Page 36 of Wild Side
“Perhaps an alarm system is a happy medium between an arsenal of guns and an unlocked door?” Ford suggests dryly. His delivery makes it hard to tell if he’s mocking me or offering a serious solution.
An alarm system. I don’t hate the idea, but before I can ask any further questions about it, all the guys’ heads turn to the front of the bowling alley. And I don’t just mean our team of four. I mean every head in the house turns to face three women who’ve entered the building. And leading the charge is none other than Tabitha.
She doesn’t spare anyone a single glance except the bartender, Frankie, who she greets with more joy than I’ve ever seen her give anyone other than Milo. I assume he’s with her parents tonight, but I don’t know because we don’t talk, and I have to fight the urge to rush over and ask her.
What holds me back more than anything is that somehow, tonight, she lookslighter. She takes a seat at the bar, and I soak her in.
She’s fucking stunning. She always is, but the heavier eye makeup and lively flush on her cheeks, paired with the way her hair falls down her back in a shiny, dark curtain, stops me in my tracks.
Usually, I see her looking casual, and that already makes my dick hard. So imagine his excitement when she strolls into Rose Valley Alley wearing leather pants, a cropped Rolling Stones T-shirt, and a pair of strappy black stilettos. The heels are pointy enough that I’m sure she’s at least considered attempting to murder me with them later. And it’s as I mull this over and try not to gawk that her friends join her at the bar.
One of them has dirty-blond hair and a mischievous twinkle in her eye. The other is Skylar Stone, a famous country-pop star. And based on the way Ford and West immediately migrate in their direction, I quickly figure out who’s who.
Tabitha, Rosie, and Skylar are out for drinks. It’s not that difficult to identify the women based on Ford and West’s constant chatter about them.
But the sly wink Tabitha just sent my way tells me they didn’t end up here by accident. From that fuckable mouth to the red tips of her toes peeping out of her heels, she’s gottroublewritten all over her.
She looks younger, and it’s got me wondering just how young she might be. I wrack my brain, trying to remember Erika’s age and figure out the gap between them.
I turn, sit down, and decide to retie my shoes just to keep from engaging with her. Bash is unbothered by the other guys’ departure, and he doesn’t follow suit, just sips his beer and scrolls through his phone.
The chatter from the bar on the other side of the swinging gate filters my way. I can hear Tabitha giving West hell for something or other. In response, West recounts how the bowling team is named the Ball Bustersin honor of Tabitha.
She gives him more hell. He gets a kick out of it, and everything between them is incredibly good-natured.
Once, I thought there was something there. Now all I hear is two people bantering like siblings.
It’s nothing like the jabs she and I exchange. Not even close.
With my shoes unnecessarily and meticulously retied, the movement of a tall, lanky form striding past draws my attention. It’s the guy all the others call Stretch. He gives off slimy vibes, and it doesn’t surprise me that no one likes him. I’ve known my fair share of guys like him. Hell, I work for a guy like him.
He approaches Tabitha, eyes leering, mouth twisted in a suggestive smirk. Where West is playful, this guy is not.
I don’t like it.
I don’t likehim.
I absently start a list of men I want to kill for looking at Tabitha like she’s their next meal. It’s irrational and out of character.
But here I am, behaving irrationally and out of character.
My steps are quiet and metered as I approach him. Years of training have made me more agile than I have any right to be at my size.
“Strikes me that if you wanted to name the team after Tabitha, you could have called it the Tongue Twisters,” Stretch says as I get close to hear. “Can you still tie a knot in a cherry stem?”
My teeth clamp and my muscles tense as I measure him from behind. I’m sure he’s accustomed to being the biggest guy in the room, but not anymore.
Tabitha looks him over, eyes moving down and then back up like she finds him pathetic, and amusing, and entirely lacking. The way she looks at him hands me back a couple of shreds of my dignity that I threw away when I decided to march over here and interrupt them.
All I know is that I don’t want him near her. And she doesn’t want him near her either.
“Still dreaming about the only blow job you ever got, Terence? Was that tenth grade? Shame that you peaked so young.”
Blow job. She says it with a confident smile. Jealousy licks at my spine. It’s both unwelcome and undeniable. I am jealous of every fucker who so much as glances in Tabitha’s direction, let alone one who’s had his dick in her mouth.
The smarmy loser starts to talk again. “You know?—”
But I don’t let him get far. With two steps, I’m behind him, and my hand is on his neck. Casually, of course. But I could squeeze and make things a hell of a lot less casual. I use my best stage voice. Speed, clarity, volume, poise, stance—my stance isslightly off to one side. From behind, people might think we’re old friends, but everyone facing us knows better when I drop my face down beside his.
