The Wild Ones (The Wild Ones 1)

She helps me up and I dust off my butt. Sooty stands, too, and I see the enormous wet spot on his shoulder.

I look him in the eye. I want to thank him and apologize, but the tears come again. Sooty smiles in that sweet way he has and he pinches my chin.

“Don’t let anything get in the way of what you want. Not even pride.”

I want to take exception and explain to him that I’m not standing in the way of what I want, that what I want simply doesn’t want me, but Jenna starts tugging at my arm.

“Thanks for looking out for her until I could get here,” she says and starts leading me toward the back bay doors.

I look around for her car, but don’t see it. “How did you get here?”

She nods to a place halfway between the house and the stable. There sits Rusty’s car, idling, with Rusty watching us curiously through the windshield.

“I’m so sorry, Jenna! I know you wanted to stay out of this, you and Rusty. I’m so sorry.”

The tears start to fall again.

“Shh, shh, shh,” she whispers comfortingly. “No guy is gonna keep me from my bestie when she needs me. But he didn’t even try. Not this time. He knew it was serious.”

“He won’t tell Trick, will he?”

“No. He doesn’t talk to Trick about much of anything these days. Today’s the first time they’ve really hung out in forever.”

I stop. “He was with Trick today? At the race?”

Jenna nods. “Yeah, they came back early and Rusty surprised me.”

“But he’s…”

“No. You’re fine. Come on. He’s taking us to his garage for a while. Once I sober up, we can go to my house and you can spend the night.”

“O-okay.”

When we get to Rusty’s car, this time something I think might be a GTO, Jenna opens the passenger door. She pushes the seat up and I crawl into the back. Jenna flops down in the front seat and slams the door shut. When we don’t move immediately, I start to wonder why, but then Rusty turns around in his seat.

The outdoor lights that surround the stable illuminate the car enough that I can see half his face. It lacks its normal fun-loving grin and relaxed brow. Now, it’s wrinkled in concern.

He reaches back and palms my knee, wiggling my leg back and forth. “You okay, girl?”

Rusty’s touch is in no way inappropriate or slimy; it’s the equivalent of a gentle pat on the back. I have no doubt whatsoever that he’s actually concerned about me. I know from this second on, he’ll be permanently endeared to me. The brother I never had. And Jenna the sister.

I give him a watery smile and nod. My assurance is a total lie, but if I start talking to him about Trick, I’ll lose it.

He sort of slaps my knee a couple times, nods and turns back around to shift into reverse. No one talks on the way to the garage. The silence plus motion of the car and the soothing road noises are more than enough to put me straight to sleep.

Hushed voices stir me, but between the tequila and the emotional exhaustion, I don’t even bother to open my eyes. I much prefer the peace and solitude of sleep. I prefer oblivion.

I can’t tell if it’s a few seconds, a few minutes or a few hours later when I hear the voices again. This time they’re followed by a click and a bright light shining in my eyes. I squeeze my lids shut and turn my face away. I want to cuss and fuss and scream that I want to be left alone, but I just don’t have the energy. I’d much rather sleep.

That becomes practically impossible, however, when I feel fingers wiggling their way beneath my shoulders and knees. Then someone is folding me up like a napkin and dragging me from the back seat. Just when I’m about to make my displeasure known, in a very nasty way, I’m cradled in strong arms against a hard chest. Something in the back of my mind niggles for me to wake up and take notice. I ignore it to snuggle in deeper.

But then I smell his soap. It’s unmistakable. Clean and lightly scented. It’s Trick.

I open my bleary eyes and squint against the light. It’s not bright light, but it’s offensive nonetheless. I blink a couple times until I can focus. We stop moving when he looks down at me. His expression is blank. I can’t decide if it hurts or not. Right now, I’m just too happy to be looking at him again, so close, and to be held by him. I never thought I’d feel his arms again.

“Trick,” I say hoarsely.

“Shhh,” he whispers as he starts walking again.

Regardless of everything else—all the pain, the disappointment, the doubt, the loss—I’m content to be with Trick, even in this situation. I don’t think the circumstances would matter. I just want Trick. Period.

I wind my arms around his neck and lay my head against his shoulder. He pulls me in tighter for just a second. Like a hug.

Did that just happen? Or am I imagining things? Maybe he was just getting a better grip.

I like the next thought much better.

Or maybe he wasn’t.

Drink makes me brave. It always has. So it’s no surprise that I find the courage to pull my arms tighter around him and bury my face in his neck. I hear a noise. Like a hiss. Could be one of disgust. Or frustration. But it could also be one of something else. There’s only one way to find out, so I press my lips to his skin.

“Where did you come from?” I ask, but I don’t really care. I just think there’s a part of me that believes this is a dream.

“I was at home. I came to get Rusty to look at my truck.”

My head is still swimmy, but I notice when the light disappears. It’s much quieter now and I smell some kind of citrusy cleaner.

“Your truck?”

“Yeah. I got a truck. Go back to sleep, Cami.”

I open my eyes as Trick lowers me onto something soft. A couch or a cot of some sort. I can see his face in the low light, but just barely.

“Why did you carry me?”

“Because you can’t sleep in the car.”

That’s not the answer I was hoping for.

“Why are you here?”

“I told you. I was looking for Rusty.”

“Trick, I—”

He cuts me off. “Good night, Cami.”

And with that, he walks out of the room and closes the door behind him.

CHAPTER FIFTY - Trick

I stand outside the closed door for a few seconds. As bad as it sounds, part of me wants to go back in there and take advantage of Cami’s sweetly drunken state. Just to hold her one more time, to feel that warm body against mine.

“Dammit,” I curse under my breath, pushing myself away from the door.

“What’s the matter?” Rusty asks.

“Nothing. She’ll go back to sleep. Thanks for letting her crash back there, man.”

“It’s no problem. You know that.”

“I’m sure you had…other plans for the night,” I say, eyeing Jenna where she’s sitting on the hood of an old Ford, drinking a beer.

Rusty grins. “Hell yeah I did, but nothing I can’t relocate. Are you sure she’s gonna be all right?”

“Yeah, she’ll be fine. She’ll feel like shit in the morning, but she’ll make it.”

“Man, that girl is tore up!”

“What do you mean?”

“She was a wreck when she called. Still was when we got to her.”

“About what?”

“What do you think, dickhead? About you!”

“Whatever’s wrong with her has nothing to do with me. She’s back with that douche of a boyfriend she had.”

“No, she’s not. Not according to Jenna.”

My heart is thumping so hard, it feels like it might jump out of my chest.

“What’d she say?”

“She’s got it bad for you, Trick. I thought you knew.”

“If she ever did, she sure got over it fast enough.”

“Or you just think she did.”

“No offense, Rus, but you don’t know what you’re talking about here. Maybe it’s best for you to just stay out of it.”

“That’s exactly what I told Jenna, but damn if that girl didn’t convince me Cami’s in love with you. She looks at me with those sexy eyes and I quit thinking with this head,” he says with a grin, tapping his forehead.

“It’s okay. I appreciate you trying to help, but it’s over. It’s just…it’s over.”

“It’s a shame, dude. You two were good together.”

His words, they’re like a knife in the chest. I smile as best I can. “I know. But…whatever.”

I wish I could actually feel that blasé about the whole thing. But I can’t. It’s tearing me up inside. I’m just pretty good at hiding it.

I turn and walk to the fridge that sits in the back corner of the garage. I see the unopened bottle of Patron sitting on top and I consider it. But then I open the door and grab a cold beer instead.

Before I can take more than one drink, the door to the little room at the back comes flying open revealing a seriously mad Cami standing in the doorway.

She looks adorable. And hot. Her hair is messed up, coming undone from whatever has been holding it up all day. Her shirt is wrinkled and hanging off one shoulder. Her chest is heaving. Her feet are bare. But the most mesmerizing thing is her face. Her gorgeous face. Her cheeks are flushed, like a permanent blush, and her eyes are sparkling with fury. I don’t know what has her so fired up, but I’d like to shake its hand.

She looks around the interior of the garage, her gaze stopping on Rusty and Jenna first then moving on. They stop when she spots me and I swear I think she actually turns about three shades more beautiful.

Her lips part a little and for just a second, there’s something other than anger in her eyes. It’s almost like she’s glad to see me, but hates that she is.

Could Rusty and Jenna be right? Could I have so badly misjudged and misread the situation?

As we stare at each other, for the space of no more than a few seconds, I decide there’s only one way to find out. Just as she starts to stomp toward me, I start walking in her direction. I think it confuses her a little because she stops and looks to Rusty and Jenna again before turning her attention back to me.

I don’t stop until I’m practically right on top of her. I’m staring down at her, never wanting to kiss somebody so bad in all my life. She’s looking up at me, her eyes wide and confused. She’s sexy as hell and I really have no other choice.

So I kiss her.

CHAPTER FIFTY-ONE - Cami

Of all the things I expected when I stomped out of that little room, this was nowhere on the list.

Trick’s hands are cupping my face and his mouth is devouring mine. My head is reeling from the mixture of cold beer and sweet mint on his tongue.

I’m shocked. And confused. And thrilled. And hopeful. All at once. It takes a few seconds for me to recover, for me to figure out what to do. But when I do, there’s no question what my next move is.

I go with it.

I don’t care about the answers I don’t have or the doubts that I do. I care about Trick wanting me right now, in this moment. That’s all that matters. Even if it’s just this one last time, I’ll take it.

Turning my head to the side, I deepen the kiss and lean into Trick. His groan vibrates along my tongue and tingles on my lips. Heat pools low in my stomach.

His hands slide into my hair and the kiss turns hungry. Like he feels the same desperate need I feel. Wrapping my arms around him, I let my fingers crawl up under his shirt where I can feel the smooth, warm skin of his back.

Trick’s lips never leave mine when he sweeps me into his arms. My pulse races and I hold on tighter, not willing to ever let him go.

When he takes me back into the room I just left, he kicks the door shut and sets me on my feet. I kiss him harder, not wanting to give him a second to breathe or think or change his mind. I want him all emotion, all hunger, all raw need. I can’t take the chance that he’ll remember all the reasons “why not.”

I tug at his shirt and lean back only long enough to pull it over his head. He whips mine over my head and then we’re kissing again. I can’t get close enough to him, can’t get enough of his skin on mine. I strain against him as I work the button on his jeans. His fingers brush mine aside and make quick work of the closure. He sheds his pants then picks me up and carries me to the bed.

Like magic, he has me out of my clothes in a heartbeat. I thread my fingers through his hair and pull him to me, kissing him with all the love and passion I feel for him. I shiver when he stretches out on top of me, every inch of my body covered by his.

I wrap my legs around his h*ps and hold on tight, anticipation winding my muscles into coiled springs. I gasp when he pushes into me. Nothing has ever felt more like home. Words pour from my heart, from my lips without thought to consequences.

“I love you,” I whisper.

Trick stills. His body buried deep inside me, he lifts his head and looks down into my face.

His eyes are pale even in the low light. I stare into them, committing them and this moment to memory. The fleeting nature of this perfect piece of happiness rushes in and chokes me. Tears fill my eyes and spill over, running into the hair at my temples. I squeeze them shut, not wanting him to see my heartbreak. Or ruin the poignancy of the scene.

“What did you say?”

His voice is so low, so quiet, I open my eyes to make sure I wasn’t imagining things. His lips aren’t moving.

“What did you say?” he repeats.

Heat floods my cheeks. It’s one thing to confess something like that in the heat of the moment, not knowing rejection is waiting on the other side. It is quite another to do it in the face of such serious lucidity, like now.