Page 8 of Wild Hearts

Don’t forget he looks like a raven-haired Charlie Hunnam, too—circa Sons of Anarchy.

Kayla taps a manicured finger on the table. “Trust us. Wes Gallagher is bad news. Born on the wrong side of town, he’s never done anything to prove he’s more than just white trash.”

My gut tightens at the harsh label—a label I wouldn’t be surprised to hear people call my family back home.

It’s becoming increasingly clear that no matter how hopeful I was about tonight, Kayla and her crew wouldn’t accept me if they knew my background. And, frankly, I’m not so desperate for friends that I’d condone their catty behavior.

I can be the new, outgoing me with Elsie and Avery. They’ve been enough for years, and they’re still enough. Why do I need a larger support system anyway?

“He owns a business, though. Doesn’t that count for something?” I’m not one for confrontation, but I hate the idea of being so weak that I can’t defend someone who deserves it.

They all laugh at my statement. “How did you find that out? Dusty’s,” Lindsey shudders at the name, “is some dingy old building where he and his friends hang out. I can’t imagine that place earns a profit. He didn’t go to college, doesn’t know the first thing about running a successful business.”

“It looked like he was doing fine when I was there. Sure, it could use some…” I stop when their fascinated horror registers.

“You’ve been there? Why the hell would you do that?”

“She didn’t know better at the time, obviously.” Kayla rolls her eyes, flipping her highlighted hair over a shoulder. “Ugh, this is boring. Can we stop wasting our time discussing Wes Gallagher? He’s not worth it.”

I wholeheartedly agree with the decision to end this line of conversation. It’s unfair to keep insulting him when he can’t defend himself, and their judgment hits too close to home. Like I’ll be next if they discover my family’s drama and financial troubles.

My gaze finds Wes again, a strange bond with the man twisting in my belly.

Looks like we’ve got something in common, after all.

CHAPTER FOUR

WES

The Ole Aces is crowded for another wild Friday night. Most of the men and women just got paid, so everyone’s itching to blow it all on a good time—except for me. I take another long drink from my beer as I survey the familiar faces, consciously avoiding the table of women to my far left.

Max bumps my shoulder with a wolfish grin. “What’s it gonna be: blonde, brunette, ginger?”

Shaking my head, I refuse to answer. Max always tries to guess who I’ll be taking home for the night. The problem is that none of the women here interest me. Most of them I’ve already fucked, while the rest are too damn annoying or bitchy.

Except for her.

My gaze wanders around the room again, allowing myself to briefly study Grace before moving on as if her curvy little body and shy demeanor haven’t completely captured my attention.

“There’s Lyssa. An oldie but a goodie?”

“Shut the fuck up.” He damn well knows I’m done with Lyssa. We fucked a few times, but she kept desperately grasping for more. Acted like she owned me when no one did or ever would.

Max grins, flips me off, then returns to dance with his wife, Kendra.

I still can’t believe he got married. And to a gem like Kendra Thurman.

Max used to be like me—a fuck’em and leave’em kind of guy. We loved our freedom, vowing to never chain ourselves to one woman for life.

Until Kendra moved back to Suitor’s Crossing.

All of a sudden, the myths surrounding Suitor’s Crossing about heart sparks and soulmates came true, because Max fell quickly, and he fell hard. Not that I begrudge his happiness, but sometimes I miss the way things used to be.

Damn, I’m fucking maudlin tonight.

I should be out on the floor locking down a woman to relieve the stress of another work week, but my mind and body refuse to rally any interest in what they’ll find there.

Because of Grace.

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