take it personally.”

“That’s very big of you.”

“So tell me something about you,” Cash said, chuckling. “Something good.”

“I’m going to marry a pretzel,” Wilder said, shoving another big chunk into his mouth.

“Just wait until the burgers get here.”

His eyes widened. “Oh, right, the burgers. Skipping dessert was wise, whew. Not sure I could handle it.”

With his pretzel almost demolished, he considered a real answer. Something good about himself. Something not many people knew.

“I tried out for football once,” he said. “Dad had told me no. The ranch needed too much work. He couldn’t afford for us to do extracurriculars, and he didn’t want us getting jobs to compensate for what the ranch wasn’t making. I’d asked; he said no. I needed to be coming home after school to work the ranch. But goddammit, I wanted to play football.”

“Did you make the team?”

Wilder settled back, draining the last of the Summer Sun and leveling a proud smile at Cash. “I did. Coach was ecstatic. He said I was great. He wanted to put me in right away.”

“How’d your dad take it?”

“Oh, I didn’t tell him. And I turned the coach down. I didn’t take my spot on the team.”

Cash frowned, tilting his head. “Why not?”

“Dad would never have allowed it. Talk about putting a target on my back.” He rolled his eyes. Dad would’ve been furious to find out he’d tried out, and he knew better than to take that news home. Other dads might’ve been proud of their kids for making a sports team. But not Alan Blackwood.

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