Page 17 of Stay Wild Darlin’

A white Jeep Wrangler, spotless like it had never seen a dirt road in its life, rolled up the driveway, its headlights cutting through the dark.

I frowned. “A friend?” I asked Fable.

Her smile only widened.

“Dude.” Harleigh scoffed, shifting in her seat.

Gatlin, who’d been relaxed a second ago, suddenly sat up straighter, looking between them. “What are y’all up to?”

“No, you didn’t,” Beau muttered, already rising to his feet, like he knew exactly what was about to happen.

That put me on edge. “What the fuck is going on?”

Harleigh and Gatlin stood, too, and I knew something was off.

“Oh, you’ll see,” Harleigh said with a laugh, brushing past me as she headed toward the car.

The driver’s side door swung open, and out stepped a woman, her hair flowing in the soft breeze as she moved to the trunk. A moment later, she pulled out . . . suitcases?

What the hell?

“Fable,” Beau said in warning. “Is now a good time?”

She was already up on her feet, bounding down the driveway like a kid on Christmas morning.

I didn’t like that. Didn’t like any of this. “What the fuck is happening?” I repeated, louder this time.

Harleigh laughed again, shooting me a look over her shoulder.

I moved, my boots crunching against the gravel as I followed them down the drive, pulse hammering in my throat.

Fable was already chatting away, welcoming the girl to Lindley like she was rolling out the damn red carpet by the time Gat, Beau, and I caught up to them.

The girl turned her head slightly, her gaze flicking up to mine before darting to Fable. “Why is he here?”

My brows pulled together. Why the fuck did she look so familiar?

I remembered most of the women I fucked—usually—but something about her stood out.

I took a step closer, letting the light from the Jeep cast her in a glow.

Light brown hair, thick and swaying down her back. A long maxi skirt hugged her hips, the hem skimming the tops of her sandals. A denim vest was pulled snug, showing off soft curves. Her skin was the color of moonlight, her lips a natural blush, her cheeks dusted with the kind of flush that made her look almost untouchable.

I’d remember if I fucked her because she was a fucking dream.

I narrowed my eyes. “Who are you?”

Fable looked between us, then sighed. “You remember Poppy, Dalt. We met her last month when we went out after your win. She was the⁠—”

“Bartender,” I finished for her, the memory snapping into place.

Seattle. The bar. The brunette with the sharp mouth and soft laugh.

Fuck.

“What are you doing here?” Poppy and I asked at the same time, fixing our eyes back on Fable.

Fable chuckled awkwardly, throwing a bag into my hands.