Page 70 of Wild Side
And without overthinking the fact that I’m doingthiswithher, I point at the camera with authority, and talk. “I’ve got a special message for Little Willy. And it’s that he better be ready to lose at Pure Pandemonium. He’ll be wiping his tears with all the money he never earned. Because that belt is going to be back where it belongs”—I gesture to my waist—“and that’s with me: a real champion.
“Yeah, I’ll let him borrow my belt just long enough to make a fool of himself. He can traipse around in his fancy suit, running his mouth, relying on cheap shots and brass knuckles—as every loser in this company needs to when they try to beat me. But none of that is going to work, because I’ll be ready. I’ll be training where he and his goons can’t find me.”
I pause for dramatic effect before continuing. “In fact, I’ll be the one to findhim.And when I do, you better believe I’m gonna drag that pathetic trust-fund baby to the Wild Side, take his ass over the mountain, and show him how real men settle the score.”
I wait several seconds and then nod. Tabitha is grinning like a total loon when she nods back and lowers the phone.
I tug my mask back instantly and glare at her. “What?”
Her cheeks twitch. “Nothing.”
“You’re smiling like the Joker. That’s not nothing.”
She shrugs, staring down at the phone. “I just didn’t have you being an overgrown drama nerd on my bingo card.”
Hands on my hips, I look away to cover a smile.
“Gonna drag that pathetic trust-fund baby to the Wild Side,” she imitates with gusto. My first reaction is to go on the defensive, but then she adds, “God, that was amazing. Do you make that shit up on the fly? I could never.”
I watch her smile down at the screen as my gravelly voice filters from the device. With only a few long strides, I stand beside her, looking down at the recording. And she wasn’t wrong. The lightingisbetter. She even zoomed in slowly so that you get a good close-up as I deliver my parting words.
I put an arm over her shoulder, mask dangling from my hand, and pull her in for a side hug. Partly a weird attempt at being friendly but casual, and partly because I itch to touch her. I want to tell her how special it is to me that she jumped in and helped with this.
But where Wild Side is just fine with expressing himself, Rhys is more like squeezing blood from rocks where emotions are concerned.
“Thank you, Tabby,” is what I settle on. It’s simple, but it gets the job done.
She turns her smile up at me. And fuck, it’s blinding. “Mrs. Wild Side to the rescue. Do we get to do more?”
My brows jump in surprise. “More?”
“Yeah. Like… again? Will I get to see my clip on TV?”
“Yourclip?”
“Oh yeah.” She scoffs and mimes brushing dirt off her shoulder. All it does is draw my eyes down the front of her soft black sweater—the one with the plunging neckline and layered gold necklaces. From here, I can see a peek of a red bra, and I swallow the groan that surges up in my throat at the sight. “I’m your official camerawoman now. In fact…”
I’m so busy gawking at her that my reaction time is slow.
She grabs my mask and spins out of my hold, hiking it over her face in one fluid motion. “I think I need a headshot and video credit.”
“Absolutely not.” I reach for her, but she turns away again.
“Never mind this wedding band. I need a matching mask,” she calls over her shoulder as she hustles away, laughter floating through the chilled basement.
I go after her, covering the ground in long strides. I don’t know why I’m doing this. It’s one of several masks. Nothing special, really. Maybe I’m just looking for an excuse to follow her around. “Tabitha.”
She turns and strikes a pose with a hand beneath her chin at the base of the stairs. The lime-green lines on the mask pop against her dark hair. “Admit it. I look cute like this.”
“That’s not the word I’d use,” I grumble, reaching forward with a chuckle as I make a feeble attempt at unmasking her.
Her sweater slips between my fingers as she jogs up a few steps before taunting me. “How are you going to catch Little Willy, Rhys? You can’t even catch me.”
And then my wife, wearing my mask, holds her fingers up in a peace sign, sticks her tongue out, and snaps a selfie on my phone.
I take two steps with one stride, and this time, I do catch her. My hands snag on her waist, and I drag her down onto my lap as I turn. And then I’m seated on the stairs, back pressed to the steps behind me, with Tabitha straddling me.
I peel the mask back and toss it over my shoulder, gaze burning across her features.
