Going Wild (The Wild Ones 2)

The conversations moves along, and I join in on occasion, taking a few verbal digs and delivering a few of my own.

As Kylie settles back on me, verbally sparring with Jared, I feel how relaxed and comfortable I am.

Some people go their whole lives without ever figuring out where they fit in.

Turns out, sometimes almost dying can save your life.

A trooper car suddenly soars by, two more close behind it, screams following their wake.

Everyone turns to watch as another trooper comes “speeding” by on a…pink bicycle? He’s looking over his shoulder, panicking as he pedals like his life depends on it.

That’s when we hear what sounds like an entire pride of lions or something roaring, screeching, and making other ferocious, feral cat sounds. I tense, ready to run Kylie inside, as the Malones all curse, including the girl in my lap.

“Looks like the Nickels won this year,” Kylie groans.

“We’ll never hear the end of it,” Jared grumbles as the bicycling trooper screams on a downhill slope and disappears from sight.

I relax in my seat again, shaking my head.

This isn’t just my Monday. This is my life.

My arms tighten around Kylie’s waist, and she leans back to kiss me on autopilot as conversation resumes, all of them acting like none of that just happened.

It’s a Monday I’ll remember.

Chapter 22

Wild Ones Tip #587

It’d be easier to tell you to wear a helmet all the time instead of trying to guess when you might need one. Just don’t make it weird.

LIAM

“Has she tried to contact you since leaving?” I ask Kylie as her lips brush against my chest.

“My mom?” she asks absently, her body relaxed against mine as I trace imaginary patterns on her bare skin. At my nod, she answers, “No. She knew there was no turning back when she walked away.”

I pull her closer, but she pats my chest like she’s the one comforting me.

“My dad really loved her, you know,” she goes on, snuggling closer. “But he says it was easy to get over her when she left like she did. No one expected George Malone to be able to raise his daughter on his own.”

She grins like she’s fondly remembering her upbringing, and I stay quiet.

“He did, though. He raised me on his own, and he mostly raised my cousins. Even when their parents were here, they still didn’t do much parenting. My dad kept the guys active. They didn’t have his blood, but they had his heart and his love for all things Tomahawk,” she goes on.

Her head lifts so she can look at my eyes directly.

“The happiest my cousins have ever been is when they were told they had to change their last name to Malone. The pride on their faces had my dad pretending he wasn’t about to cry. Total saps underneath all that muscle. Each time a new one was inducted into the Wild Ones, there was more pride.”

I brush a wet lock of hair out of her face, and she leans into my hand, so I just keep it there.

“We fit together,” she goes on, and I study her, wondering if she’s referring to us or her cousins.

Clearing her throat, she gets up without clarifying, and snags her towel from the ground. Her body is still damp from the shower I interrupted and stole her from.

“Careful, Liam Harper. Don’t forget I’m trying daily not to go get that permanent tattoo,” she calls out as she walks into the bathroom, presumably to finish up her hair.

I say nothing as I exhale and climb out of bed. Kylie says things that makes me feel like she’s mine for good. But she also fought me hard to remind me she couldn’t risk fully being mine.

A very complex enigma, that one.

Pulling on my clothes, I head to the kitchen to drink some coffee and wait on her to finish up. I’m not in any sort of hurry to rush things, so I’m patiently waiting on her to guide this.

I had my chance. It was me who messed it up last time. This time it’s her turn to take the reins.

Three weeks is a long time.

I know this, because three weeks changed my life one time.

I stalked the girl of my dreams. I moved into a very weird town that loves pot and explosives—a combination that would terrify most. I bought two properties because the first one I bought was in the wrong corner of crazy. And I joined a challenge committee that requires the men to river dance on the weekends if they’re in town when Lindsey Stirling starts playing over the speakers.

Three weeks is what led to this life.

Somehow, I’ve miraculously avoided having to river dance, since I’ve only been to town once on a weekend, and no violin music played.

The point I’m making is that I’m not surprised that after three weeks of having Kylie to myself almost every single day, that I’m falling faster than is probably healthy. In fact, I’m positive I’m drowning.