Page 7 of Walk on the Wilde Side
Mona's laugh is sharp enough that I have to pull the phone away from my ear. "What an idiot I am. Of course that's what you're asking about. Everything is just great. I made a little mix-up on one woman's order. She asked for the vegetarian, and I stuck some ham in there. She came back with the reddest face. It was just an honest mistake and, really, she made a big deal out of nothing."
"No, Mona, that is a big deal. If she's not a meat eater, I'm sure she was horrified to bite into ham. You've got to pay attention when you're making sandwiches. You could end up giving someone with a deadly food allergy the wrong food. Please pay closer attention."
"I will." That's the nice thing about her. She takes criticism and genuinely tries to make the changes I request.
I'm facing the parking lot. It's crowded. Busy day at the hospital for midweek. Behind me, the big doors slide open. I look over my shoulder. Zander is walking out.
"I've got to go, Mona. I'll be back just as soon as I can. Start cutting the vegetables for tomorrow. See you soon."
"All right and don't worry. I've got everything under control." I love her confidence, but I'm not quite at her level yet.
I can almost feel his heavy steps behind me. The smell of dirt and sweat and masculinity wafts around me. I turn to face him. My heart rate is just starting to slow to normal. I know so much about science and biology, but I can't figure out why, after all these years, Zander Wilde still shocks my nervous system into overdrive.
"What did the doctor say?" I ask quickly to avoid our usual awkward silence gaps where we stare at each other tongue-tied for a long stretch.
"He'll be fine. He's going to have to lay off the booze and steak and cigars, but we all know that's not going to happen." Zander combs his fingers through his thick hair. There's a smudge of dirt on his arm. It blots out some of his tattoos, including my personal favorite, a cobra that circles his forearm. His work shirt is rolled up to expose most of his massive forearms, and the movement of fingers through his hair makes the muscles slide past each other. It shouldn't be erotic, but something about the muscle flex and the smear of dirt sends a surge of warmth through me.
It takes me a second to find my words. I'm no longer fourteen-year-old Nevada Mason, cool, smart and insanely nuts about Zander Wilde, but at this moment, you couldn't tell me from teen Nev. "Uh, maybe this scared him enough to make him change his ways."
"I don't know about that. You saw him in there. He's already back to his ornery self."
I roll my lips in not sure whether or not to release my next comment. Zander knows me too well. "Uh-oh, Nevvie has something to say. She always pulls in those plump, pink lips when she can't decide whether or not to say it."
"I do not pull in my lips," I say, defensively. It's silly because I know that I did exactly that just seconds ago.
"All right. My imagination. Guess I spend so much time staring at those lips, I've got them memorized."
Zander always knows exactly what to say to fluster me and turn me into a blushing fool.
My phone buzzes, and I'm thankful for the interruption. It's Kinsley.
Can't you find another ride? I'm going shopping with Monica for her engagement dress.
"Damnit," I mutter. I'd forgotten about her plans.
"Trouble? By the way—" Zander scans the parking lot. "I don't see your car. How'd you get here?"
"By ambulance."
"Wait, you rode with Dad in the ambulance?"
I'm still hesitant to say anything, but again, Zander is reading my mind. He does that too easily.
His blue eyes squint with comprehension. "He asked you to go with him." He tries to make it sound like a question, but he knows by the look on my face.
"Don't say a word to him," I warn.
"Nah, I won't. What exactly happened?"
"Your dad walked into the sandwich shop. I thought he looked kind of pale, and there were beads of sweat on his forehead, far too much sweat for the temperature. He was squinting up at the menu trying to pick a sandwich."
Zander shakes his head. "Refuses to wear those 'old lady glasses' as he calls them. You see, real men don't have eye trouble."
I smile. "He's a real larger-than-life character, isn't he? I guess that's why I was reluctant to tell you that he asked me along in the ambulance. Seeing Finnegan Wilde scared—well, that was a humbling experience. He started rubbing his left arm, and he lost even more color. Sweat was pouring off him and then it seemed like talking was taking too much breath. I circled around to the customer side of the counter. There were a few other customers. One of them helped him to a chair while I called an ambulance. It didn't take a medical professional to see that he was having a heart attack. He denied it at first, but the pain increased. He took hold of my hand." I chuckled. "He pulled me closer and whispered through short breaths—'Nev, I love your shop, but don't let me die ordering a fucking sandwich.' The medics arrived and stabilized him. He reached for my hand again. 'I don't want to die being surrounded by people I don't know.' It was his way of telling me he wanted me to go with him."
Zander falls silent for a moment. "Shit, never knew he had it in him," he says quietly. "Fear, that is." He lifts his blue gaze to mine, and suddenly we're back into our old magnetic stare trick, where we both silently dare the other to look away first. "Thanks for being there, Nev. I'll get Jameson's keys and drive you to the sandwich shop."
"You don't have to. I can take an Uber."
