Page 30 of John Wilder Gets Schooled
My brain shorted out, but the rest of me sure as hell didn’t. His kiss was firm and warm, the perfect pressure, and he cradled my jaw and cheek in his good hand. He smelled a little of sweat and grime, but I still had bits of grass stuck to my shins, so what did that matter?
I closed my eyes and ran my fingers over his hair, wishing it was loose so I could feel the length of it. Wilder pressed his tongue across the seam of my lips, and I opened for him. Our tongues touched and it was electric, but the jolt that went through my body wasn’t all arousal. It was a sensation of rightness that was so sudden, so complete, that it was almost jarring. Kissing Wilder felt as though the entire universe was sayingyes, this—the answer to a question I hadn’t even known I’d been asking until now.
And then I remembered that he was injured and drugged andhis idea of a compliment was telling me that my face was prettier than my ass.
I pulled back, forcing a smile.
“Pretty,” he whispered, and that word had no right to melt my insides the way it did. Neither did his crooked grin.
“You’re pretty too,” I said and his grin grew. “But you really need to have a nap.”
“Okay,” he agreed.
And just like that, he leaned his head back, closed his eyes, and started to softly snore.
I staredout Wilder’s living room window at my lawnmower as it stood forlorn and abandoned in the bright sunlight. I really needed to get back to it, but I didn’t feel right about leaving him alone. I’d tried to wake him up to move him into one of the bedrooms, but he’d only stretched out on the couch and dozed off again.
When he was sleeping, I put the rest of his soda back in the refrigerator and then, because I had nothing else to do, I did the dishes that were in the sink. I was dying of curiosity, but I didn’t poke around too much. The only bedroom door that was open was clearly Gracie’s—unless Wilder or one of the other guys he lived with had a particular love for unicorn plushies.
I ended up in the living room again, sitting in the recliner and pretending I was scrolling through social media on my phone instead of watching Wilder sleep. It was a lie. My gaze kept shifting from the screen to his face, and I kept replaying that kiss over and over again.
I wondered if he’d remember it when he woke up.
I let out a long breath and tried and failed to focus on my phone again. A little while later I heard the sound of a dirt bike spluttering up the street and pulling into the driveway. I stood up, then thought how awkward that would look when Wilder’sroommate came inside, so I sat down again. I pasted a smile on my face that I hoped said “I am your neighbor, not a home invader” and sat there, waiting.
Still awkward, let’s be real, but not quite as awkward as standing over someone who was asleep. That would definitely say “stalker.”
The front door banged open and the guy from the coffee shop came in, except for some reason he was wearing dark blue scrubs. He stopped in the living room doorway and glared at me, then his gaze flicked to Wilder, and then he was back to glaring at me. Despite him being a skinny little thing, I got the feeling he’d kick my ass in a heartbeat if he thought I was any kind of threat. “Oh hey,” I said, “I’m Avery. I’m not a stalker.”
Which was exactly what a stalker would say.
I tried again. “Wilder shot his hand with a nail gun. I bandaged it up but now he’s passed out on painkillers, and I didn’t want to leave him alone. I hope that’s okay.”
The guy turned his gaze to Wilder again, and his eyes widened when he caught sight of his bandaged hand. Was he a nurse or something? I was sure I’d seen him at Goose Run Gas—you didn’t forget the face of the guy who’d tried to kill you by giving you a coffee that removed at least three layers of stomach lining. “Are you a nurse?”
The guy’s eyebrows climbed his forehead and he shook his head.
There was the sound of the front door opening and a voice called out, “Hey, Cash, who’s been fucking with the steps?” and a second figure appeared at the door—andthis, this was cranky coffee shop guy. I looked from one identical face to the other and blinked while I processed what I was seeing.
“Hey, I’m Chase,” he said. “What the hell are you doing in my living room?”
The other guy, who hadn’t spoken yet, darted forward and whispered in his ear, all the time shooting me dark looks.
“Cash says you’re in his chair, asshole.”
The first twin elbowed him.
Chase relented. “He says you’re in his chair. I added the asshole bit.”
“Sorry.” I stood up. “Um, Wilder hurt his hand, and I gave him a Percocet, and I didn’t want to leave him alone.”
Cash sat in the recliner, pulling his legs up and crossing them.
“And who are you?” Chase asked.
“I’m Avery,” I said and gave a little wave like an idiot. “I’m your neighbor.”
He pointed at me. “You’re Mr. Smith! Gracie thinks you’re hot shit.” He gave me an assessing look and then shrugged. “But, you know, she’s five, so.”
