Wilder’s eyes go wide. It almost makes me want to laugh, but I don’t do laughter. Except, right now, I actually could laugh at him. He looks like Harlow just said the strangest thing he’s ever heard.
He glances at me for a second before looking back at her. “You say the oddest shit sometimes, Harlow.”
I nod. It’s maybe the first time I’ve ever agreed with him in the year and a half I’ve known him. “I told you, ignore her.”
Harlow waves us off dismissively. “I know what I see, and I see you two together. And I’d really like to see that before I die, okay, so get your shit together or I might have to do it for you.”
With that, she walks away from us and exits the storeroom, leaving Wilder and I staring after her.
“Jesus,” he says, eyeing me. “She’s lost the plot.”
I nod, agreeing with him for a second time. That annoys me, so I snap, “Yeah, now do you think you could leave me in peace so I can get this job done and go home?”
The look of frustration I know so well appears in his eyes. “Yeah, and do you think you could leave your attitude at home tomorrow? We’ve got a lot on, and I don’t need you in my face arguing with me over every damn thing.”
“Of course, I live to serve you, master.” Asshole.
“Clearly,” he mutters before leaving me.
My traitorous eyes drop to his ass as he exits the room. I’ll be having words with them later. Just like I’ll be having words with Harlow. She needs to stop with this bullshit about me and Wilder. We are not made for each other.
2
Wilder
I will never understand women. Fucking never. The only thing I’ll ever understand is that once you add sex to a relationship, shit gets fucked up.
“Wilder, are you even listening to me?”
I eye Taylor, who’s standing in my bedroom with her hands on her hips, glaring at me like she wants to kill me. In the two months we’ve been dating, she’s looked at me this way three times, and each time I knew to tread carefully. Today, not so fucking much because I’m just as pissed this time.
“Yeah, I’m listening to you.” I swipe my shirt up off the floor where she dropped it fifteen minutes ago when she was feeling a whole lot nicer towards me. Pulling it over my head, I add, “And I think I’m done.”
Her eyes widen as her hands dig harder into her hips. “You’re done with me? That’s rich when I wasn’t even started with you.”
Not news to me, but fuck if it still isn’t a kick in the guts. We’ve been friends for two years, and I didn’t want to take us further than that, but she pushed for it and I went along for the ride. It’s been bumpy as hell, though, and I kept telling myself to end things. However, every time I came close, she did something that caused me to hold off. She’s spent two months running hot and cold with me, and I fucking knew we were headed for this, but I stupidly kept letting her lead us to where we are now.
I’m not into confrontation if it won’t be productive, and I know this won’t be, so I say, “Can we not do this?”
That doesn’t go down well. Not if the way she glares at me is any indication. “I thought you were different to other guys, but it turns out you’re not.”
“Fuck, Taylor, we go down this path and any friendship we might be able to salvage is gone. You really wanna do that?”
She woke up this morning looking for sex and then changed her mind, wanting to get into a conversation about how she feels I didn’t support her last weekend when a guy said something offensive about her boob job at a party we were at. I came in late on that conversation, so I missed most of what he said, and by the time I showed up, it seemed to me she had it under control. Apparently not. Apparently she wanted me to deck the asshole in her defence.
“If you think I want to be friends with a guy who doesn’t stand up for me when I need it, you’re dreaming.”
“Let me get this straight, you’re looking for a guy who’ll get his fists out to solve every little problem that comes up with someone? Am I reading you right?”
She shrugs. “I want a man who takes my back at all times. I don’t think that’s asking for too much.”
“Yeah, well, I’m not the man for you then. I’m not going to get into a fight with a guy every time you want me to.” Fuck, how did I not know this about her before getting myself into this?
“And here I was thinking you’re a biker, so you have balls.”
“I have balls, darlin’. I also have a fuckin’ brain.”
She snatches her shirt off the bed and slips it back on. Then, grabbing her bag, she says, “Don’t bother to call me again. We’re over.”
I know the sound of my front door slamming shut as she exits my place is the last I’ll ever hear from her. If there’s one thing I know for sure about Taylor, it’s that when she’s done with someone, she’s done. Her breaks are swift and clean. I’ll miss her friendship, because we had some fun over the years, but I won’t miss her moods that I’ve been subjected to since we started seeing each other.
Christ.
Mental note: keep my dick firmly in my pants where friends are concerned.
A text comes through on my phone as I walk into my kitchen. I groan when I see Scarlett’s name on the screen. She’s the one person in my life who pushes every fucking button I own. Hell, the woman has found buttons I didn’t even know existed.
Scarlett: Just a heads-up, Trilogy has been broken into. It’s a mess here.
Jesus.
I call her. “What kind of mess are we talking?”
“They broke in through a back window and then smashed all the glass at the bar and all the alcohol too. They’ve trashed the bar completely, slashed the fabric on a stack of seats, carved up the tables, and sprayed graffiti over every surface they could find. This actually looks more like vandalism than a break-in.”
“Anything missing?”
“Not that I can see. Maybe they got the shits because they couldn’t get into the safe, and that’s why they trashed everything. You gonna be here soon?”
“Yeah. In about fifteen minutes.”
“Okay.”
She ends the call as abruptly as she always does. Scarlett might frustrate the hell out of me most of the time, but she’s not big on small talk, and that’s something I appreciate about her.
I grab my keys and make the short ride from my place in New Farm to the Valley where Trilogy’s located. When I get there, I see that Scarlett wasn’t exaggerating when she said it’s a fucking mess. That was a given, though. Scarlett doesn’t exaggerate about anything except how good her memory is.
She’s in the kitchen when I arrive, on her hands and knees with her ass in the air, said ass barely covered by skin-tight leather pants. The sight takes me by surprise. Not because she’s down on the floor like she is—I’ve seen that before—but because of what she’s wearing.
“You forget your shirt today?”
I’m staring at a whole lot of skin.
Skin I don’t wanna be staring at.
My eyes are everywhere.