Page 66 of First Verse

Wilder nods, a concerned crease forming between his brows. “Despite what just happened, a big part of why I came today is because I don’t want you to think sex is all I want from you.”

“I don’t.” My quick denial causes his brows to arch. Knowing that he’s a second from once again proving how well he knows me, I lift a staying hand. “I’m not saying that to avoid confrontation. I really don’t feel that way. Besides, if you only wanted sex, there are a million women out there who don’t have our baggage.”

His lips press together, then relax. “I like our baggage. It’s a little beat up, sure. Covered in peeling stickers and dents. But the insides are irreplaceable. There’s only oneyou.Only oneus.If I could take you out on normal dates, I would in a heartbeat.”

My insides melt. “You would?”

He nods solemnly, but there’s a telling twinkle in his eye. “As long as it wasn’t crowded. And there were no fluorescent lights anywhere. And we stayed within ten feet of an exit at all times. You know… normal date stuff.”

A laugh burbles out of me and he grins. Almost as soon as it forms, his smile falls. He shifts toward me, the heat of his body curling against my front.So close. Not close enough.When I register the intensity in his eyes, my stomach does a backflip. My heart receives a similar memo, suddenly racing.

“Evangeline, I know it’s been less than a week, but I need you to know?—”

A knock on the door right beside my head makes me yelp and jerk forward. My forehead collides with Wilder’s chin. We both curse.

Molly’s laughing voice reaches our ears. “You guys all right? Sorry to kick you out, but April needs the room for her five o’clock lesson.”

“Absolutely, sorry!” I say—too loudly based on Wilder’s soft chuckle as he scoops up his guitar case. “Be right out!”

I scramble to grab my purse and water bottle, thankful for my habit of spending the last few minutes of each lesson having the student help me tidy the room. When I move to open the door, Wilder’s fingers catch my wrist.

“Meet me back at your house.” The low, firm tone sends a zinging shock through my body. My eyes fly to his. “We can leave your car there since it will be dark soon. I’ll drive you home after dinner. I’m staying the night, by the way.” He pauses for a quick breath. “Say ‘Yes, Wilder.’”

The ache between my legs intensifies so fast it flirts with the border between desire and necessity. Saturday night plays behind my eyes. Behindhiseyes, which watch me with penetrative focus.

A much older memory rises out of nowhere, playing from start to finish in seconds. I was six or seven. Wilder and I were caught outside in a spring downpour. My fault—I’d pestered him relentlessly to push me on the swings until his dad stepped in and told him to. Wilder was so annoyed with me that he pushed me too hard and high on purpose. Eventually I threw a fit and told him to go away.

He was halfway back to the house when the clouds opened and freezing rain poured down so fast and hard it soaked me in seconds. The sound was shocking. A vast, rushing roar that sent me stumbling away from the swings in terror—a terror that grew wings when I realized I couldn’t see Wilder anymore. The house and pool had likewise disappeared. The swing set ten feet behind me was barely distinguishable behind undulating, liquid curtains.

Then the rain shifted to hail. Stinging bullets of ice struck me all over, my sweater useless as a shield. In a mindless panic, I started screaming, running blindly toward where I thought the house was.

Wilder caught me, jerking me off my feet and hugging me so tightly I could feel his ribs beneath my cheek. He yelled about the pool and how I could have drowned, but I barely heard him because I was sorelieved. Then he covered my head with his arms. For what felt like hours but was probably a handful of seconds, I trembled in a cocoon of his wet sweatshirt and steady heartbeat as the hail battered him.

I remember thinking the world was ending, but it was okay because we were together.

Looking up at him now, I feel it again—that the world around us is a roar. A never-ending storm. But I’m safe because we’re together.

“Yes, Wilder,” I whisper.

CHAPTERTWENTY-FOUR

wilder

The sound that comes out of Evangeline on her first bite of the pasta dish Jax and Eddie prepared makes me want to throw her over my shoulder and run from the dining room, then come back and beat the shit out of my bandmates.

“This is delicious, you guys,” she gushes, not noticing the sudden undercurrent at the table. Even Zander picks up on it, his eyes darting around in curiosity and speculation, lingering a bit too long on Evangeline. While it’s ludicrous to be triggered by him—she doesn’t have the hardware he prefers—it still pisses me off.

I glare across the table at Eddie, daring him to make the joke brewing in his laughing eyes. Lucky for him, he glances at me first. He wipes the smile off his face and lowers his head, shoving food in his mouth.Smart man.

Jax clears his throat, drawing my attention away from his brother. His eyes hold a mild rebuke—one I absolutely deserve. In spite of his long crush, Eddie took the news of Evangeline and me getting together with admirable maturity, even telling me he was glad we’d finally pulled our heads out of our asses. He’s been nothing but supportive since, and he hasn’t flirted with her once tonight. It’s not his fault I feel like a powder keg rolling toward a bonfire.

I force myself to relax back into my chair, ignoring the way my skin crawls and itches. This dinner seemed like such a good idea when the guys proposed it. It didn’t occur to me how difficult it would be to watch Eva, Jax, and Eddie pick up right where they left off three years ago. Their effortless, lighthearted friendship doesn’t include me. It never did. I’m still the dark, cold planet orbiting light years away from their suns.

I don’t know what I was thinking. That it would be different now? That I would be different? If anything, I’mworsenow that Evangeline’s mine. Every time I hear them laugh together, my fingers curl into a fist on my thigh and my teeth clench. My emotions are playing a manic game of tag and my body is no better: cold—hot—cold—hot.

My eyes keep finding the beers Eddie and Zander are nursing, both bottles still half-full. I don’t understand how they can just sip them every once in a while. Why drink unless you want to get buzzed? No one loves the taste of beer that much.

Being sober fucking sucks.

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