Becoming A Vincent (The Wild Ones 1)

He comes to help me tie off my boat, and I haul myself onto his dock, wondering if our backwoods accents sound southern to him or something.

“I take it you didn’t have neighbors at your last place?” I ask, prying.

“Had tons of them. I lived in LA. But you don’t really talk to your neighbors in LA, at least not the part where I lived. Then I moved to a more upscale home on the outskirts, and had no close neighbors there.”

He shrugs one shoulder as he moves back to his spot to kneel down and start prying an old board loose. My eyebrows go up in surprise.

“Why wouldn’t you tell us where you came from yesterday, yet have no problem with it today?”

“The company yesterday was intimidating. I mean, they’ve been growing beards for years because they’re too ‘manly’ to back down from a challenge. Didn’t figure they’d take too kindly to the new city guy, and didn’t want to paint a target on my back. Can you keep a secret?” he asks, that grin still blinding.

“No problem. So why the move?”

“Got tired of city life,” he says with another shrug, then goes back to hammering a new board. “Decided to come somewhere more remote. My realtor sent me this place as a possibility, and I fell in love with the cabin. I’ve always loved working with wood, so this gives me a chance to actually do it in nature.”

Yes, I could totally make half a dozen dirty jokes about him ‘loving working with wood’ and ‘actually doing it in nature,’ but I suppress my inner teenage boy and focus on the important part.

In five minutes, I know more about him than Benson. Well, about his past. I still find Liam suspicious. Just as I do all newbies.

“Just wake up?” he muses, looking me over.

I grimace, remembering I still haven’t seen a mirror or touched a brush. “Rough night,” I vaguely answer.

He grins again, then resumes hammering away.

I open my mouth to say something else, when the loud motor of a boat roars closer, and I turn, seeing Benson driving this way on his boat.

“Your boyfriend still pissed that your aunt tried setting us up with him right there?” Liam asks as I cut my eyes away from the approaching Benson.

“He’s not my boyfriend.”

He continues smiling down at that nail he must find amusing.

“Sure didn’t act that way yesterday,” he says.

Before I can correct him, Benson is coasting to the end of the dock.

“You forgot this,” Benson says, holding up my bra as a grin cracks through that beard.

Liam chuckles, and I narrow my eyes at the bearded man at the end. That bra has probably been at his house for two weeks, because I wasn’t wearing a bra last night.

“Just toss it in my boat.”

He does, and it lands directly in my seat. My boat is just a little flat-bottom thing with a motor Benson installed for me three years ago. Nothing flashy like they have.

“You coming back over tonight?” Benson asks, making this sound far more scandalous than it is.

He’s in his standard jeans and loose T-shirt now, so I’m thinking a little clearer.

“Probably,” I say, not bothering to make this seem like it’s not what Benson is implying, and giving him the satisfaction of seeing me defensive.

I genuinely don’t care if Liam gets the wrong idea, so no need in scrambling around like a fool to clarify things. Besides, for some reason, it wouldn’t feel right to deny it in front of Benson, almost as if I was wronging him on some level.

Which is stupid. We’re friends.

I’m not sure why he’s playing this game, but I still feel like I should be on his side of it.

I tend to overthink things and come up with a thousand different reasons for why things are going on, in case you haven’t noticed.

I end up convincing myself that Benson wants me to defend myself, and that’s the real reason I’m not. Because it’s obviously better than the alternative that I’m starting to notice him as more than a beard.

That’s terrifying.

I’m the head of the anti-beard committee, after all. We’ve been protesting this damn challenge since it started.

Hey, it’s Tomahawk. We don’t have much else to do.

Benson winks at me before pushing away from the dock and restarting his motor, driving toward town.

We have roads, but it’s usually quicker to boat to town from his side of the lake.

My eyes turn back to see a sly grin on Liam’s face. “Not your boyfriend, huh?”

Again, it still feels wrong to correct him. Why? Beats me. I blame it on the distinct lack of caffeine this morning.

I talk to Liam about the town, telling him how it works and explaining some random things, keeping all the conversation topics safe. Just as I’m filling him in on how spread out all the neighbors are, another motor revs, coming closer.