Wilder

The doorbell rings at exactly seven. Not a minute early, not a minute late.

Alex Parsons, always punctual it seems.

I smooth down the front of my little black dress. It’s short, of course, because why show up to a date looking like you’re not ready for fun. The fabric is thin, soft, almost velvety, clinging to my curves in a way that feels a little unfair. My boobs look incredible in this thing. Like, distractingly good. Full, pushed up, barely contained by the low cut. One wrong move and I’d be spilling out of it. The thought makes heat crawl up my neck, settle low in my stomach.

Pausing in front of the hallway mirror, I give myself one last look. My curls fall just right, soft and bouncy around my shoulders. My makeup is clean, sharp, flawless. My tan lines are hidden,thank God.

I grab the handle and pull the door open, already smiling, already pretending I’m not worked up.

And then there he is.

Alex leans against my doorframe like he’s been standing there forever, like this is his place and I’m the one arriving. Six-foot-one of solid muscle in a fitted black t-shirt that clings to his chest and arms in a way that feels intentional. His jeans sit low on his hips, hugging his thighs, stretching exactly enough when he shifts his weight. It should not be legal for a man to look that good doing absolutely nothing.

His hair is messy in that careless, just-ran-my-hand-through-it way, and those warm brown eyes lock onto me instantly, lighting up like he found exactly what he was hoping for.

My stomach drops. Then flips. Then does something worse.

“Skylar,” he says, and the way my name comes out of his mouth is low, slow, like he’s been thinking about it. Like he’s said it before when I wasn’t around. “You look... fuck. Wow.”

Heat slides up my chest, settles right under my skin. I don’t even try to hide it. I turn in place, slow, letting the skirt ride up my thighs enough as it flares out.

“Wow back at you, Parsons,” I say, dragging my eyes over him, not subtle about it. “Honestly, I’m starting to think Emma was hiding you on purpose. And now I get why.”

It’s true. The second Emma introduced us, something clicked. Same energy. Same sarcasm. Same inability to shut the hell up once we got going. He feels familiar in a way that should probably be a warning.

Alex laughs, that easy, rough sound that hits me somewhere low. “Emma’s got good taste,” he says, stepping closer. “But I think tonight, I’m borrowing it.”

My pulse jumps. I grab my clutch before I do something stupid like reach for him.

I lock the door behind me, forcing my voice to stay light. “So where are you taking me, exactly?” I glance back at him, smirking. “And please tell me it involves alcohol. I survived an eight-hour shift at the café and my fake nice voice is dead.”

He moves past me to his Jeep, opening the passenger door like he’s been raised right, and it shouldn’t be hot, but it is. Itreallyis.

“I’ve got the whole night planned,” he says, his voice dropping as I slide into the seat. “But it’s a surprise.”

I glance up at him as he rounds the front of the Jeep, one eyebrow lifting. “A surprise? You really think I’m not going to pry that out of you?”

He settles into the driver’s seat, hands gripping the wheel, that stupid grin already back on his face. “I’m sure you could.”

His words feel like an innuendo and I watch him for a second longer than I should.

Yeah. This feels like trouble.

***

The drive is easy. The kind of easy that feels like we’ve known each other for years, not weeks. His Jeep is clean but lived in, smelling faintly like him, like leather and something warm, like the inside of a gym locker but in a good way, if that’s even possible. The radio is on but quiet, some indie station playing something with a beat you could nod to. His hands on the wheel are distracting, long fingers, strong veins, the kind of hands that could do things to a person.

I cross my legs, the hem of my dress riding up, and I notice the way his eyes dart to my thighs before forcing themselves back to the road. He thinks I don’t see. I seeeverything.

“Okay,” I say, leaning my head back against the seat, turning to face him fully. “I’ve been patient. I’ve been a saint. Give me something. Anything. Are we going to dinner? A movie? A secret underground fight club where you get to show off those soccer muscles and I get to yell inappropriate things from the sidelines?”

He laughs, shaking his head. “No fight club tonight, Sky. Though now I’m kinda wishing I’d thought of that.”

I pout, but I’m smiling. “Come on, Alex. One hint. Just one. I’m a curious girl. Curiosity killed the cat, you know.”

“Satisfaction brought it back,” he counters, smooth as hell. “And don’t think I haven’t noticed how you’ve been trying to work it out of me. You’re not subtle.”

“I’m not trying to be subtle,” I shoot back, reaching over to rest my hand on his thigh. His muscle tenses under my touch for a second, before he relaxes into it. “I’m trying to get what I want. Usually works for me.”

His breath hitches. “Yeah, I bet it does.”

The city lights blur past us, streaks of color in the dark. The air between us buzzes with something new, something a little reckless. He shifts in his seat, and my hand slides higher, my pinky brushing against the inseam of his jeans. His knuckles go white on the steering wheel.

I lean closer, my voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. “Three questions,” I say. “That’s it. I get to ask you three questions about where we’re going, and you have to answer them honestly.”

He glances at me, a slow smile spreading across his face. “Three questions. That’s your final offer?”

“That’s my final offer,” I say, like I’m negotiating a hostage situation. “Take it or leave it.”

He thinks for a second, tapping his fingers on the wheel. “Alright,” he says, turning onto a street lined with bars and restaurants, the music from spilling out onto the sidewalks. “Three questions. Hit me.”

Okay. Here we go.

I sit up straighter, pulling my hand back, because now we’re playing for real.

“Question one,” I say, my tone all business. “Are we going somewhere that serves food?”

“Yes,” he says. “But it’s not the main event.”

Okay, not dinner then. Good to know. My stomach rumbles anyway.

“Question two,” I say, leaning toward him again. “Is it loud?”

He hesitates, then grins. “It can be,” he says. “Depending on who’s there.”

Vague. Annoyingly, hotly vague.

“Last question,” I say, my voice dropping lower, leaning in so close I can feel the warmth coming off him. I let my fingers trace the seam of his jeans again. “Is it somewhere where I can make an absolute fool of myself in public?”

He turns to look at me, and the look in his eyes is pure fire. He stops at a red light, and the car goes quiet except for the low thrum of the engine.

“Oh,” he says, and his voice is rough. “I’m counting on it.”

And then he pulls up in front of a bar with a neon sign in the window. It’s a microphone. A bright, flashing, neon microphone that saysTune Town Karaokein bubbly letters.

My jaw drops. I look from the sign to Alex, and he’s sitting there, watching me, a huge, proud, shit-eating grin on his face.

“Nofuckingway,” I breathe, a massive, giddy smile breaking out across my face. “Are youserious?”

“I am one hundred percent serious,” he says, killing the engine. “Emma told me you like to make an entrance.”

“Make an entrance?” I say, already unbuckling my seatbelt, practically vibrating with excitement. “Alex, I’m about to blow this place to the fucking ground.”

He laughs, that full, genuine laugh that makes my whole body feel warm. “That’s what I was hoping for.”