Wylde (Arizona Vengeance 7)

“He still has it,” Kane says confidently, just low enough I can hear it.

“Hi,” the blonde breathlessly says as she wedges her way in between Baden and me.

“Hi, yourself,” I reply, checking her out. She’s exactly my type, or, at least, the kind I preferred before a nerdy redhead caught my eye yesterday.

Regardless… it doesn’t mean I can’t appreciate a blonde tonight.

I open my mouth, getting ready to offer to buy her a drink, when my phone buzzes on the table before me, the screen lighting up.

And lo and behold, there’s a text there from the exact bookworm I’d just been thinking about. Leaning forward, I read the message.

What’s the dress code for tomorrow?

Smiling, I nab the phone—hot blonde forgotten. My fingers race across the screen.

Summer casual. Flirty if you’re feeling it.

I had texted her the address of the wedding last night, which is Erik and Blue’s house. I’d told her there would be valet parking, and I’d meet her in front at the valet stand at 5:45 PM.

She had simply replied, Okay.

That had flummoxed me.

The woman didn’t show a single bit of curiosity in the man she’d agreed to go out with, to a wedding of all things. Disappointingly, that told me she wasn’t the slightest bit interested in me. Instead, she was just fulfilling her obligation to attend the weddings with me.

I’m heartened by the fact she’s reaching out now, because, truth be told, she could have figured out what to wear to a wedding on her own.

I wait for her to reply, but nothing comes back.

“So, my name’s Heather,” the blonde says, touching my arm. I’m startled, having completely forgotten about her.

My head snaps up, first to take in the gorgeous creature in front of me, who bats her eyelashes. Then around the table to find all four of my buds snickering at my uncharacteristic lack of game.

I look past her to Baden. “Hey man… will you get her a drink? I’ll be just a moment.”

“Yeah, sure,” Baden replies with an easygoing smile. The blonde knows she’s just been dismissed by me as a potential hookup, so she turns her charms to Baden, looping her arm over his shoulder and leaning into him.

By the time I turn back to my phone, she’s forgotten completely. I send Clarke another text.

Or… you don’t have to go with flirty if you’re not feeling it. You’re not feeling it, are you?

I stare at my phone. In the back of my mind, I vaguely wonder what the hell is wrong with me. I just turned down a guaranteed fuck tonight so I could poke at the fascinating bookstore owner who doesn’t seem to want much to do with me.

I’m so surprised when she responds I nearly drop my phone.

It’s hard to be flirty via text. Also, I suck at flirting.

I bark out a laugh. Lifting my eyes to see Jim and Jett watching me curiously, I drop my gaze back down to the phone.

Believe it or not, it’s kind of attractive you acknowledge that.

It takes her a few moments to respond, which makes it clear the conversation is most likely over.

Goodnight, Professor. See you tomorrow.

I can’t let that go, so I type back.

Professor?

Her reply is nearly instant, because she was expecting me to ask.

Yeah… professor, because you totally schooled me in classic literature yesterday.

My heart actually skips a beat when she adds on a crying-laughing emoji.

Which means she finds me at least partially funny, and that’s something.

In this moment, one thing becomes abundantly clear via this exchange. There isn’t going to be any hookup tomorrow night after the wedding and reception. That’s not her game, nor her style.

And oddly… I’m okay with that.CHAPTER 4ClarkeFor the first time ever, I doubt my GPS as it guides me into a neighborhood filled with gargantuan-sized houses. Aaron had told me there would be valet parking, so I just assumed the wedding would be at some type of public venue. At the very least, at this neighborhood’s clubhouse, yet the map leads me right to a salmon-colored Mediterranean-styled home that has to be at least seven- to-eight-thousand-square feet if it’s an inch.

Sure enough, there’s a valet stand in front with five tuxedoed men waiting to take cars and park them down the street so people don’t have to.

I pull my little Honda Civic hatchback manufactured circa 2009 directly behind what looks to be a Ferrari. Making sure to leave plenty of room between our cars, I then step out, immediately assisted by one of the valets. Scrambling inside my little clutch purse, I curse when I realize I don’t have anything smaller than a ten. I hand it to him and move to the curb, giving a last glance at my little car. It’s been so trusty and loyal, and I love it far more than any Ferrari.