Page 24 of Pretty Wild

No one has ever let me hold a baby before, honest to God’s truth. All my friends are more interested in keeping their perfect bodies and being photographed with the right people. None ofthem are looking at long-term families yet. It’s all about who’s who and who’s fucking who in Hollywood.

“I’m going to head back to my cabin,” I tell Ellie after she passes baby Wrenlee back to Blair.

“I’m so glad you came,” she insists happily, pulling me into a hug.

I tense immediately, not used to such forward, touchy feely gestures. The people I’m always with do air kisses to show affection or greeting, not crush you against their chest hugs.

But I don’t hate it…

I just don’t know how to reciprocate.

Sure, my parents hugged me, especially when I was little, but not like this. Dad always places both hands on my shoulders, gives them a gentle squeeze, which is like a hug, and kisses me on the forehead. And my mom, well, the former beauty queen is the queen of air kisses. I don’t think they’ve pulled me into their arms and given me a suffocating hug since I was ten and was suddenly too cool for it.

I realize I’m standing awkwardly, Ellie’s arms wrapped firmly around me, so I mimic the gesture. The hug doesn’t last very long, fortunately, and she pulls back and smiles. “I hope we haven’t scared you too badly, and maybe we can all hang out again soon.”

This is the point where I’d tell her I’d call her, knowing full well I won’t, but that’s not what I say. “I’d like that.” And I would. I just attended my first cookout, sitting around a campfire, and I didn’t hate it. In fact, quite the opposite. It was way more relaxing and comfortable than I ever expected, and I’m so glad I came.

“Great! I’m sure I’ll see you around,” she says, squeezing my hand.

“Of course,” I reply, feeling only mildly overwhelmed by the offered friendship. Usually, where I come from friendships have strings.

I take a few minutes and say goodbye to the rest of the group, receiving hugs from the other three women and Annabelle. TD offers to help me carry my bowl to my SUV, which I decline, since it’s one bowl and I had no issues carrying it to the party myself. The fact he was just being polite is still a foreign concept to me. Where I come from, everyone has ulterior motives.

When I pull out of the driveway, heading back the way I came, I realize I have a smile on my face—a genuine one, not the one I give the cameras—and it feels good. Great, actually. I almost forgot what it felt like to offer a real smile.

As I pull onto the dirt path that takes me to my rental cabin, the smile falls from my face. What the hell is up with Marcus? Why is he always so grumpy and rude? His tone carries a hint of superiority that doesn’t match his appearance, and judging by the way he is with his friends, he’s not like that with anyone else.

Apparently, he saves that side just for me.

“Stupid jerk,” I grumble, the path that leads to his cabin coming into view.

Without giving it a second thought, I whip to the right, turning onto his lane. I’ve never gone up to his cabin and have no idea what I’m about to drive up on, so when I reach the clearing and find a gorgeous cabin with large windows and a huge wraparound porch, I’m pleasantly surprised. It lacks color or landscaping, but this place has so much potential.

I park my SUV beside the tow truck, which is backed into place in front of the garage. I don’t see his old truck, the one he brought me home in the night my tire went flat, but maybe it’s in the garage. I don’t know, but I’m not here to worry about that.

I climb from the vehicle, ire from his brush-off swirling through my veins. I stomp toward the front of his house, keeping my focus on where it needs to be. Thejerkinside.

Just as I reach the steps, the front door opens and Marcus emerges. He stands on the threshold, reaching up and grabbing the top of the doorframe. His ball cap is turned around and his T-shirt stretches tautly across his chest and arms in a way that makes my mouth go dry and my panties a touch damp.

It’s probably just the heat.

I cross my arms over my chest. I tell myself it’s to make myself look intimidating, tougher, but in all honestly, it’s to hide the fact my nipples are getting hard.

Silence hangs between us as we engage in a stare down.

“What can I do for you, Princess?”

I blink and give my head a slight shake, dislodging the image of his arms from my brain. “I have something to say to you,” I start, straightening my spine.

A single eyebrow raises in question. “Well?”

“You were rude and wouldn’t let me explain,” I insist, lifting my chin.

Marcus sighs. “I don’t care.” Releasing his hold on the doorframe and stepping out, the screen door slamming behind him.

I hear the sound of the dog’s nails on the hardwood floor, and even though I want to open the door and pet the dog, I can’t. I have a point to make.

“Well, you’re going to hear it anyway, buster,” I state firmly, sticking out my finger and digging my nail into his hard pec.

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