Page 25 of Wildly Inappropriate

“So, Carter, how did you get into the security field?” I ask.

His eyes shift to Kelsey before he looks my way. “I wanted to come back to Wild Bluffs, and my brother was looking for someone to help him out with managing the team. It just made sense.”

“Oh, that’s great. Is it hard working with your brother? I love mine a lot, but I can’t imagine working for him.”

Again his eyes shift to Kelsey, even though she’s staring out at the kids playing, not at all paying attention to our conversation. “It’s mostly okay. He can be a bit intense, but the pay is good, and I don’t have to go on assignment too often.”

I chat with Carter, learning he was in Kelsey’s class in high school and went to a prestigious university back East. He’s clearly smart and kind, but there is no spark between us. Plus, if I’m reading things right, he’s already interested in someone else. I wonder if all the Harper sisters secretly have men in town in love with them. Maybe I should warn my brother.

Izzy and Becca make their way over to our little group a couple minutes later, inserting themselves into our conversation with ease. Izzy widens her eyes, slightly nodding her head toward Carter as if to say “What do you think?” I shrug, pulling my lips to the side, trying to indicate the slight indifference I feel toward the man. He’s handsome and pleasant, but there is no way I want to go to battle against a high school crush that is still alive and well today.

We chat for a while, the Harpers and Becca continuing to give me the rundown on all things Wild Bluffs, from the people, to the history of various events and feuds, to the importance of showing up for the high school sporting events once they get started in August. It’s a lot to take in, but it feels more like watching a “last time on…” clip montage at the beginning of a soap opera episode than truly understanding what’s happening.

“Well,” Carter says, looking at his phone as the sun starts to slip below the horizon line about an hour later. It’s the first thing he’s said since the other women joined the conversation. “Unfortunately for me, it’s time I head home. One of the guys on our monitoring team called in sick, so I’m filling the six-to-noon shift tomorrow. It’s amazing how guys always seem to get sick and need coverage for the early-Saturday-morning shifts.”

“And here I thought all you big bodyguards would be able to hold your liquor,” Izzy jokes. Kelsey gives Carter a knowing smile and says, “Maybe if you guys would stop trying to make your field staff work on the monitoring side of things too, you wouldn’t have that problem.”

He doesn’t quite smile, though a hint of one peeks through. “Maybe.”

The temperature drops quickly after that, and not too long after Carter’s departure, we all head inside, looking for sweatshirts and jackets. I spot JT chatting with Kelsey and Izzy’s dad and a couple of other middle-aged men, a genuine smile on his face. I guess maybe it’s just me he’s grumpy with tonight. He must feel my eyes on him because his gaze meets mine, hardening when he sees me standing there watching him. Holding up a finger to indicate I should wait, he says something to Ken and the group before heading in my direction.

“I’d like to get going. I need to spend some time on the course tomorrow before it gets too hot.”

“’Kay,” I say, as it’s clear I don’t have much of an option. He is my ride, and making someone else take me would require them to make a thirty-minute round-trip detour.

We both go in search of Jen and quickly say our goodbyes before climbing into JT’s pickup.

It’s a quiet drive home. I’m not sure if it’s that we are both tired or if our squabble from earlier is still lingering, but it’s awkward now. We pull into the driveway after saying nothing for fifteen minutes, and we both climb out of the car.

I suddenly understand JT’s desire to be anywhere but in the same space together. So, instead of letting him be the one to leave me, I speed walk into the house, making a quick detour to the living room to grab my book, and head straight into my room without saying a single word.

After getting ready for bed, I climb under the covers, grabbing my book and an extra pillow to prop my back up while I read. I flip the pages until I reach my bookmark and am shocked to find that someone else has written in the margins. My first thought is “Woah, what possessed journal magic is this?” followed quickly by, “I can’t believe I bought a book someone has already written in.” I start to read the comment on the first page of the chapter and am hit with the truth—JT read my book!Duh, Lila. That’s clearly the obvious answer to writing in your book.I’m about to go yell at him when I realize the comment is actually pretty clever. I flip to the next page and see the notes in the margins are all interesting in some way: funny or insightful or just a glimpse into JT’s psyche.

It makes me feel like I’m 14 years old again, and JT’s convincing Jameo to let me tag along with them while they go to the driving range or just cruise around town after Thanksgiving dinner.Don’t be silly.If anything, this is your book. You’re lettinghimtag along for the ride!

But that doesn’t stop me from grabbing my fancy markers and annotating the book like before, underlining and adding little hearts or exclamation points next to the parts I like. Except this time, I also reply to his comments.

As I read, I feel like it’s someone else entirely who is talking to me through the pages. It’s not the guy who lost his cool during the cookout tonight, and it’s definitely not the man who sits at a different table at Thanksgiving dinner because we can’t stop fighting with each other. Unfortunately, it might be the JT who worshipped my body in Vegas. The one who not only brought me pleasure like I’d never experienced before but also made me feel like he cared about me with his words and his actions. Though, as I found out the hard way, that JT is short-lived. The real JT is the one who returned when we came up for breath, the one who didn't feel anything about us being together, who acted like we were still enemies. The one who stood me up. The one who kissed me in the hallway of a bar like I was water in the desert and then pushed me to the side like he found out I was contaminated with a deadly virus.

I’m not sure what it means that I want to keep responding to his messages in my book. I’ve spent this entire week getting more and more frustrated with the man who insists on staying where he isn’t wanted all while acting like an uncivilized brute, unable to even exchange pleasantries with me before squirreling himself away in his room.

I’m not sure what it means when I reach the next chapter and find it missing his thoughts, so I add mine in instead.

And I definitely don’t think about what it means the next morning, when, without saying a word, I leave the book in the living room and slip out of the house before I can accidentally run into JT.

Chapter thirteen

JT

“What can I getyou to drink?” the barista at Wild Brews asks as I find myself in the small, teal-colored shop for the fourth time in a week. The country club has coffee. It’s just not busy yet on the course, and it turns out I need people around to stay sane. I have no idea how Jameo handled the isolation. If I didn’t know I was a big-city guy before now, this is definitely proving it to me.

It doesn’t help that Lila and I have successfully avoided each other for an entire week now.

I order my usual black coffee and grab a seat in the far corner just as Kelsey Harper walks through the door. Noticing me, she waves at the girl at the counter before heading in my direction. I stand up and give her a quick hug, inviting her to join me. Amazingly, at just that moment, the barista brings over a small coffee mug and sets it in front of her.

“Thanks, Laura,” she says, giving a name to the young woman who serves me most days. I mentally catalog it so I can remember it for next time. The other thing I’ve noticed in small towns—no one wears nametags. It makes it much harder for a guy like me, who likes to call people by name.

“Did you call ahead or something?” I ask, nodding toward what appears to be a kiddie cup of black coffee that she certainly didn’t order when she arrived.

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