“Sure didn’t act that way yesterday,” he says.
Before I can correct him, Benson is coasting to the end of the dock.
“You forgot this,” Benson says, holding up my bra as a grin cracks through that beard.
Liam chuckles, and I narrow my eyes at the bearded man at the end. That bra has probably been at his house for two weeks, because I wasn’t wearing a bra last night.
“Just toss it in my boat.”
He does, and it lands directly in my seat. My boat is just a little flat-bottom thing with a motor Benson installed for me three years ago. Nothing flashy like they have.
“You coming back over tonight?” Benson asks, making this sound far more scandalous than it is.
He’s in his standard jeans and loose T-shirt now, so I’m thinking a little clearer.
“Probably,” I say, not bothering to make this seem like it’s not what Benson is implying, and giving him the satisfaction of seeing me defensive.
I genuinely don’t care if Liam gets the wrong idea, so no need in scrambling around like a fool to clarify things. Besides, for some reason, it wouldn’t feel right to deny it in front of Benson, almost as if I was wronging him on some level.
Which is stupid. We’re friends.
I’m not sure why he’s playing this game, but I still feel like I should be on his side of it.
I tend to overthink things and come up with a thousand different reasons for why things are going on, in case you haven’t noticed.
I end up convincing myself that Benson wants me to defend myself, and that’s the real reason I’m not. Because it’s obviously better than the alternative that I’m starting to notice him as more than a beard.
That’s terrifying.
I’m the head of the anti-beard committee, after all. We’ve been protesting this damn challenge since it started.
Hey, it’s Tomahawk. We don’t have much else to do.
Benson winks at me before pushing away from the dock and restarting his motor, driving toward town.
We have roads, but it’s usually quicker to boat to town from his side of the lake.
My eyes turn back to see a sly grin on Liam’s face. “Not your boyfriend, huh?”
Again, it still feels wrong to correct him. Why? Beats me. I blame it on the distinct lack of caffeine this morning.
I talk to Liam about the town, telling him how it works and explaining some random things, keeping all the conversation topics safe. Just as I’m filling him in on how spread out all the neighbors are, another motor revs, coming closer.
I smirk when I see Delaney driving this way, waving at me as she nears. I guess I don’t have to fetch her after all.
I also notice a few other familiar faces too, and then see a few cars pulling into Liam’s house.
I flash him a grin when confusion mars his face.
“Welcome to Tomahawk,” I tell him as women start walking down the bank, covered dishes in their hands. “The land of a hundred unruly beards, and everyone’s own individual brand of crazy. You’re officially the most eligible, baby-face bachelor.”
Delaney barely even says hi to me as she shoves her way to the front of the line, and I hop on my boat, ready to get away while I still can. Besides, it’ll free up space for another boat to tie off.
“I…uh…I,” Liam says, gesturing for help as five women talk over him, trying to introduce themselves.
Grinning, I drive away, leaving him to fend for himself as I head to my cabin.
I notice a few of the guys fishing on the lake, staring over at Liam’s home that is being swarmed with more and more women. Paul is among the crowd, and he tosses his hat into the lake, looking annoyed.
I shoot him an I-told-you-so look, and he flips me off as I laugh and coast up to my dock. I’ll be glad when my brothers get my lift fixed. The lift they tore up with their boat that was way too big for it.
I step over the few shady boards they jacked up during the lift-breaking debacle, and head toward my cabin to shower and change for the day.
Tonight is when the magic happens.
So I pack a bag.
I’ll be staying with Benson for at least two nights.
Chapter 3
Wild Ones Tip #111
Always bring backup and snacks. Never know when you’ll need snacks.
LILAH
Snip.
Slow breaths.
Snip. That sound is almost deafening in this otherwise silent room, sans the occasional snore.
Snip.
I cringe when a leg moves, and my breath goes completely silent, because I’m holding it.
Snip.
A hand darts up, grabbing my wrist, before a set of eyes open in confusion.
“Go to sleep. Go to sleep. Go to sleep, little baby,” I sing, obviously panicking when my heart starts hammering in my chest.
The singing doesn’t work.
Killian bolts upright in bed and flips on the lamp, which rouses Hale from his sleep. Their beds are a few feet apart, since I sort of moved the bed there earlier, knowing they’d be too lazy to move it back to Hale’s room before crashing for the night.
I had a plan, and they’re wrecking it by waking up.
My brothers look at me in confusion, then at the scissors in my hand, then at the hair on the floor.
Carefully, while they’re still utterly baffled and just-woken from sleep, I put the scissors down calmly, back toward the door, grab the camera I have set up and ease it into my backpack, and…run like a maniac.
“Holy fucking shit!” I hear Hale snap, just as I leap off their front porch. Tucking and rolling back up to my feet, I race like my life depends on it to the boats.
“Lilah!” Killian roars, but I giggle like a crazed woman as I leap onto my boat that only has one rope tying it off, and quickly get going before can get to me.
I’m halfway across the water when I hear their boat roar to life.
Their boat is bigger and faster, so I drive like hell to Benson’s dock, half-ass tie off.
“Benson!” My shrill scream sounds so foreign and unlike me, as my legs pump like an Olympian again.
“Benson!” I squeal again when I hear the boat docking behind me.
“Get her!” Killian roars.
“Get back here, Lilah!” Hale shouts, furious.
Yeah, like that’s going to work. Nope. I run that much harder.
The door to Benson’s home swings open just as I hurl myself up the fifteenth step, and I leap into his arms, wrapping my legs around his waist, my arms around his neck, and cling to him like a shameless spider monkey.
I’m vaguely aware of the fact his hands immediately go to my ass, squeezing it, and I’m also vaguely aware of the fact those dormant girl parts are definitely taking notice. In fact, if it wasn’t for the rebel yell coming from behind me, I’d have to study this a little more intently.
“What the—”
Benson’s words cut off, and his hands immediately leave my ass.
“Don’t even think about it. I’ll beat the hell out of both of you,” he cautions, turning and depositing me onto the floor.