Wilder Page 10

  She moves on after that and Scarlett eyes Paul who looks like all his Christmases have come at once. “Fun times.”

  I fight back laughter.

  “Honey,” Paul says. “How many drag shows have you been to?”

  “Zero.”

  He proceeds to launch into a quick rundown of the ten commandments of attending a drag show, paying particular attention to commandment number six: thou shalt not take thyself too seriously.

  Scarlett listens to every word he says and then looks at me. “I’m ready to follow commandment number two. I’ll have a Manhattan.”

  She’s referring to the rule that something should be purchased at the bar in order to ensure this place can continue supporting drag queens.

  I push my chair back, more than ready to go to the bar rather than allowing her to. I’m fucked if I know what’s come over me, but that outfit she’s got on needs to stay the fuck here. At this table. Away from every other asshole here tonight.

  It’s not even an outfit I’d usually pay attention to. Fishnet tights worn under jeans with a lacy top that’s nothing more than a bra. Lady Toxic was right about those jeans: they’re sitting so low they barely cover what they’re meant to. I’m fairly fucking sure a man isn’t meant to see the top of fishnets above jeans, but I’m staring at tights and skin and a belly button I wanna dedicate a lot of fucking hours to now. Not to mention her legs that are hardly covered thanks to all that ripped denim. I’m not sure why she bothered with the jeans when it seems all she wanted to wear was the tights.

  Christ.

  “You want anything, Paul?” I demand a little too roughly, but fuck if I can keep my shit contained. Scarlett’s pushed me from zero to a hundred faster than any chick has.

  His eyebrows do cartwheels across his forehead. “No, just get that Manhattan and make it snappy.”

  I push my way to the bar and order Scarlett’s drink as well as another beer for myself. Lady Toxic has drawn a large audience, which means my wait time on those drinks is longer than I would prefer. It also means some of the Manhattan ends up on me as I move through the crowd back to the table.

  Scarlett looks up when I place her drink in front of her. “Did you get thirsty on your way back?” Her question isn’t thrown out with her usual snark. She’s actually fucking smiling at me.

  I take my seat, bringing my face close to hers as I do so, and say, “You think I’d chance your wrath by drinking your drink?”

  Her smile doesn’t stutter, and neither does she as she quips right back, “I think you’d chance my wrath in many ways.”

  “Only if it could help me.”

  “Help you do what?”

  “Help me get you to do what I want you to.”

  She slows down. Her breathing, her smile, her reply. In all the ways a man lives for.

  “You should know by now that you can’t get me to do much of what you want me to,” she finally says, her voice taking my thoughts hostage while allowing my feelings free rein.

  “That’s the damn truth, but a man can always fuckin’ hope.”

  Paul takes this moment to slam the brakes once again on the train Scarlett and I have boarded. “Is her dress not to die for, Scarlett?” he asks.

  My brother has a lot to learn about Scarlett.

  I spend the next fifteen minutes watching him start his journey of discovery as the two of them take in the rest of Lady Toxic’s show. Paul brings something out in Scarlett that I’ve not seen anyone else do. She loosens up around him and has fun. She even laughs every now and then. I like it. I like it a fucking lot.

  “So,” Paul says after Lady Toxic exits the stage and the deejay takes over with the kind of music that no man should be subjected to. “What do you guys think? Do you love her as much as I do? And just so you know, the correct answer here is yes. Unless you want my love for you to pack up and leave the building.”

  “You surprise me, Paul,” Scarlett says as she sips her drink. “I didn’t take you for a man who gave his love away so freely. You’ve only known me for forty-eight hours and you’re already professing your love for me.”

  “Honey,” he says, “love doesn’t come down to time. It comes down to the heart recognising its soulmates, and I can already tell you’re one of mine.”

  I take it by the look that flashes across her face that Scarlett did not expect his reply. I also take it that she really fucking likes that reply. A fact that stumps the hell out of me because it’s so out of character for her to buy into touchy-feely shit like this.

  “Okay, I liked her,” Scarlett says. “But I’ll need to see more of her to decide if it’s just like or if it’s love.”

  “Sold!” Paul says. “She’s scheduled to be back in town in three months. We’re all going. Just try and get out of it.”

  Scarlett looks between the two of us. “I’m so fascinated that you both came from the same parents.”

  “You shouldn’t be,” Paul says.

  “Tell me something about your family, Paul,” she says.

  He mulls that over while taking a sip of his drink. With a quick glance at me, he then directs all his attention back to Scarlett. I know from his unusually earnest expression that whatever he’s about to share will be something of importance to him.

  “I’ll never forget the day I told them I was gay. I was seventeen and scared shitless to have that conversation. Justin talked me over the ledge and stood by my side while I got the words out. I expected Mum to be okay with it, but I was unsure of Dad. He surprised me the most when he accepted my sexuality without missing a beat and continued to give me his love unconditionally. Mum might have been the one to put her arms around me as a kid, but Dad was always my safe haven.” He looks at me. “Justin and I might be different, but we both learned how to wrap our arms around people and be their safe haven.”

  I’m about to mention the fact he’s refused to go home and celebrate his father’s birthday with him when he stands and says, “And now I’m going to get a drink. And maybe see if I can find someone to play with tonight.” With a wink sent Scarlett’s way, he gives a quick wave of his hand and leaves the table.

  “If this is how he spends his Monday nights, I can only imagine what a Saturday night is like for him,” Scarlett says as I stare after him.

  My brother might be my favourite person, but he’s also infuriatingly stubborn sometimes. I want to strangle some sense into him.

  “Wilder,” Scarlett says, placing her hand on my arm. “You okay?”

  I look at her. “Yeah.”

  “You sure? Because I can take on whoever upset you. You know I’d win.”

  I laugh. I’m helpless to do anything but laugh. And fuck if she doesn’t help ease the tension in my body. “There’s no fuckin’ way I’d let you loose on anyone.”

  She pulls a sad face. “You’re no fun.”

  “I can be fun.”

  “You should show me that one day.”

  “Yesterday you told me to show you my nice. Today you’re after my fun. Careful, Scarlett. Soon you’ll be demanding things that scare the fuck outta you.”

  She stills, her mouth parting, her breathing slowing, her eyes flashing with a million emotions, the least of which is heat. “Nothing scares the fuck outta me.”

  “Correction: the things that scare most people don’t scare you, but the shit that most people would do anything for scares the absolute hell outta you.”

  She reaches for her drink and takes a long sip while we watch each other silently. I have no idea where she’ll take this conversation, and that’s the thing I’m enjoying the most about it. Well, besides the fact just being near her has me feeling more fucking turned on than I’ve ever been.

  After a long few moments, she says, “I talked to Bailey about rehab today. He agreed to it.”

  Something that scares the hell out of her.

  “Did he put up much of a fight?”

  “Yes. We argued for a couple of hours.”

  “You think he’ll
change his mind?”

  “He might, but I’m gonna take up praying. In fact, I need to go start that right now.”

  I chuckle and jerk my chin. “You go. I’ll wait here for you.”

  “Go where?”

  “The bathroom. Isn’t that where women go to talk about shit?”

  “I didn’t say I wanted to talk to other women about shit. Jesus, do you know me at all?”

  I lean in a little, bringing my face closer to hers. “I’m figuring out I have a lot still to learn about you, Scarlett.”

  Paul steals another moment from us when he plops back onto his chair and says, “How hard is it to find a man who isn’t an asshole? Some days I think my life would be a whole lot easier if I were into women.”

  Scarlett lifts her glass, looking at Paul. “I’ll drink to that.”

  “Trust me,” I say, “it wouldn’t be. Women are a special kind of torture some days.”

  Scarlett meets my gaze again. “We only give as good as we get.”

  “Fuck, you go above and beyond.”

  “Like I said, as good as we get.”

  A smile pulls at my lips. Who the fuck knew flirting could be this fucking good?

  “Okay, you two,” Paul says. “I refuse to be the third wheel. I mean, I’m into this, but enough for now. I need some attention, and then after I go home, you can get down and dirty, okay?”

  Scarlett looks like she doesn’t know whether to be relieved or disappointed. “I see you’re as needy as your brother,” she says, rolling her eyes. “Here, let me shower you with attention and lift your balls back into place.”

  Paul barks with laughter. “Finally,” he says, eyeing me, “you brought a girl home who knows how to love me.”

  I watch as the two of them banter their way through the rest of the night. I also watch as Scarlett continues alternating between throwing her special kind of sass at me and giving me a little bit of her sweet.

  I may not have brought a girl home as Paul seems to want to pretend, but the more I’m caught up in her web, the more I think about my conversation with Harlow.

  Scarlett’s prickly as fuck, but maybe, just fucking maybe, I could chance those prickles.

  11

  Scarlett

  Paul: What are you doing tonight?

  Me: Pretending people don’t exist.

  Paul: No, you’re coming out with me.

  Me: Since when did your brother stop being my boss?

  Paul: Oh, did you miss that memo? Today. You report to me now.

  “Scarlett, sweetie, get your ass over to the basin,” Bobby says.

  I glance up from my phone and hit him with a glare. “We agreed you’d never call me sweetie again if I said yes to yoga. I’ve now yoga’d twice, so you need to stop with the sweetie-ing.”

  “Oh, that’s right,” he says, all sarcasm and sting. “I forgot you were gonna tell me about yoga today. I can’t wait to hear how it went, darling.”

  Jesus.

  Why did I agree to girl squad time again?

  Oh, that’s right, because my new bestie, Chelsea, called me and ambushed me into it. And that only happened because I went to yoga a second time with her two days ago. We moved past discussing mats, and bolsters, and blocks, and all that shit and sped right on into real squad territory: discussing the men in our lives.

  Well, she did.

  Not me.

  I don’t have any men in my life to discuss.

  Paul: I want you to meet some of my workmates. I think you’ll love them.

  Me: Fine.

  Paul: I’ll text you once I know where.

  “Scarlett!” Bobby barks. “Now!”

  I slap another glare on him. “I’ve changed my mind. I’m going out tonight, so I’m not convinced it’s safe to let you near my hair. You’ll probably slip and cut the rest of it off.”

  Harlow’s head spins around faster than I am sure is humanly possible. “You’re going out? Who with?”

  I look at her. “You were born with extra ears, weren’t you? Like, they’re hiding all over you, aren’t you?” Seriously, there’s not a person alive who can hear as well as this girl.

  She makes eyes at me, forgetting I’m not privy to squad code. I have no fucking idea what those eyes mean. “Who’s taking you out?”

  Bobby cuts in. “Even I know that no one takes Scarlett out. That girl takes herself out.”

  I look at him. “Maybe I will let you near my hair.” The man is right; I take my own damn self out.

  He nods at me like we’ve just exchanged our own squad code. “Could we hurry that along?”

  I settle myself at his basin and rest my head back as Harlow says, “Stop being so evasive, Scar.”

  “It’s no one you know,” I say. At her groan, I mutter, “Jesus, can a girl ever get any privacy around here? It’s Wilder’s brother, Paul.”

  The room hushes with silence before Bobby says, “This is getting juicy now. Please continue.”

  I frown. “Continue what?”

  He lathers shampoo into my hair. “The drama of your life. The story around here is that it’s only a matter of time before you and Wilder get your freak on, but now that his brother has been added into the mix, I can’t wait to hear how this goes. A scandal in the making. You know I’m all about the scandal.”

  “It’s with deep sadness,” I say, “that I regret to inform you all he’s gay. You can move along; there’s no scandal to be seen here.”

  “How fucking disappointing,” Bobby says.

  “Since when do you know Wilder’s brother?” Madison asks.

  “Since he came to the restaurant and we met.”

  “And now you two are what, hanging out?” she asks.

  “He took us to a drag show on Monday and we’ve been texting all week.”

  “Wait,” Harlow says. “When you say he took us to a drag show, who is us?”

  I lift my head from the basin after Bobby finishes rinsing the shampoo and look at her. “I’d just like to take this opportunity to remind you that you’re not a detective and that I don’t have to subject myself to an interrogation.”

  She makes more eyes at me. This time I know the code: there’s no way I’m getting out of this interrogation. “You went to a drag show with Wilder and his brother. I’m hurt you didn’t share that with me.”

  I roll my eyes and allow Bobby to direct my head back down to the basin. “Dramatic doesn’t suit you, Harlow.”

  “Velvet,” Harlow says. “I think Scarlett needs some smoky eyes for tonight. Can you make that happen?”

  “I do not need smoky eyes,” I mutter, already feeling a loss of control over my own destiny.

  “Yes,” Velvet says. “And Bobby should do her hair. Maybe some braids that pull back into a teased ponytail? I think that’d really suit Scarlett.”

  “Does anyone care what Scarlett thinks?” I throw out.

  Bobby pats my head. “Darling, just be quiet while we arrange your life, ’K? It’ll go a lot more smoothly for everyone.”

  I am never saying yes to squad time again.

  “I’m so fucking glad you came tonight,” Paul says, having to almost scream for me to hear him over the noise in the club.

  “Me too. Surprisingly.”

  He grins. “Stick me with, Scar. It’s always a good time.”

  I finish my Manhattan and place the empty glass on the table. Standing, I hold out my hand. “Come dance with me again. I’m feeling frisky tonight.”

  He takes my hand and stands. “You don’t feel frisky often, do you?”

  “Never.”

  His smile could reach the heavens. “See, soulmates.”

  It’s almost midnight and we’ve been drinking, talking, and dancing for three hours with his friends from work. I like them. Kind of. Actually, I think I only like them because of the Manhattans I’ve had and because they’re Paul’s friends.

  Paul has this sneaky way of making me feel things I never feel. Like wanting to dance. I haven’t dan
ced since, well, I don’t want to think about the last time I danced. Or the boy I danced with. But it was a long fucking time ago and the fact that Paul has managed to get me back out on a dance floor astounds me. The fact it doesn’t astound me in a bad way also astounds me. I don’t know what is going on in my head this week, but it’s some kind of lunacy that I possibly require therapy for.

  Between the yoga, the drag show attendance, the praying I considered doing over Bailey, the more yoga-ing, the squad time, and now this, it’s been a lot.

  Not to mention the flirting with Wilder that’s been going on.

  That has been a mess in the making.

  Like, neither of us have made a move to take it any further than a little bit of banter here and there, but even that has felt dangerous.

  And hot.

  Fuck, he’s hot.

  I’ve spent far too many minutes checking out his body this week.

  And his eyes.

  And that mouth.

  And those goddamn hands of his that look like they could handle my curves with skill.

  A girl should not have to work so closely with a man who has all that going on.

  Honestly, it could be classified as sexual harassment.

  Especially since he still harasses me daily with his frustrating ways.

  Paul’s phone goes off as we head to the dance floor and he taps out some messages before shoving it back in his pocket.

  “Girlfriend,” he says with a huge grin, grabbing my hand and twirling me. “We’re kicking this up a notch.”

  I have no idea what he means by that, but it’s too hectic with all the people and noise for me to bother asking. Instead, I let my happy buzz take over and shut the world out as I dance.

  Song after song keeps me on the dance floor until I realise I’m thirsty.

  I lean in close to Paul. “I’m gonna go get a drink.”

  He nods and yells back, “Okay. I’m staying here.”