I laugh as he buries his face in my hair.
“So, you can lose our bet?”
“Who said anything about me losing,” Wilder whispers as his lips find the shell of my ear. “I plan on winning.”
“And how do you plan on doing that?” I ask him.
He smirks, his lips still on my ear.
“With you underneath me,” he coos. “Begging me to call a truce.”
My core clenches as my teeth dig into my lip.
DEFCON ONE.
This is DEFCON ONE.
I don’t know how much longer I can hold out, but I just have to make sure it’s longer than Wilder.
ChapterTwenty-Three
The Tower Debacle
Wilder
“It’s a tower,” I say, wholly unimpressed.
“No,” Cash argues. “It’s a historical marker.”
It might be a historical marker, but it’s lame.
I shield my eyes from the sun and look up at the looming tower. It’s brown, appears to be covered in dust, and the sun is burning down like it’s heating the desert through a magnifying glass.
Maybe in the spring or fall it’s a cool tower. But right now, it’s the thing that’s keeping us from the Pacific Ocean.
“It’s just a tower,” I grumble as Ingrid’s hand finds mine and she tugs me along.
“It’s a moment,” she says, her smile bright and wide.
Cash seems to agree because he high-fives her.
Again.
He’s been high fiving her ever since we parked. And listen, I don’t consider myself a body language expert the way Jill claims to be after watching her social media reels, but Cash wants to touch her. Why the fuck else would he be trying to high-five her?
Fucking creep.
“Construction on Bert Vaughn’s Desert View Tower started in 1922,” Cash reads off his phone like the arrogant asshole he is. “Did you guys know it overlooks the Imperial Valley?”
I scoff. “No, Cash. We didn’t.”
He ignores me, but I don’t miss the way his jaw tenses as we walk to the door.
“How tall is the tower?” Ingrid asks.
“Seventy feet,” Cash instantly answers as he offers her a stupid smile.
Seriously? He’s about to meet Britta and he’s still hung up on Ingrid? I don’t get it.
