Ignite (Wildwood 1)

The dude had daddy issues.

What a bunch of shit.

West dozed on the couch, his sleep fitful, as the living room grew warmer and warmer with the early summer sun shining hot and intense outside. But he was too lazy to get up and turn on the air conditioner. He needed to take a shower. Harper was coming over tonight and he wanted to look his best . . .

Springing into a sitting position, West scrubbed his hair back, glancing around for his phone. He found it, and checked the time, realizing quickly that most of the afternoon had gone by. Shit, he had to take a shower, figure out what the hell he was going to wear. He wanted to look good but not like he’d tried too hard.

Why did he care so much what he was wearing for his meeting tonight with Harper anyway? Had he turned into a girl over the last twenty-four hours? He reminded himself of Wren—meaning that he was being freaking ridiculous.

Still, maybe he could take Harper out to dinner afterward. If they went somewhere in Wildwood though, that might be a mistake. Like waving a red banner for everyone in town to see: he and Harper were out on an actual date. He could hear the locals now.

Hmm. That’s moving pretty fast, especially for Harper Hill. And so soon after her breakup with poor, lonely Roger? How could she?

Oh yeah, Wildwood residents would have a field day over

that one.

Scratch any dinner plans then. They’d either have to order in or he’d have to make her something, and the last thing he wanted to do was cook.

His mom had called earlier, asking if he wanted to come over for dinner, but he’d declined. Her disappointment was palpable, even over the phone, though she really didn’t say much. And of course, he’d ended up feeling guilty. He knew his mom wanted to reconnect—his dad, he wasn’t so sure, but Mom, most definitely. And he wanted to reconnect too. It was just so damn hard. He still harbored some resentment. Some worry.

Some fears.

That they wouldn’t accept him, that his father would give him endless shit like usual, comparing him with his brothers like he loved to do. That was the last thing he needed.

Irritated with himself, West ran up the stairs two at a time and nearly stumbled on the top step like a dumbass. He then headed into the bathroom and practically tore the towel rack off the wall as he pulled the thick gray towel off so he could throw it over the shower door. If he kept this up, the condo would crumble around his ears. No wonder Rebecca Hill had given him such a good deal on the rent in exchange for fixing the place up.

The place desperately needed some quality TLC.

He took a shower, scrubbed himself clean as fast as possible, his phone sitting on the edge of the counter, mocking him with its silence. He burst from the steamy shower the moment he turned off the water, dripping all over the tile floor as he grabbed his phone to check the time and see if he’d received a message yet.

Ten after five and zero messages.

He plucked a brand-new razor from its packaging, lathered up his face, and shaved. He’d slapped enough aftershave on his cheeks to know they felt baby soft and smooth. He combed his hair, wondered if he should get a haircut or leave it alone for now. Saw a wrinkle beside his right eye and proceeded to examine it for way too long.

Still there was no text from Harper.

West brushed his teeth and flossed—his dentist would probably faint from glee at seeing him do this. He swished a capful of mouthwash, wincing and grimacing, almost sputtering when he finally spit it out. He rubbed a hand across his chest and wondered if he should shave the hair off there. Or maybe get it waxed?

A shudder moved through him. He’d seen The 40-Year-Old Virgin. No way was he getting that shit waxed. Some women seemed to prefer the smooth look, but if Harper did? Tough shit. He wasn’t shaving the hair off his chest or belly for a woman, not even one as pretty and delicious as Harper Hill.

And now he’d moved into full-on ridiculousness mode. Considering waxing his fucking chest, for the love of God. Staring at his reflection in the mirror and contemplating every single flaw he currently had. He’d straight up lost his damn mind. All over a girl.

A very special girl, he could admit, but still.

A special and increasingly annoying girl who still hadn’t texted him. It was driving him crazy.

He grabbed a pair of black boxer briefs but didn’t slip them on yet. He was letting the boys air out first after a particularly hot shower. Naked, he went through his meager belongings, dismissing every single thing he owned. Finally he threw on a pair of khaki cargo shorts and a black T-shirt. He was putting too much thought into this and he never did that. Keeping it simple was the name of the game.

West needed to remember that. When Harper arrived—and she would arrive, he knew this—he needed to act cool and calm. Composed. Behaving like an antsy, unsure idiot wasn’t the way to keep Harper’s interest.

Not by a long shot.

His phone buzzed. He heard the vibration send the iPhone jittering across the tiled bathroom countertop. Grabbing it, he was glad when he saw the unknown number, the words that accompanied it.

So. I’m done with work and I’m completely filthy. Do you mind if I take a shower first before I come over?

West fought the weird feeling washing over him. The one that was utter relief combined with—was that happiness? Giddiness? He didn’t do giddy. He was a man, for the love of God. Men didn’t get giddy.