Page 38 of The Wildcat

“Not a date.”

“Dates are romantic. Trust me, a screaming baby and the Disney channel are about as far away from romance as you can get.” Hopefully, it’s not as bad as it sounds, but I’m probably setting us up for a shitshow.

Everly

My pulse races as I call my sister from the Bluetooth in my car while I follow Cross to his house.

Thankfully, my sister picks up after the first ring. “Hey,” she answers, breathing heavy. “I’ve got five minutes before I have to be back in the studio. What’s up?”

“Holy shit, Grace. He walked in the shop in gray sweatpants and a white t-shirt, and his hair was wet, and his ball cap was on backward, and...andhe remembered my coffee order and brought me exactly what I like, and now I’m on my way to his house to have dinner with him and his kids, and I’m freaking the fuck out a little bit here.”

“He brought you coffee?”

“One pump chocolate, one pump raspberry.”

“Holy shit. That’s like your love language,” she squeaks.

“I. Know.”

“Okay, breath. You can do this. Pull your big panties up and act like the bad-ass bitch you are.”

“A, my panties are not big.” A ridiculously loud snort rips from her throat, but I ignore it. “And B, was that your idea of a pep talk?”

“Listen. I’m starving. I’m sore. And I’m horny. And you’re bitching because a gorgeous man in gray sweatpants, that probably show off what I’m betting is an enormous dick, brought you coffee and is taking you home to make you dinner. Bad-ass bitch is better than calling you a scaredy cat. Now, embrace the fear. Enjoy the dinner. And let him get to second base. Loveyou. Gotta go.” She makes a kissing sound into the phone before disconnecting the call, and I screech into my empty car.

Not helpful, Gracie.

So much for sisterly solidarity.

Cross turns into Lindy’s old neighborhood on Kroydon Lake, and I follow him to the far end of the neighborhood with the older, bigger properties, that back up to the biggest part of the lake and falls. We pull down a driveway that’s got to be nearly half a mile long, lined with old oak trees and covered in burnt orange leaves on either side of the lane. The driveway stops next to a restored farmhouse that looks like something you find on an episode of HGTV after a contractor spent a fortune bringing a gorgeous old house back to its original glory. Flower baskets hang from a white porch that looks like it wraps 360 degrees around the entire house. It’s beautiful.

I grab my bag from the front seat and walk over to Cross’s truck, trying to ignore the nerves clawing at me.

He’s got a Sweet Temptations bag in one hand and a hockey bag thrown over his shoulder. And my goodness... He really does makes sweatpants look almost pornographic, and I’m here for it.

He looks at me, like he’s expecting me to bolt at any moment, and guilt mixes in with my nerves. “You ready for this?”

I have a split-second to decide Gracie’s right. I’m a bad-ass bitch, albeit with tiny, sexy, panties. I decide what I want to do. And I decide what I’m comfortable with. I straighten my shoulders and pull up my proverbial panties. I can do this. “Sure. Kids love me.”

Cross presses his palm to my back—the way I’m learning he likes to do... and I’m starting to enjoy—and guides me to the side door of the house. “The kids are easy. It’s my brother who’s probably gonna be a pain in the ass.”

“Oh, pain-in-the-ass brothers, I can handle.”

We walk into the house, and Cross dumps his hockey bag in a white-paneled mudroom, lined with cubbies for coats and shoes. A sparkly purple backpack sits neatly in one, while a black minty green Macbook charges in the one next to it. And I’m reminded that I’ve been invited into his personal space, and I don’t get the feeling that’s something Cross takes lightly.

We move into a country chic kitchen and Cross drops the Sweet Temptations bag on the counter before a slightly younger-looking version of him pops up from where his face is stuffed in the fridge. “Hey, asshat. Did you bring home din... ner?”

He looks at me, dragging his eyes over me from the bow in my hair down to the toes of my shoes, and I resist the urge to flinch. Instead, I lift my eyes to Cross. “You Wilder boys do not make the best first impressions, do you?”

“Yeah... That’s Ares,” Cross groans. “Watch out for him. He’s not housebroken.”

“Dude. I’m not a fucking dog,” Ares argues as Bellamy walks in, holding a cranky-looking baby, who I’m assuming is Jax.

“You’re totally a dog, and nowhere near housebroken. You’re also kinda always in heat.” She hands Jax off to Cross. “Don’t bother denying it just because Everly is here.”

“The fuck? I’m not in heat.” He pulls a bottle of vitamin water from the fridge and glares at his sister. “How do you know who she is?” Ares asks, and I realize he kind of reminds me of Leo. “And why’s everyone picking on me?”

“Because you just checked me out like I’m a stripper,” I tell him, and Cross and Bellamy both turn and stare. “What?” I ask Cross. “I told you I can handle brothers. I’ve got three of them.”

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