Going Wild (The Wild Ones 2)

“I’m actually simple. We all are.” I smile again.

“Simple? We? Who’s we?” he muses.

“My family. Friends. Everyone back home.”

“On the ranch?” he asks, but this time his tone is light and teasing instead of insulting.

“Back at the lake. No ranching.” I decide not to tell him my father does own a small farm. It’d make him laugh, and I don’t want to hear him laugh when my vagina likes his smile so much already.

“They wear cowboy boots on the lake?”

“You really fixate on the oddest things,” I point out.

He tugs one of my curls, and I allow him to keep invading my personal space. His foot is touching mine, but it’s not offending my boot yet. If he scuffs a boot, his very pretty ass will be going to buy me new ones.

“What were you showcasing at the gallery?” he asks, not bothered by the bodies bumping into us as they dance around our unmoving ones.

“Several pieces, actually. Why? Did you come peruse?” I drawl, only partially interested in his answer.

He cocks his head, his own secretive smile etching up. “I own the gallery.”

Ah, that explains the extra dose of cockiness.

My eyebrows go up, and he smiles cockier. Not very humble, is he?

I grab the sides of his face, and his smile dies as I tug his head down. He acts like he’s about to struggle when I narrow my eyes and make a show of looking him over.

“Funny. I was thinking you to be more of the model type. Perfect symmetry.”

His eyebrows go up again, and he stares at me like he thinks I’m crazy, while I keep his face smashed between my hands, giving his lips a bit of a fish-pucker effect. He’s still too pretty even like that.

“You truly are a beautiful man,” I say on a long sigh as I release the sides of his face.

“Beautiful?” he asks, laughing lightly.

“Yes. A beautiful…prick.”

I pat the side of his cheek, and all the humor in his expression disappears.

“See you tomorrow, Pretty Prick,” I say over my shoulder as I sashay away in my awesome boots. “See you guys bright and early,” I say cheerily to the table of artists.

“You okay to walk back to your place alone?” Rudy asks so helpfully.

I wink at him. “Don’t worry. Most people here seem really terrified of people who talk to themselves. People seem to give me a wide berth the louder I talk to myself.”

I’m met with a lot of blinks as I grab my purse, but Liam is suddenly back at the table.

“Someone should walk you back to your hotel,” Liam says firmly.

My smile creeps up, and I peer over at him. “I’m not at a hotel. I’m staying with a family friend. And don’t worry,” I tell him as I walk away. Without turning around, I loudly add, “I’m a Wild One.”

Chapter 3

Wild One Tip #222

Don’t fight us when we’re saving your damn life. Otherwise, we might decide to just let you die.

LIAM

I’m not sure what it is about her that I find fascinating.

She’s cute, but it’s LA; cute girls are a dime a dozen. And in her case, she’s sort of sweetly cute with a homegrown air about her, which is not my normal interest.

I’m not sure if it’s the way she doesn’t seem to swoon around me, or if it’s that challenging glint she gets in her eyes when I try to bring her down a notch. Usually, people stumble over themselves to let me talk down to them. Especially new artists.

But not Kylie Malone.

Who the fuck is Kylie Malone?

She’s dressed in her gear, listening attentively to the guide. I’m worried for some reason that she’s full of shit and in over her head. She does not look like someone who has done enough jumps to be on this trip.

She could get killed, for fuck’s sake.

She’s like a honey-haired, grownup version of Shirley Temple, and obviously that doesn’t scream thrill seeker!

She’s wearing some really ugly tennis shoes today, instead of the cowboy boots she was donning so proudly last night. I’m not sure why that is getting my attention. I’m not sure why she’s getting so much of my attention.

“You guys ready?” the guide calls out, bringing me out of my thoughts.

I watch as he splits up our jumps, timing each one, and Kylie gestures for me to go in front of her.

“After you, Shirley Temple,” I yell with a smirk.

She rolls her eyes, and she steps to the edge. My breath catches in my throat when she turns to face me. At first I think she’s going to panic, but then a daring little grin spreads over her face, and she winks at me before flipping—fucking flipping—backwards out of the plane.

That’s not allowed, damn it.

I rush to the doorway, watching as she kicks through the air, spinning around and creating aerial movements like a pro.