Page 63 of Stay Wild Darlin’

He blinked, broke the stare, and dragged a hand through his hair with a rough exhale.

“Shit,” he muttered, mostly to himself. “We should head back.”

The words sliced through the tension like a blade.

I swallowed hard and nodded, fingers curling in the grass to keep them from doing something impulsive.

He stood first, brushing off his jeans, then offered a hand to help me up. I hesitated—not because I didn’t want to take it, but because I did.

I slipped my hand into his anyway.

A beat too long before he let go.

We didn’t speak on the walk back, and when we reached the truck, Dalton opened the passenger door for me without a word.

He started the engine, adjusted the AC like he suddenly needed the air, then pulled out of the lot and back onto the road.

I looked out the window, trying to ignore the pulse behind my thighs, the way my skin still remembered how close he’d been at the lake. How much I’d wanted him to close that last inch.

What the hell are you doing?

I wasn’t sure if I meant him or myself.

Because whatever this was, it was different than it had ever been, and pretending otherwise wasn’t going to work anymore.

I pulled out my phone and opened the group online. I wasn’t even sure why I did it anymore—habit, mostly. A little chaos. A little therapy. Okay, sometimes, I needed to throw something into the void and see what came back.

I tapped into the group and typed:

If you and someone almost touch a lot—like hands brushing, standing too close, lots of glances—and neither of you moves away . . . what does that mean? Hypothetically. Of course.

I hit Post, heart racing a little harder than I expected, then sat back.

It didn’t take long.

@flirtymama: Oh, babe, that’s ‘I want you, but I don’t know if I can’ energy. You’re one deep breath away from a hallway makeout.

@tooearlywine: Sounds like a sexual slow-burn rom-com. Blink twice if you’re about to fall into his lap while reaching for a seat belt.

@relationshiprealist: Mutual attraction. Tension like that doesn’t happen. The question is—do either of you want to act on it?

26

Dalton

I closed Cora’s door gently, pressing my palm to the wood for a beat.

She went straight to bed tonight after a full day of playing with Beau and Fable. I should’ve been relieved, but all I kept thinking about was her.

The nanny.

That’s what fucked me up the most, because somewhere along the way, she stopped being that.

It snuck up on me. The comfort of having her around, the ease of our conversations, the way she laughed with Cora. She’d become my friend. Someone I trusted. Someone who saw through my mess and never flinched.

Yet, it was the way those jeans hugged her hips, the soft stretch of cotton that outlined her curves. The way her ass moved when she walked ahead of me. The delicate curve of her waist when she leaned over to scoop up the formula.

I looked.