Page 68 of Wild Side
I tip my wrist up to check my watch and realize I need to get this promo squared away quickly. It won’t take Tabitha long to drop Milo with her parents, and I need to get to bowling sooner rather than later.
A quick click of the mouse gives me a three-second countdown to get in position. I’ve slicked my hair back, and the black T-shirt I’m wearing clings to my skin. Intimidating is the vibe, and this works. Anthony’s email said to send a threatening message to Million Dollar Bill, otherwise known as Will. I need to challenge him to a matchup next month at Pure Pandemonium—the biggest professional wrestling event of the year.
When the tone sounds, I leave Rhys behind and become Wild Side. It’s part of what I love about this job. I get to be someoneelse for a brief time. Someone tough, strong, and commanding—not an insecurity or worry as far as the eye can see.
Being Wild Side was my ticket out of a tough upbringing, and slipping into character always feels like tugging on a favorite old hoodie. It feels like peace.
I heave my shoulders once and stare down straight into the camera, curling my lip in a subtle sneer. “I may not be there in person, but I’ve got a special message for Little Willy, as I like to call him.”
A quiet snicker sounds from behind me, and my eyes close. I don’t even need to turn around to know that Tabitha is somewhere near the top of the stairs, watching me.
I sigh heavily. “Tabby.”
“Wild Side.”
“Tabitha.”
“Sorry,” she squeaks back. “Little Willy broke me.”
Tugging my mask off, I turn to face her. She’s huddled at the top of the stairs, peeking through the railings, one piece of unfinished lumber in each hand, face visible through the gap. Like a little kid caught spying.
“I need ten minutes.”
“You really expect me to go upstairs and pretend you aren’t doing this down here? You overestimate my maturity, Dupris. If I’m not sitting here, I’ll be holding an empty can up to the door to eavesdrop.”
I say nothing, opting to glare at her and cross my arms. It’s getting harder and harder to keep this unaffected front up around Tabitha. Between the wedding, the odd outburst of sexual tension, the constant touching in public, and me spilling my guts to her at the rose field, we’re feeling a lot more like friends who want to fuck than enemies who want to fuck.
We’re feeling complicated and inevitable all at once.
“Let me help you,” she says, surprising me with her offer. Then, without an invitation, she marches down the stairs and heads straight for my laptop.
Anxiety swirls in my gut. I have never merged these personal and professional worlds in any major way. But Tabitha waltzes across the divide with such ease and eagerness that I don’t have it in me to stop her.
Instead, I stand back and watch her approach the screen and start the video over from the beginning. My cheeks go hot as it plays back. It’s one thing to know she’s watched me on TV and another thing to stand here and experience it.
“Do you like this background? It looks like you’re being held hostage.”
My lips twitch. “That’s fine. It’s unidentifiable and all one color.”
“You look fucking jacked in this T-shirt.”
I scrub a hand over my mouth. “Thanks?”
“Yeah. But the lighting is all wrong. We need you topop. We need…” She tilts her head, her body doing this shimmy thing which does absolutely nothing except draw my attention to her perfectly round ass. The faded black Levi’s she’s wearing just add to the shape, and I have to think about something gross to stave off the hardness in my boxers.
A long piece of hair that you can feel but can’t get off.
The liquid on top of sour cream when you open the container.
Band-Aids in a public pool.
“I’m just going to…” She moves around the unfinished basement, flicking lights on and placing the bedside lamp into a strategic spot. Then she goes to stand where I was and peers back at the screen. “Okay, the lighting is better, but the camera on this thing sucks. Let’s do it on your phone.”
“What?”
“I’ll record you. That way, I can zoom in and shit. I do aesthetic food videos for the bistro all the time.”
She holds a palm out in my direction, and I stare down at it. “No.”
