Becoming A Vincent (The Wild Ones 1)

His light tan is a little warped, but I’m totally able to overlook that, because…dayum.

His lips etch up in a smirk—and panties all over Tomahawk explode in the distance. I never realized how expressive and cocky this man is. Because it’s all been hidden under a mound of hair.

Slowly, I take a step back, glance around at all my surroundings, then look back at him as he arches a questioning eyebrow at me. Even that is easier to see, because he apparently got a nice new haircut too.

“Benson?” I ask, confused, hoping it’s not really him.

Because I’m in a lot of trouble if it is.

His smile forms, and yeah; I struggle to breathe. Why would you ever cover up that smile?

“I can’t possibly look that different,” he says, though he has to know he’s full of shit.

His hair is shorter—sexier. Even though it’s messy, it looks intentionally messy, and I really want to run my fingers through those dark strands.

“Oh yeah. You can look a lot different.”

Those same chocolate eyes as always are staring at me, and his voice is still as velvety smooth as ever. I once thought that maybe he was a phone sex operator and that’s why he keeps his money-earning ways a secret.

“You coming in or staring at me all night.”

Normally I’d make a smartass reply. Tonight? I blush.

I hate this new turn of events. Maybe I shouldn’t have gotten rid of the beards, because my life is now officially complicated.

Benson isn’t a hit-and-run type of guy. No, I don’t do that often. In fact, I’ve been with a total of four men. Some of those guys were almost boyfriends.

Benson locks the door behind him, and he walks in front of me when my feet hesitate to move. I practically drool over his back that is just as sexy as his front.

“You want to watch a movie or something?” he asks. “I need to run back over to your aunt’s house to help with the fireworks before tonight.”

“Before tonight?” I ask, my eyes watching him as he tosses that towel to a basket near the fridge—total bachelor’s house.

“Yeah. Beard challenge is over, and there’re going to be fireworks on the lake tonight to represent a new era. Your aunt’s words.”

I grin, but I’m still staring at his body instead of his face. Finally, my eyes come up just as he turns his head.

“I don’t want to stay here without you, since…brothers. I’ll drive over there to drop off the Jeep. Then ride back with you in the boat.”

He frowns like he’s thinking that over. His eyes drop to my jean shorts and my combat boots. What? Combat boots go with everything, and I don’t care what anyone says.

The frayed shorts are my sexiest pair, but I usually don’t wear them because they’re really short. Again, I don’t want to question my motives here, but I’m starting to see a very suspicious pattern.

“Ride with me. We’ll take the Jeep back tomorrow,” he says as his eyes come back up. Then a smile forms. “You finally get your wish. The bad beards are gone.”

Yeah, and now I worry what I’ve done to myself.

“Paul asked me out,” I tell him, gauging his reaction closely.

He just arches an eyebrow.

“And?”

Okay, so no jealous outburst. Not that I was expecting one.

“Just found that odd.”

Now I definitely sound suspicious.

He grins. “If you dated Paul, I’d have to question your sanity. And he’s in a hurry to get married, so that wouldn’t help your ‘settle down without settling down’ plan.”

My eyebrows go up.

“What?”

“You didn’t want to date Liam because you thought he wouldn’t settle down. Then you turned around and said you didn’t want to settle down. Can’t help but wonder if you just don’t want anyone at all right now.”

That’s not true. But at least that means he hasn’t noticed me raking my eyes over him in a constant scandalous appraisal lately.

“I don’t want to be treated like another notch by someone I have to see regularly, but I also don’t want a serious relationship.”

He shrugs while looking away. “Why’s that?” he asks, sounding casual as he picks up a shirt and tugs it over his head, covering up that secretly perfect body.

“Because of the pressure.”

He turns to face me, his eyebrows going up in confusion. “Pressure?”

“It’s Tomahawk,” I groan. “You get a boyfriend, people start constantly asking when you’re getting married. You get married, people bombard you with questions about when you’re going to conceive. You pop out a baby, people want to know when the next one is coming out of you.” I take a deep breath. “Pressure.”

He laughs outright, and I narrow my eyes at him. It’s easier to remember this is Benson when he’s laughing at me.

“So you don’t want to date anyone, because of peer pressure to have babies?”