Page 84 of Naughty & Nice

No. There is no way.

I already know it’s impossible to forget the things that Wilder Kemp is capable of.

I’ve tried. I’ve tried really fucking hard.

Almost as soon as his words have floated away, he turns the tables on me once again.

“This was a good idea,” he says leaning around me and quickly cutting off a corner of the blue cheese before me.

He throws it in his mouth and then turns to get us drinks.

“It’s red wine or port with cheese, right?”

“That’s very sophisticated of you,” Hendrix mocks.

“What? I can do sophisticated when it’s called for.”

Hendrix snorts, unwilling to believe his brother’s bullshit.

“When the fuck is it ever called for? I’ve seen the girls you spend time with; I can confidently say, it’s not for them.”

“Hey,” I argue, unable to keep my mouth shut.

“You don’t count, Elle,” Hendrix assures me, leaning in to brush a kiss on my cheek. “You buck every single one of Wilder’s trends when it comes to women.”

“She’s hot.”

“Every other trend.”

Wilder wants to argue, I can sense it, but he knows that Hendrix is right.

I’m not a jersey chaser. I’m the total opposite. I only ever watch football to support Wilder and be there for Hendrix as he does the same.

I don’t really care for the game. And I have even less interest in screwing my way around any team for bragging rights.

I can understand why most people would look at what happened between Wilder and me and pull a face.

I’m not the kind of girl he’d ever go after.

He’s not the kind of guy I’d ever be interested in.

But when we came together that night, something happened.

Something I’ve been unable to forget.

“I’ll take that as a compliment,” I mutter, finishing off our platter of cheese and crackers.

“I would; he hooks up with some right dogs.”

Shaking my head, I pick up the plate and head toward the door so we can eat in the dim candlelight of the living room.

“We don’t have either of those options,” Hendrix says, going back to Wilder’s first point.

“And I’m not having any more vodka,” I add.

“Beer it is then,” Wilder states as I lower the plate to the table.

“N-no, I’m not sure?—”

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