“You better be glad mud will wash off these!” I yell. Then peg his ass five more times with paintballs as he howls in pain.
My dad is shaking with silent laughter when I glare over at him.
“Just mud. You don’t kill over mud if it’s not the suede.” He raises his hands innocently, and I roll my eyes.
“I’m going to go see Lilah before I leave. So I guess I need a ride there.”
“I’m not going around the Vincents,” he growls. “Not after they just blew up my dock.”
I bat an unconcerned hand. “They’ll fix it. They always do. It’s only Lilah’s shit they never fully repair.”
“Take the boat. I’ll send Heath after it.”
I give him a quick kiss on his hairy cheek, and then he kisses my forehead.
“Be careful in LA. Don’t get arrested. They’re not as lenient as we are around here.”
I flash a grin. “No worries. I won’t be beating boys up on the sidewalks or accidentally blowing up someone’s personal property.”
“I mean it, Kylie. Don’t do anything crazy like crashing your car into a pool again. You’ll have to pretend to be normal for a couple of months and forget your raising. We won’t be there to back you up,” he goes on.
“I won’t be crazy anywhere but Tomahawk,” I tell him, crossing my heart with my index finger.
“Promise?” he asks.
“Promise.”
Chapter 2
Wild Ones Tip #74
Wild Ones are always wild, so lock your doors and sleep in body armor.
KYLIE
“Hey, everyone, this is Kylie Malone, and she’s filling in for Jake’s pussy ass tomorrow so we have that fifth,” Rudy says as we drop to a booth inside a bar.
It’s a laidback bar, just on the outskirts of LA, not far from where the gallery was.
I flash a smile at all the guys around the table, my gaze lingering on one seriously sexy face for a moment longer than the rest, before giving a little wave.
The sexy guy arches an unimpressed eyebrow at me as he lowers his beer bottle.
He’s blond, the perfect splash of tan, and has a strong jaw with no hint of stubble. I’ve been stuck in beard central for the vast majority of my adult life, so I’m still adjusting to the smooth faces.
And his is my favorite so far.
“You’re going skydiving with us?” Sexy Guy asks skeptically, and I restrain a secretive smile.
“Yeah. Problem with that?”
He shakes his head slowly, his smirk lazily etching up. I can tell he’s going to be a dick.
“That’s Liam,” Rudy says, gesturing to the dick.
He goes around the table, introducing the other three guys, and I pretend I don’t feel the disbelieving gaze of Liam as he studies me without subtlety.
As I’m about to tell one of them where I’m from, Liam talks over us.
“This is expert level skydiving. No instructors are going to be strapped to you.”
Guys like this? Never get challenged. I’ve learned that about LA in the past three weeks. I’m only here for four more, which will be the end of my showcase tour.
So far, I’ve learned it’s nothing like what I’m used to.
But I’m also nothing like they’re used to.
“Really? I had no idea.” I mock a gasp. “Rudy, why didn’t you tell me?”
Really, though, my acting skills are so over-the-top that you can hear the sarcasm coating each word. Rudy starts laughing, and Liam’s cocky smirk flattens to a thin, disapproving line. I wink at him before ordering a shot of tequila.
“Shots? Before skydiving?” Liam asks.
“You always mother the ones around you?” I ask absently, not looking directly at him.
Really is a shame such a sexy face belongs to such a prick.
Five minutes into speaking to him, I know three things.
He’s entitled.
He’s rich.
He’s a prick.
All I need to know.
My shot arrives, and I grin up at the waitress, thanking her before handing her my money. Then I toss it back and order another.
She keeps them coming, and before I know it, the conversation has veered to the more pornographic pieces that were in the gallery today. I laugh under my breath, trying not to notice how Liam is still studying me.
“You always have such curly hair?” he asks as I stack up my fifth empty shot glass.
“You always stare at curly hair? Or am I just special?” I ask, tugging a light brown curl of mine that springs back into place when I let go.
I smirk at him this time. It seems to bother him when I don’t let him bother me.
He spins the coaster on the table, not looking at me anymore, and I go back to pretending to listen to the conversation.
I mean, Rudy offered me a free spot on their dive, and usually, a dive like this would run close to seven hundred dollars, possibly more. I couldn’t pass it up, so I can pretend to like them for a night.
Even Liam.
The prick.
The guy who is staring at me again.
My hair is shoulder length, and I swear, I have those ringlet curls that turn to straight fuzz if I don’t use a thousand hair products.
There’s something you should know about where I come from…
The women may dress like something out of a fashion horror magazine, but we damn well take care of our hair.
Long story for another time.
I stand and move toward the jukebox when the weight of his very scrutinizing gaze continues to follow me. I pick a song I love, mostly to remind me of who I am, and walk back when it starts playing.
Liam’s eyes slowly scan down the front of my little white sundress and drop to my boots—okay, this is where I tell you I have a small issue. Well, it’s a big issue. An obsession, really.
Cowboy boots.
My small apartment back home has two walls full of boots.
No lie.
It’s where most of my money goes.
Don’t judge me. It’s an addiction.
“Nice boots,” he says, his lips twitching as I sit down. “Straight off the ranch?”
Oh, this guy is really close to getting his ass kicked by these boots.
“I’m a real wild child,” catches my attention as someone from the bar sings along.
My grin spreads, and I turn back to face the prick. “These boots are made for walking,” I joke as I stand again, move to the dance floor, and dance with the first guy who has the balls to join me.
I have no idea what his name is, but he’s a sweetheart, and a damn good dancer.
I’m laughing and enjoying myself, when I turn and see Liam watching me, like he’s trying to figure me out. I go back to ignoring him as someone else starts playing the song over.
It makes me a little homesick, but it gives me a piece of home at the same time.
I keep taking shots. And I keep dancing, enjoying myself.
Several other songs play, and before I know it, the once-empty dance floor is now packed full of people. I dance until I’m suddenly plowing against a firm body, and I move a curl out of my face to look up at…Liam.
He smirks down at me.
“How is it you’ve now had ten shots, yet you still seem mostly sober?” he asks, handing me yet another shot of tequila.
“I’m very sober. Are you counting my shots?” I ask, shooting the drink without thinking about the fact he might have done something to it.
I’m not used to having to be wary.