Okay, so maybe I have it in me.
The darkness I relied on to get me through prison still lives under my skin. It still likes to come out and play sometimes.
But I’ve adapted to the civilian world. Aside from putting the occasional fuckwad in his place, I don’t live a life of violence these days.
He would’ve been fun to fold into origami though.
But nah, I don’t want to disrupt this town with that part of my past.
“One time I took Old Man Jenkins’ car for a joyride,” Ronnie throws out, offering a crime of his own, like our backgrounds are intertwined.
“Just stop,” Wyatt pleads.
“Guess there’s no getting out of the group chat after this.” Weston grins, waggling his brows at his brother. “This here feels like male bonding.”
Ronnie tilts his head back and howls into the starry sky, “Heights Hotties!”
Wyatt shoves him to the ground again, and it’s not a bad night out with the boys.
FOURTEEN
LEXI
Me
Open your door
Wilder Amante
Anything for you, Boss
I’m not sure when my mind changed.
It might’ve been during girls’ night earlier tonight, when I toasted to good dick and the girls all pressed me on what I knew about good dick lately. I’m tired of the honest answer beingnothing.
Or it might’ve been when I watched Amelia leave in Weston’s arms, and my heart hurt for everything she’s gone through and the way he cares for her. It softened me in a way that’s rare.
Maybe it’s liquid courage overriding my determination to keep hating this man, to not let him win by getting me in his bed. Exhausted of the way I have to lie to myself day in and day out to pretend he disgusts me, that his body is as repulsive as his smug personality is.
The text Gracie got from her husband during girls’ night that said Wilder nearly took some teeth in my honormighthave something to do with it.
Whatever it is, it has me swallowing my pride—it got lodged in my throat on the way down, but I’m trying—and showing up at Wilder’s.
I just need tonight. One filthy, fulfilling night that abates my curiosity, and I can go back to my toy collection and stop wondering what it would be like with my arrogant chef who’s way too young for me.
He’s staying in the basement apartment in one of the townhomes that runs parallel to downtown. It’s about a two-minute walk from the back alley behind Heights Bites, but tipsy as I was leaving Smoky Sips, it took me a little longer to make it here.
The summer wreath slaps against the white door when it swings open. On the other side of the threshold, Wilder’s sure smirk tells me he knows exactly why I’m here.
The burning in his black eyes sends a pulse through my system, stirring my curiosity, yet again wondering what this would be like. Something inside me purrs at the thought of finding out.
The way my cells spark from his nearness, how my thighs shift at the sensation, I know I’m not turning back. That realization solidifies my strength to park my dignity to the side for just long enough to experience him just once.
As long as we never talk about it again.
“You ready to beg for it?” he asks, those full, sensual lips pulled up at one side.
Wordless, utterly silent, I lower to my knees, first one, then the other, in his doorway, like I’ve been hyping myself up for my entire trek here. Until I can stare up at him beneath heavy lids, watch those dark eyes burn like coals at the sight of me.
