Page 90 of Wild

“Okay,” I agree, trying to hide my relief.

My biggest fear about telling her dad is no longer about him dropping us, or even hating me—it’s the fear he could be the reason I lose her.

Joshua Hayes is her father, a guarantee in her life.

I’m the guy she’s only known for two months.

I’m replaceable. He’s not.

I brush a strand of red hair behind her ear, taking in the sharp lines of her cheekbones and full lips. She’s focused on her food, but from the slight jump in her cheek I know she’s aware of my touch.

I’ve never known anything like this. I want to believe it’s special, different, but what if I’m wrong. Inexperienced isn’t a word I’d use to describe myself, but it’s exactly what I am when it comes to relationships. I know nothing and it scares me shitless.

I glide my thumb around the shell of her ear and she shivers. My food lays forgotten in my lap. I want to look at her, memorize every feature. She looks over at me and doesn’t cower from my scrutiny. Instead, she looks right back, and I almost jolt physically, because I see the same fear in her eyes.

I hate this feeling of being on solid ground together, but the minute we think about letting other people in on this, important people, suddenly the ground is quaking and we’re falling endlessly into the unknown.

But if I’m going to fall with anyone I choose her, always.

I force myself to stop staring at her and turn my attention to my food.

“This is fucking delicious,” I tell her, and I mean it too.

She smiles. “My mom taught me how to cook—I’ll confess, it’s rare I make an entire meal anymore, I don’t have the time, but I enjoy cooking when I do.

“I can’t cook worth a shit,” I admit. She knows this.

“I should teach you sometime.”

I laugh at the idea, but say, “I’d enjoy it.”

I’ll admit, my mind is imagining her teaching me to cook leading to a loss of clothes and dirty kitchen sex.

She smirks, knowing exactly where my thoughts strayed. I can’t help myself. I’m a dirty bastard and I’ve finally found my equal.

Mia’s innocent in many ways, but my God she’s adventurous. Never, not once, has she balked at anything I’ve wanted to try. I love how open she is, and her trust in me is astounding.

She turns the TV on and changes it to … “Are we seriously going to watch National Geographic?” I ask with an upturned brow.

She glances over at me offended. A speck of tomato sauce clings to her lip. I reach over and brush it away with my thumb and she licks her lips.

“What’s wrong with National Geographic?” she retorts, the pleasure that previously flashed in her eyes at my touch vanishing.

“I mean … it’s … like educational, right? Boring?”

She glares at me, her mouth parted aghast. “What?” I defend.

“Don’t judge me for liking to learn about dead things.”

I snort and turn my attention to the screen. “Ew, what the fuck is that?”

“It’s an Egyptian mummy,” she explains. “It’s a documentary on how they used to prepare the bodies. Did you know they used to insert a tool through the nose to liquefy the brain? They’d then tip the body forward so the liquid brain could pour out of the nose.”

I gag and hold up my hands. “I’m trying toeat, Mia. Shut up. That’s disgusting.”

“I find it fascinating.”

“Freak,” I joke.

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