Page 19 of Lost in the Wild

Rowan

My head feels so unburdened, it might pop off and float up to the ceiling. Can’t stop touching my nape and the back of my head, feeling the empty space, the shorn locks. When I turn my head from side to side, it’s so light I almost feel dizzy.

“It’s rough,” Evie says, biting her lip as she watches me in the bathroom mirror. We’re both squeezed into the tiny room together, my hip jammed against the sink, her heat against my back as she peers over my shoulder. She winces as I turn my head from side to side, examining her work, like she’s scared I won’t like it after all.

Bullshit.

Despite Evie’s doubts, my dark hair is neater than it’s been in a long, long time. It’s cut way shorter than it was, but still long enough to curl around my ears, because according to her, You should leave something for your dates to tug on.

Dates!

She winked at me when she said that, her green eyes twinkling. But there was something underneath it too, some vulnerable hidden question—a question I intend to answer for her before the day is through.

“It’s good,” I say, my voice rough. “Really good. Thank you.”

“Don’t thank me yet.” Evie traces a gentle line down my spine, her fingertip moving from the towel to my bare skin, from the knob of my neck all the way to the small of my back—but her gaze is on mine. Like her hand is moving of its own accord, acting instinctively while she chats to me. Sparks skitter everywhere she touches, and it’s hard to breathe. “I’m about to betray you, Wild Man. You might never forgive me for this.”

“Oh?”

“Yup.” Evie nods at the shaving kit balanced on the small shelf above the sink. Her pink toothbrush and tube of toothpaste are in a plastic cup beside it, along with a travel sized bottle of mouthwash, and for some reason, the sight makes me ache. These domestic details; this peek behind the scenes. I’m so hungry for every ounce of information about this girl.

“I’m gonna go out there and barricade the door, and I won’t let you out until you nix the beard. It’s ruining the whole vibe for me.”

“The vibe?” My grin comes easily. “What vibe is that?”

“Sexy mountain man.”

My heart lurches at her words, but Evie smiles and holds my gaze in the scratched mirror. She’s steady, reassuring. A safe port from the constant storm in my head.

The porcelain creaks as I squeeze the sink edge. The shower drips in its cubicle.

Sexy mountain man.

God. Yeah. I want to be that for her. For Evie, and no one else.

I need her to need me. Like I need her. Don’t want to be alone in this restless aching I feel around her anymore. Don’t want to be the only one choking for air when our bodies brush.

Don’t want to be the ragged, unkempt Wild Man of Starlight Ridge for another single day. Finally, I have a better goal in my life.

“You don’t need to lock me in.” My quiet words bounce off the chipped bathroom tiles, echoing strangely around us. I reach for the shaving supplies as I talk, drawing out the clippers I’ll use to buzz my jaw first. “I’ll shave it off either way, so you may as well stick around. Tell me about your city. Tell me what you do for fun. Tell me anything, Evie.”

The button slides under my thumb, and the clippers buzz loudly in my hand, the vibrations rattling my bones. Butterscotch eyes stare in the mirror, rapt, as I lift the clippers to my jaw.

We both watch as the first chunk of beard falls into the sink.

Both let out relieved laughs.

Then Evie starts talking, her sweet voice filling the quiet as I lift the clippers once again.

* * *

Hours later, the bar is only half full, with empty booths and a short line for drinks, and still a headache pulses behind my left eyeball. My body is hot under my clothes, and my skin is itchy. Uncomfortable.

If Evie weren’t here, sitting opposite me with a shy smile, I’d be sprinting for the hills right now, tearing off my shirt like an animal.

It’s this crowd. The press of people, of humanity, even if we’re not truly crammed in cheek by jowl. This is more people than I’ve seen in months, all gathered here in one room, and the loud buzz of their conversation drills into my temples and makes me wince.

Every time someone looks over at us, their gaze bores into me—even though more often than not, it’s Evie they’re drawn to. And who can blame them? She showered and changed not long ago, washing off the dust from our day spent together wandering the town, then wrapped those perfect curves in a teal shift dress. With her long, red waves, she looks like a heart attack on legs.

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