Page 53 of Pretty Wild

This is growing on me.

Wisconsin, this small town, the cabin—it’s all starting to feel…good.

Better than good.

Comfortable.

Sure, it’s only been four days since my arrival, but I don’t know. There’s something magical about this place. It makes me feel hopeful for the first time since my entire life seemed to implode on national television.

This is me taking control. Not letting the media and gossip rags and loudmouths of California dictate my story. It’s my life, dammit, and I can do whatever the hell I want with it.

Starting with the gorgeous mechanic next door.

I think I’ll add him to the top of my to-do list.

16

MARCUS

“This alternator is fucked,” Dale hollers from under the hood of the Buick LeSabre he’s working on.

“I figured,” I reply, finishing up the tire rotation on the Ford F-150 on the lift.

“Good thing you already had one coming from the auto parts store,” Dale says, wiping his hands on a shop towel as he approaches.

The parts store is in Hudson and makes two trips a day to Pine Village, a morning and afternoon run, and thanks to me adding the new alternator to my order before the morning deadline, we’ll be able to get the part replaced and the vehicle out the door before noon, freeing up the bay for the next repair.

I grunt, keeping my focus on lining up the front right tire to the lug holes. I feel a little behind today, since I had to use part of the morning to take Buddy to the vet. She confirmed he’s not microchipped and in good health, despite having been out on his own for a little while. She checked with area clinics and shelters, but didn’t find any missing pet information, but promised to look again in a few days. At this point, he’s starting to grow onme, so I’m not sure how I’d feel if his owner appeared finally, looking for the dog.

“You’re awfully quiet today,” Dale says, breaking through my concentration and loud enough to be heard over the country music playing through the speakers. Not that I need to concentrate on a wheel rotation. I could do them in my sleep.

“Just working,” I reply, reaching for the torque wrench to tighten the lug nuts.

I can feel his gaze on me, but I keep my focus on the task at hand.

“How’s Ryan?”

“How would I know?” I ask, raising the wrench and lining it up with the first lug nut. I had already researched the correct amount of torque to use when tightening the wheel.

He chuckles, grabbing my attention. “Your actions and your words don’t match.”

I can’t help but give him a confused look. “What are you talking about, old man?”

He just grins. “You like her.”

I scoff and tighten the first lug nut. “You’re crazy.”

“Am I?”

I turn in his direction. He’s casually leaning against the rear of the Buick he’s working on. “Yep. Certifiable.”

That just makes him smile bigger.

When I realize he’s not going away, I make a big production of lowering the torque wrench and giving him my full attention. “She’s not so bad.”

He laughs.

Fucker.

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