Becoming A Vincent (The Wild Ones 1)

He shakes his head, his arm going around my shoulders, and we leave the partiers behind as he tosses his rifle over his back, the strap coming across his shoulder.

Benson is a big guy. Not in the chubby way. Even in the summer he wears jeans, and he always has on a loose shirt. His arms are solid, but not overly muscular.

I really like his arms. They’re totally arm porn material.

He’s tall. Like 6’3 or so. That’s what I mean by big.

I glance back, seeing Liam board his fancy bass boat, and note he’s about the same height.

“You into him?” Benson asks, noticing my line of view.

“Nah. Too pretty.”

He snorts derisively.

“So beards are too ugly, but smooth faces are too pretty. In other words, you can’t be satisfied.”

I elbow him in the ribs, and he tugs me closer.

“He’s model pretty,” I go on. “Saw plenty of the like in Seattle. Didn’t do anything for me then either. Guys like that are fun for a minute, but they never settle down.”

“Thought you didn’t want to settle down. That’s what you keep telling Penny.”

Yeah. I totally just stepped into that shit pile, didn’t I? Must’ve been something in that food.

“I don’t. But I also don’t want to be used and treated with the same respect a blowup doll gets either.”

He looks down at me like he’s studying me, then shakes his head and focuses back on the trail. The bass boat blares by us, and I offer a wave to Liam as he passes us.

“Why didn’t you just drive me over on your boat?” I ask Benson.

“Because your dock needs to be fixed before I dock there again. I’ll come work on it next week.”

“You don’t have to. I can get those dicks to do something. It’s their dock too.”

“They’re the reason it needs to be fixed,” he says, sounding a little angry.

“They’ll fix it. They always do,” I say around another yawn.

“And then I always re-fix it. Might as well cut out the middle man.”

I don’t bother arguing.

Right as we get to the cabin, I decide I’m really going to kill my brothers. All my underwear is hanging from my porch, on tiny little nails, and dangling.

Benson practically turns to stone.

“What the hell?” he asks.

“They’re dead,” I bite out.

“Why would they—”

“Because I burned all theirs after they wrecked my bed.”

“But why would they—”

I turn to face him. “Because bugs, Benson. Bugs. I’ll be too freaked out to ever wear those again, because…bugs.”

I shudder dramatically, and he arches an eyebrow. Do you have any idea how many places bugs can hide? Or how small they are so as not to be noticed?

My vagina is sacred!

“Guess I won’t be wearing panties for a while,” I say on a sigh.

For some reason, Benson drops his rifle.

Chapter 2

Wild Ones Tip #115

Never trust a Wild One unless you’re a fan of reckless endangerment.

LILAH

My two dark-haired, bushy-bearded brothers are blinking at me innocently as I berate them for over an hour. Benson talked to them before he left last night, and so they built my bed today.

All day.

They kept me out until it was finished.

Only…

“This bed takes up my entire room! I don’t even have a mattress to fit it! I asked for a double.”

They continue to stare at me with wide-eyed innocence.

“Fix it!”

It happens too fast for me to stop it. Suddenly, they’re up and out my door, a fog of laughter in their wake.

I’m going to kill them.

I’m not sleeping on my mattress when it’s on the floor. I get a little freaked out. I know it’s irrational, but I feel like I’m more accessible to bugs if I’m on the floor.

I can’t sleep on my couch. Last time I tried that, I woke up sore all over. It’s not even comfortable to sit on anymore. It was a hand-me-down from someone else, who got it as a hand-me-down from someone, who also got it as—

You get the idea. This couch has been around since listening to Elvis was considered scandalous and poodle skirts were all the craze.

My one-bedroom cabin has no other options, and I grumble while walking out the door. I’m sleeping in a bed, damn it. And not Aunt Penny’s guest bed, because she and my uncle have been hella loud since I can remember.

I’m still traumatized from hearing their sounds.

After our parents died, we moved in with them. At fifteen. The year the beard challenge began.

I often think the beard challenge was to give my brothers something to focus on other than the ache we all had. It seemed to work.

My aunt and uncle were thoughtful and considerate for a year, knowing we’d suffered a loss, which, so had Aunt Penny. My mother was her twin.

But after that year, they seemed to forget we could hear them fucking for ten miles away.