Wild Card
Wes
Tripp is a little worse for wear after one too many shots of whiskey and his run-in with Chase. I’d offered to be the designated driver tonight, so he hadn’t bothered to pace himself at Herds, which might account for some of his recklessness.
We’re almost to Tripp’s place when his phone lights up on the seat of the pickup.
“Hello?”His nose sounds plugged from all the blood still coagulating. There’s a pause as someone on the other line responds.
“Allie, slow down. You’re what?” There’s another brief pause
“Are you both okay?”
My heart drops to my stomach, my mind immediately jumping to them being in some kind of accident.
“We’re on our way,” he says, hanging up the phone.
Tripp squints at me. “You’re gonna need to head back to town. We have to bail the girls out of jail.”
“What!” I slam on my brakes and Tripp grunts as I pull a quick u-turn.
I haul ass back to town while Tripp gives me a recap of what Allie told him over the phone, which wasn’t much. I’m eager to hear the whole story by the time I pull up to the small building with the wordsCottonwood Creek Police Stationplastered on the front.
“You’re gonna have to go in,” Tripp says with a wince, gesturing to his still naked torso and the blood-soaked T-shirt in his hand. “I don’t think the sheriff would take too kindly to my condition.”
I make a disgruntled sound and reluctantly head inside.
After a brief conversation with Sheriff Andersen, I'm able to talk him into releasing Allie and Sawyer from the holding cell without having to post bail, as long as I promise I won’t let them cause any more damage tonight.
Allie’s makeup is smudged like she’s been crying, and Sawyer’s hair has gone from carefully curled to frenetically frizzy. They’re both quiet as they climb into the truck, but I’m itching to ask a million questions.
The cab of the old truck is small and there’s not nearly enough room for the four of us on the bench seat. Tripp is squeezed against the door, but all I can focus on is the way Sawyer’s thigh is pressed tight against mine. Heat radiates from her skin, unsettling my nerves. My fingers twitch on the steering wheel, itching to reach out and feel more of her. She shifts against me, sending another jolt of awareness through me. I clench my jaw, forcing my focus on the road.
“So? What happened?” Tripp asks as we pull onto the street.
Allie sinks into the seat like she’s expecting him to chastise her, and Sawyer’s shoulders square as she turns to meet my gaze. Her face is mere inches from mine and I can’t help but glance down at the curve of herlips that are painted red before dragging my gaze back to those crystalline blue eyes.
“We T.P.’d Chase’s house after I let all the air out of his tires in the Herds parking lot,” Sawyer says matter-of-factly.
Allie moans, dropping her head to the seat.
“Jesus Christ.” I stare at them both in incredulity.
“What the hell were you girls thinking?” Tripp demands.
Sawyer gives him a withering glare. “You’re one to talk, Rocky Balboa. His tires aren’t damaged, and that piece of shit deserved the inconvenience.”
I snort in amusement.
“I’m not arguing that,” he concedes, unable to bite back a smile. “I just can’t believe you two actually did that. I haven't T.P.'d a house since high school.”
That prick definitely deserved it. If Sawyer had called to tell me her plans, I’d have brought her twenty more rolls of toilet paper.
Sawyer scoffs. “I’ve done worse.” I quirk a curious brow in her direction, but she just smiles and shakes her head at me.
Sawyer's a damn wild card. The only rules she plays by are her own. And just when I think I've figured her out, she does something that surprises me.
Her little wild streak is compelling as hell. I can’t help but find myself endlessly fascinated by her.
