Page 41 of Stay Wild Darlin’

Like the kind of moment you don’t realize you’re going to remember until much later.

I was about to type out something half serious, half self-deprecating, when the crunch of leaves behind me made me pause.

I didn’t turn because I knew who it was.

Dalton dropped into the chair across from me with a quiet grunt, his boots dragging a little on the gravel.

“Mind if I join ya?”

I looked over the top of my phone, a smile tugging at my lips. “Only if you promise not to judge my online support group addiction.”

I hadn’t meant to say it aloud. It slipped out as a joke, but the second it hit the air, he looked at me.

“Wait . . . you’re in an online support group?”

I laughed, a little too loud, trying to wave it off. “God, don’t say it like that.”

He raised a brow, clearly intrigued.

I held up my phone to prove I wasn’t making it up but not high enough for him to see what I’d posted. No way was I letting him read that.

“It’s stupid,” I said quickly, tucking my phone under the blanket in my lap. “I joined this group back in high school. I didn’t have friends, but I had questions. Like, dumb stuff. ‘Do these earrings match this outfit,’ or ‘How do I tell if a guy is flirting or being polite’—that kinda thing.” I shrugged, staring into the fire. “My parents and I . . . we don’t have the best relationship. The group stuck, you know? It’s anonymous, mostly, but it’s weirdly comforting. I still post there all the time—random stuff. I don’t even think before I do it.” I laughed softly. “They’ve seen me through everything. Bad dates, awkward family holidays, job interviews, hangovers. All of it.”

I peeked over at him, expecting a smirk or some kind of teasing.

But he was . . . watching me.

“I get that.” His voice was soft. “I’ve always felt like the one who didn’t quite fit too. Beau’s the golden boy. Smart, levelheaded, did everything the right way. I was . . . the other one. The mess-up. The kid they let train out here because no one knew what else to do with him.” He let out a breath, almost a laugh, but there was no humor in it. “Even when people love you, it’s still lonely when you feel like you’re not what they wanted. Or expected.”

His eyes finally met mine across the fire. “So no, I don’t think it’s stupid. The group. I think it’s smart. You found your people—even if they’re virtual and mostly anonymous. That’s more than a lot of people ever get.”

My chest tightened, and for once, I didn’t have something sarcastic ready to say.

“Yeah. Exactly.”

Dalton reached down to the small cooler he’d brought with him, grabbed a beer, and handed it to me without a word.

“Thanks,” I murmured, fingers brushing his for a second before I cracked it open. The fizz filled the silence, followed by the soft pop and hiss of the firewood shifting.

We sat there for a while, letting the quiet stretch between us like a held breath.

“So, the elephant in the room,” I whispered. “Sorry about last night.”

“Which part? The one where your ass was on display and you were about to sleep on the ground outside? Or the part where I—not you—got carried away and stepped all over our professional boundaries?”

I wanted to burst out laughing and tell him, No, actually, that isn’t the part I’m sorry about.

I was the one who, the second he walked out, couldn’t stop thinking about him. Who shoved my hand between my legs. Who came, whispering his name into the dark like he’d actually touched me there.

But he hadn’t.

God, he hadn’t.

Which somehow made it worse . . . or better. I had no idea.

Dalton cleared his throat, shifting in his chair. “We should probably talk about boundaries.”

I stayed quiet.