If I feel funny in a second, I’m going to karate chop his dick so hard, he’ll never be able to get it up again.
He smirks before mouthing, “Eleven.”
And then he winks at me.
Even though I hate him a little, and wonder if he’s poisoned or drugged me, for some reason I still smile. His eyes dart down to my lips, and then they flick back up to meet my eyes. He seems amused more than anything.
“Are you going to answer my question?”
I roll my eyes, still dancing. “Two reasons. One, my family are big drinkers. You grow a tolerance, because no one wants to be the first one who’s drunk at a family event. Two, the shot glasses are half the size of normal shot glasses. And they only fill them half way up. So I’ve maybe had three shots in reality.”
He cocks his head like he’s studying me.
“And you’re just dancing because…”
My eyebrows go up. “I like dancing. Besides, if I had stayed over there, something terrible would have happened.”
He waits expectantly, and I grin at him.
“What?” he finally asks, taking the bait.
“You would have just kept smirking at me and delivering veiled insults.”
His smile spreads for the first time. A real, genuine smile.
I’m human, and I’m capable and crass enough to admit that smile of his is like a live wire straight to my clit. Not that I’d ever tell him that.
“That would be terrible, I suppose,” he says, stepping closer.
“Very,” I agree, wondering if I’m crossing into flirty territory when he tucks another curl behind my ear.
I might even shiver a little when his fingers brush my cheek during the motion. This guy smells as good as he looks. And it’s been…six months? At least six months since the last time I found someone to scratch an itch with.
“You really sure you can skydive? Because tomorrow is no joke,” he says seriously.
My lips twitch.
“You skydive often?” I ask, vaguely aware we’re just standing in the middle of a bunch of people dancing.
“Not too often anymore, but still on occasion. I like the rush it gives me.”
“I’m well-acquainted with adrenaline rushes,” I say with a shrug.
He gives me a dubious look that tells me he doesn’t believe me, but I hold my secretive smile in place, not elaborating.
“You’re a confusing little specimen, Kylie Malone,” he says. I’m not sure why my name sounds so good coming off his lips.
I blame it on all the beards I’ve endured for too long. Our town stopped fornicating when the beards got long enough to hide baby birds in them. The whole nest and momma bird too, in some cases.
“I’m actually simple. We all are.” I smile again.
“Simple? We? Who’s we?” he muses.
“My family. Friends. Everyone back home.”
“On the ranch?” he asks, but this time his tone is light and teasing instead of insulting.
“Back at the lake. No ranching.”
“They wear cowboy boots on the lake?”
“I wear them.”
He tugs one of my curls, and I allow him to keep invading my space. His foot is touching mine, but it’s not offending my boot yet. If he scuffs a boot, I really will kick his ass. Then kick it some more.
“What were you showcasing at the gallery?” he asks, not bothered by the bodies bumping into us as they dance around our unmoving ones.
“Several pieces, actually. Why? Did you come peruse the massive showing?”
He cocks his head, his own secretive smile etching up. “I own the gallery.”
Well, damn.
My eyebrows go up, and he smiles cockier. He’s proud of his money and prestige, I guess.
I grab the sides of his face, and his smile dies as I tug his face down. He acts like he’s about to struggle when I narrow my eyes and make a show of looking him over.
“Funny. I was thinking you to be more of the model type. Perfect symmetry.”
His eyebrows go up again, and he stares at me like he thinks I’m crazy, while I keep his face smashed between my hands, giving his lips a bit of a fish pucker effect.
“You truly are a beautiful man,” I say on a long sigh as I release the sides of his face.
“Beautiful?” he asks, laughing lightly.
“Yes. A beautiful…prick.”
I pat the side of his cheek, and all the humor in his expression disappears.
“See you tomorrow, Pretty Boy,” I say over my shoulder as I sashay away in my awesome boots. “See you guys bright and early,” I say cheerily to the table of artists.
“You okay to walk back to your place alone?” Rudy asks so helpfully.
I wink at him. “Don’t worry. I’ll give someone hell if they fuck with me.”
I grab my purse, and Liam is suddenly back at the table.
“Someone should walk you back to your hotel,” Liam says firmly.
My smile creeps up, and I peer over at him. “I’m not at a hotel. I’m staying with a family friend. And don’t worry,” I tell him as I walk away. Without turning around, I loudly add, “I’m a Wild One.”
Note from the author:
Thank you so much for reading the first book of the Wild Ones. This was a side project I wanted to do because I needed something light and fun to break up the more serious or darker books I’d been writing.
My heart needed a break.
Even my romantic comedies have some heavy subject matters at times. I just wanted something carefree, maybe even a little silly, with low intensity so you don’t have your stomach in knots, your heart ripped out, or your soul stained for all eternity or whatever. ;) Nothing too deep or heavy.
With so many intense reads, sometimes you just need a fun book to reset yourself and break them up. I needed to write this to refresh myself, and this is my fun, simple, somewhat crazy series that makes me smile.
I really hope it makes you smile too, because there are several more Wild Ones to come, if all goes according to plan.
Kylie Malone’s story is next, since Becoming A Vincent leads you into that with Liam’s tale of why he moved to Tomahawk, land of the beardless ex beards. (Don’t worry. Most still have beards, but they’re just kept neat instead of collecting trays of food now.) It’ll start in the past to show you how they initially met, then fast forward to the present where they finally meet again.
After hers, the plan (which could change, based on how the writing process goes) is to release Kai Wilder. Finally getting some of those Wild Men.
Anyway, thank you for giving this one a chance, even if it wasn’t for you. I’d love to see your reviews, and they always help a book get noticed by others the more reviews an author collects—good or bad.
Now, to tell you just a little about the Wild Ones—a lot of the crazy came from my real life. I wanted wilderness, funny, crazy, outrageous, little civilization, and a very small /backwoods town. Welcome to Tomahawk. ;)
Nothing about this series is going to be mature. This is completely wild and outlandish, which is its intent.
By now, if you’ve followed me, you realize I’m not exactly normal.