Chapter 15
Wild Ones Tip #238
It’s rare we have feelings. Don’t fuck with them when we do.
LILAH
“How in the hell did you do this?” I snap, glaring at the two idiots who are looking anywhere but at me as Benson works on fixing my front porch.
He casts a glare in their direction, but they continue to whistle and stare at the sky.
“Answer me,” I demand.
Hale finally blows out a breath.
“Fine. If you must know, we thought we’d conduct an experiment to see if buckshot was stronger than birdshot.”
Killian smirks. Hale feigns contrition.
“You’re serious,” I say, staring between them. “And you conducted this experiment on my porch?”
Killian shrugs before grumbling, “You’re never here anymore. Saw no harm in it.”
So that’s what this is about?
For the past two weeks, I’ve been at Benson’s, basically living with him, since he never wants me out of his bed. We’ve only been coming out here to fix things when they’re torn up—like my bed.
It’s been great.
For me.
Apparently my brothers are a little jealous.
“What if we did a dinner tonight at my place?” I ask them, feeling a small pang of sympathy laced with guilt.
They both shrug. “That would be nice,” Killian finally admits, still not making eye contact with me.
“And I’ll make peach cobbler,” I concede on a long breath.
This has both of them smiling.
“Go shower. You stink. And don’t shoot at my porch—or house at all—ever again.”
They both hug me, and I hold my breath, because they really do stink. Obviously they’ve been fileting fish all day or something. Then they jog off to their house to get showered.
“So I’m fixing your porch that they destroyed, and you’re cooking them peach cobbler,” Benson says on a frustrated breath. “That’s rewarding bad behavior. They’re totally playing you just to get cobbler, by the way.”
I grin as I come up behind him, and he tugs me to the ground in front of him as his lips seek mine. We kiss lazily, as though we have all the time in the world, until I break the kiss to explain.
“They’re a little jealous.”
“That’s gross,” he deadpans.
I shove at his chest while rolling my eyes. “Of you and me spending so much time together. They’re used to having me around to drive insane. I’m sure they’re bored to death without me.”
He shakes his head as I get up, and he hammers in the last board. He’s been working on this for half the day, while I scoured the woods for my brothers. When I found them, they didn’t come back willingly.
I had to threaten to tell Uncle Bill what they’d done before they’d even drag their feet back.
They’d already bought the supplies to fix the porch, and left a note for Benson to finish the job.
Passive aggressive isn’t their usual style.
“Well, I can’t stay for dinner tonight, so they’ll have you all to themselves,” Benson says distractedly, packing his tools up.
My lips purse. Maybe I’ve grown clingy, because we haven’t spent a second apart in two weeks, and now I don’t want him to be away from me all night.
“What’s going on tonight?”
He steps back to look at his handiwork before answering almost absently. “My family gets in tonight. They’ll be here for a week, so I’ll have to slip over and visit you when I can until they’re gone.”
He says it so matter-of-factly, as though this isn’t a major shot to the gut. Like he didn’t just make me feel like a dirty secret.
“Oh,” I say, trying not to sound as deflated as I feel.
I still don’t know how wealthy his family is, but I estimate it’s very wealthy, based on the tidbits of information he’s shared over the past two weeks. It didn’t bother me or even concern me, until now.
I never stopped to realize that a girl from Tomahawk, who wears combat boots with shorts, and braids her hair when she’s too lazy to brush it, and usually goes without makeup, would be an embarrassing woman to introduce to someone’s prestigious family.
I get it. I do.
Sort of.
It still stings though.
“Right,” I say when silence fills the air.
“Anyway, I need to get back and get cleaned up before the yearly week from hell begins,” he says, turning to face me with a tight smile.
I try to act like everything is cool, not like I’m embarrassed or suddenly feeling like I’m worth a little less to him.
He kisses me chastely, and I stare after him as he walks away.
At least now I realize why we drove both boats over here, instead of just taking one. He didn’t want to leave me without my boat for the week.
How thoughtful.
Do I want to stab something? Maybe a little.
Do I want to shoot my new porch he just fixed to be petulant? Maybe a lot.
Instead, I turn and walk into the house, refusing to dwell on it, grab the spare keys to Killian’s Jeep, and walk over to borrow it.
I also understand why Benson fixed my bed now, even though I didn’t have any plans of sleeping on it for the foreseeable future.
It’s not like I expected to spend every waking moment together. Okay, so maybe I did. Which is ridiculous, really. I, who never wanted a serious relationship, is upset about not being good enough to meet the family.
“I bet his family sure as hell wouldn’t be pressuring me for marriage,” I mutter to myself. “They’d probably sanitize their hands after touching me.”
Miffed, degraded, and feeling inadequate, I drive to the store to buy stuff to cook for my brothers.
At least they’re not ashamed of me.
I’m shopping for all of five minutes when I run into Janice Holland, the town’s busiest busybody. Benson was with me the last time I had to face her down.
“Oh! You look so pitiful, Lilah! Where’s Benson?”
I force a smile. “He’s at his house. He has his family over today, and I’m picking up some supplies to cook dinner for my brothers.”
Her eyes ooze with mock sympathy, and I frown, wondering why in the hell she’s feigning a sympathetic look at all. “Oh, it’s okay, sweet girl. There are plenty more fish in the sea, and we all know you’re a tigress on the prowl when you want to be.”
I open my mouth to speak, when she continues.
“It’s just that it’s clear Benson’s family is made out of a lot of money. I’m sure you understand why this had to be,” she prattles on, twisting that invisible knife in my gut a little deeper.
I’m about to cunt punch her.
“Janice, you don’t—”
“And don’t you dare worry about people talking about it. Trust me. It’ll pass,” she adds patronizingly.
She pats my shoulder, and I say, “But we’re not—”
“Shhh,” she coos, putting her finger to my lips.
Does she want this tigress to bite that damn thing off? Because that’s seconds away from happening. You don’t touch a Vincent. This should be a widely known, well-documented fact.
“Don’t worry, dear. Don’t worry. This, too, shall pass,” she essentially purrs.
She scurries off, practically riding that shopping cart toward the front, and I roll my eyes.
Stupid town.
Stupid people.
Stupid Benson.