Page 63 of Wild Love
I knew he was coming.Later.At this moment, I realize how badly I needed those last several hours to amp myself up. I could have practiced a few more reassuring things to say. Googled a few more synonyms forit’s over. I had a plan to hit him with a compliment sandwich and now all the words flee my head, leaving me with only a full-body sense of dread.
I knew it would be uncomfortable seeing him again. But looking at him now, standing in front of me with open arms, makes me realize I may have underestimated justhowuncomfortable.
The last man I hugged was Ford, and I melted into him.
When I raise my arms and step forward, the moment is plain awkward. My hips stay pushed back, and Ryan pats my back.
Fuck me, this is going to be painful.
When we step away, he’s already peeking over his shoulder toward Willa. “You should go grab your boss. Then we can talk. You almost done for the day?”
“Yeah.” I sigh. I don’t want to be done for the day. I want to spend my entire Friday night listening to Nigerian funk while watching Ford and Cora talk about different instruments and complex drum beats and how to use a record player. “I can be done.”
I turn and walk back through the entryway and roundthe corner into the main office space. When I face the brown leather couch, Ford and Cora are both sitting straight up, staring at me with almost identical expressions on their faces. Thick brows, high cheekbones, and the same almost feline-shaped eyes—just in slightly different colors.
Their alarm is clear.
“So, you both heard all that?”
“Willa isn’t exactly quiet,” Ford deadpans.
My cheek twitches. “No, she isn’t. She’s pacing on the hill, waiting for you. And Ryan is outside.”
“Ryan is here?” My gaze shifts to Cora, who asked the clarifying question I wish she hadn’t. Her eyes are narrowed now. Arms crossed. Shoulders held up tight.
“Yes.”
“For how long?”
“I’m not sure.”
I’m not going to lie to her, but I’m also not going to tell her I plan on sending him packing before I’ve even told him.
When I glance at Ford, the intensity of his gaze scorches my skin. I feel the telltale itch that always comes when his eyes trace over me with that intense, almost displeased look on his face.
I used to wonder if I was allergic to him. It seemed feasible enough.
But in the past few weeks, I’ve come to realize that’s not what it is at all.
“Well, I’m getting out of here,” Cora announces, slapping her thighs as she pushes up from the couch. She marches right past me, avoiding eye contact. And when she gets to thefront door, I hear, “Move it, fuckboy,” followed by the door slamming behind her.
My eyes widen right as Ford clamps a hand over his mouth. His eyes shut and his shoulders shake.
“That was rude,” I say with a chuckle, biting the inside of my cheek to keep from falling into a fit of giggles.
“Oh my god,” Ford practically wheezes before running his hands through his hair. “How did I end up with you all? You’re like a fire-breathing dragon. Willa is a rabid dog, and Cora is no better.”
I smirk and cross my arms before giving a casual shrug. “Seems like you’ve got a type.”
Now his eyes are back on mine, and he’s not laughing anymore. My body warms as his eyes take a leisurely slide from my face down to my feet and all the way back up.
“Yeah. I do,” he says.
Then he’s up, his tall frame striding toward me. His big hand lands on the small of my back, making me squirm in my own skin as we walk side by side to the front door. He rubs his thumb in gentle circles, and I almost cry.
I don’t know why. The pressure. The stress. The impending conversation I’m about to face.
Before we turn into the short hallway that leads to the entryway, Ford stops. One finger hooks into the thin leather belt wrapped around my waist.
