Page 13 of Sweet Escape
“Morning, Cupcake. I come bearing gifts.”Wilder rattles the takeout bag in his hand and places a drink carrier loaded with cups and coffee condiments on the desk. “I wasn’t sure how you take it, so I got a little of everything. And if you prefer tea, I have that, too.”
Who is this man, and can I take him home with me?
“Impressive. What’s in the bag?”
“Bagels. I have plain, chocolate chip, everything, and cinnamon crunch.”
I select an everything bagel smothered in the perfect amount of cream cheese and doctor up a cup of coffee with two creams and one sugar. Wilder goes for a black coffee—no surprise there—and a cinnamon crunch bagel.
I savor each bite, grateful he thought to get breakfast for us. My bank account is already dangerously low, and I was fully prepared to suffer through hotel coffee and a protein bar that’s been slumming it at the bottom of my purse for God knows how long.
After breakfast, I dress in the same clothes I wore the day before and pack up the stranger’s suitcase, kicking myself the entire time for my epic fuck up. I can’t be too mad about it since it got me several orgasms and breakfast the morning after. Wilder carries our bags down to the rental car, and I settle into the passenger seat.
The drive to the airport is quiet. I’m not much of a morning person as it is, and I get the impression Wilder is a man of few words, flirty banter and dirty talk notwithstanding. He pulls up outside the baggage claim entrance and waits for me as I head inside, hoping my luck has somehow changed overnight. Surely three orgasms is a good sign, right?
Wrong.
The airline personnel are unable to locate my luggage, and I slink back to the car empty-handed.
“Do you want to stop somewhere to grab a change of clothes?” he asks, as I slump back into the passenger seat.
“I’ll be fine. Just drive.”
“Yes, ma'am.” He pulls out of the parking lot, and we settle into an uncomfortable silence.
I keep my gaze pinned on the blurring landscape as the weight of the last twenty-four hours comes crashing down around me.
Yesterday, I was convinced my boyfriend was about to propose. Now, I’m in a car barreling down the highway after having spent the night with a stranger.
I don’t know how much time passes before Wilder breaksthe silence. “Do you want me to drop you off at the Nashville airport, or do you have somewhere else you need to go?”
It’s then that I realize I hadn’t thought far enough ahead to arrange a ride from the airport back to Oak Ridge. I’ll have to text my parents and have them pick me up.
“Liv?”
“The airport, please.”
“Sure. Is everything alright? Did I do something?”
“I’m okay,” I whisper. “I’m just struggling to process… everything.”
One hand leaves the steering wheel, resting face up on the console, and I hesitate for a moment before threading my fingers through his. It’s a strange pattern we’ve slipped into, but I take the offered comfort all the same.
“You can talk to me… if you want,” he says.
“I wouldn’t even know where to begin.” I glance at my fresh manicure and the still-empty ring finger. That’s when the first rush of sadness hits me like a wave crashing on the shore.
I didn’t stop to think when I packed my shit and walked out of the apartment, leaving Jake scrambling for his pants and Amber clutching the bed sheet to her chest. Nobody looked particularly stricken by the encounter, and maybe that’s why it’s all hitting me so hard now. I charged out of there in a blind rage and never looked back.
I scoff, shaking my head at the ridiculousness of my situation. “I thought he was proposing. He promised to take me to Red Rocks, but he'd been super cagey about the details leading up to my birthday. I could tell there was something Amber wasn’t saying, too. My dumb ass thought she was in on some grand plan. I feel so stupid.”
He squeezes my hand, and the feel of his rough palm against mine is almost grounding. “You’re not stupid forthinking they cared about you. If they can’t see how amazing you are, they don’t deserve you.”
“You don’t really know me,” I say defensively.
“I know you’re allergic to shellfish. I know you have a kind smile for every person you encounter. Your favorite color is pink, and you have a birthmark in the shape of a butterfly on your lower back.” He flicks the turn signal and swerves down a side road before he continues his speech. “I know the sounds you make when my beard scratches between your thighs, and what you taste like when you fall apart on my tongue. And I know, without a shadow of a doubt, Jake made the biggest fucking mistake of his life letting you go.”
“Wilder…” His name comes out like a prayer as he turns onto a dead-end street, parking in a copse of trees that’s blocked by a large vacant building. It looks like it’s been uninhabited for years, possibly decades, with boarded-up windows and graffiti on the exposed brick walls.
