Chapter 2
Wild Ones Tip #115
Never trust a Wild One unless you’re a fan of reckless endangerment.
LILAH
My two dark-haired, bushy-bearded brothers are blinking at me innocently as I berate them for over an hour. Benson talked to them before he left last night, and so they built my bed today.
All day.
They kept me out until it was finished.
Only…
“This bed takes up my entire room! I don’t even have a mattress to fit it! I asked for a double.”
They continue to stare at me with wide-eyed innocence.
“Fix it!”
It happens too fast for me to stop it. Suddenly, they’re up and out my door, a fog of laughter in their wake.
I’m going to kill them.
I’m not sleeping on my mattress when it’s on the floor. I get a little freaked out. I know it’s irrational, but I feel like I’m more accessible to bugs if I’m on the floor.
I can’t sleep on my couch. Last time I tried that, I woke up sore all over. It’s not even comfortable to sit on anymore. It was a hand-me-down from someone else, who got it as a hand-me-down from someone, who also got it as—
You get the idea. This couch has been around since listening to Elvis was considered scandalous and poodle skirts were all the craze.
My one-bedroom cabin has no other options, and I grumble while walking out the door. I’m sleeping in a bed, damn it. And not Aunt Penny’s guest bed, because she and my uncle have been hella loud since I can remember.
I’m still traumatized from hearing their sounds.
After our parents died, we moved in with them. At fifteen. The year the beard challenge began.
I often think the beard challenge was to give my brothers something to focus on other than the ache we all had. It seemed to work.
My aunt and uncle were thoughtful and considerate for a year, knowing we’d suffered a loss, which, so had Aunt Penny. My mother was her twin.
But after that year, they seemed to forget we could hear them fucking for ten miles away.
No thank you.
Instead, I walk on my creaky dock, untie my boat, and carefully climb down, praying it doesn’t collapse—the dock, I mean.
And I drive across the lake to Benson’s beast of a home. He has five extra rooms, and all of them have comfy beds. He has family come once a year, but I never see them.
No one does.
They stay at the cabin, and Benson doesn’t invite anyone over. The lake is big enough that you can’t see faces from across it either, at least not without the help of binoculars.
Yes, I’ve used them. I’m curious, so what?
Never seen more than a glimpse of the elusive Nolans family since I never know the exact time of their arrival. Benson just goes dark, and the town knows his family is in.
He even ignores me when they’re here, and I’m his best friend. The second they’re gone, he’s at my house, picking me up, and taking me fishing or something. And he never talks about them at all. Trust me, I’ve tried to pry.
It makes me suspicious…sort of like everything.
I dock my boat, tie it off, and walk up the fifteen steps to his door. I bang on it for several minutes before it swings open, and Benson arches an eyebrow when he sees me.
“What have they done now?” he asks.
I love his voice. It’s always so smooth and deep, but not creepy deep. In fact, it’s that sexy deep that I used to react to. Total voice porn. I’ve trained my body against it. Mostly.
Because it’s Benson. My mysterious friend Benson.
The guy I need in my life to keep me sane and doesn’t mind being in my corner of crazy.
“My bed’s too big for my mattress, and my couch isn’t any more comfortable than it has been all week. If I don’t get some quality sleep, I may kill someone, starting with the two anus leeches who caused this debacle. Can I borrow a room for the night?”
He steps back.
“You know you can. You should have come sooner.”
He’s in a T-shirt and sweat pants. The sweats look like quality sweats too. As though he went high-end. He always looks so different at home than when he’s outside with all our friends.
Obviously I don’t mention it aloud. As I said, he never tells me anything.
“I’ll come fix your bed tomorrow. They’re just doing it to irk you now,” he goes on.
“No need,” I say sleepily. “I’ve got something planned. Something major. I’ll be staying here after I do it, because I’ll need your protection.”
He laughs under his breath. “My protection?”
I nod as he follows me up the stairs. “Which room?” I ask as he pulls me away from the wall I’ve leaned against and started falling asleep on.
His arms reach down and lift me like I’m weightless, and he cradles me to him as he finishes carrying me up the stairs. I really love how he smells.
Always have.
It’s comforting and refreshing, and…Benson.
I’m really tired.
The last thing I remember is touching something soft, my body being covered, and something suspiciously resembling a tickling kiss is pressed to my head.
The next thing I know, I’m waking up to bright sunshine and the sound of pans rattling. My body feels as rejuvenated as I feel. I don’t know why I didn’t crash here sooner.
What has me stumbling over my feet as I head downstairs and into the kitchen, is the sight of Benson in a tight, black tank. Holy shit. Where’s he been hiding that body?
His shoulders are broad and sculpted. His waist is tapered perfectly, which is showcased by the tight-fitted shirt. All that arm porn is twice as sexy today, because you can see more of it.
Suddenly, I feel self-conscious, because my hair is a mess, my flannel bottoms are five years old, and my T-shirt has a picture of a pink mammoth on it.
He’s cooking. A body like that is already distracting. And he’s cooking.
“Hungry?” he asks, and I debate the meaning of that word.
I am not gawking at Benson like I want a bite. No way.
Where’s his oversized T-shirt?!
My eyes snap up to meet his, but he’s just staring at me blankly, like he didn’t notice I was practically wetting my non-existent panties for him.
“Very,” I say tightly.
Apparently my sex drought is fucking with my head.
“So what’s this plan of revenge you need my protection for? You passed out before giving me answers,” he says, cracking some eggs in a skillet.
I move in beside him to take over frying the bacon, acting like this is our normal routine.
When my arm brushes his, I shudder. What is wrong with me?
I’m reacting more to him than I did the pretty boy. Surely I’m not being conditioned to overlook the unruly beard. Is this brainwash or something?
“Can’t tell you. You might stop me.”
I feel his smile.
“Doubtful. Spill.”
“If you’ll tell me how you ended up in Tomahawk, I’ll share my awesome plan with you.”
I arch an eyebrow at him, and he shakes his head, careful to keep his long beard away from the skillet.
“You know how I ended up here.”
“I know you got your family’s cabin, but not why you came to live here. You’re a mystery, Benson Nolans. Like, what do you do for a living? How did your family afford to just give this to you? And why come to stay in the middle of nowhere?”
He shrugs. “Needed the change, and I can’t tell you what I do, because this is Tomahawk.”
I give him a bland look. “You can’t tell me what you do because this is Tomahawk,” I repeat.
He nods, but I feel him smirking, even though that beard disguises it.
I roll my eyes.
“Not sure what that means.”
“Tomahawk expects certain things from its men. Best if I keep my secrets a secret.”
“What about your family? Why can’t any of us ever meet them?”
“Because this is Tomahawk,” he says again.
“Then you don’t get to learn my plan of revenge,” I say with a smile.
“Why?” he drawls, leaning closer to me to push my hair over my shoulder.
I do not shiver. Nope. Not at all.
Okay, maybe a tiny shiver. He’s a damn good-smelling man. I’m a sex-deprived woman. Shit happens.
“Because this is Tomahawk,” I tell him with a smirk of my own.
He rolls his eyes and resumes making breakfast.
As soon as we’re done, we make our own plates and head to his table, sitting across from each other. We eat in relative silence, and I stare at anything but the body he’s showing off. Why is he wearing a tank? He never wears a tight shirt. And it’s driving me out of my mind.
“Do you ever date?” I ask curiously.
“Occasionally,” he says, looking down at his phone.
“Define occasionally.”
Wouldn’t I have heard about someone dating Benson? Wouldn’t he have told me? He spends most of his free time with me, so obviously I should know if he’s dating. I know all the single women.
Why are my nails pressing into my palms just thinking of another woman touching him?
Again, I have issues.
“I dated someone for a while, came to live here, then dated a little here and there when I went home to visit.” He shrugs.
“But no one from here?”
His eyes come up to meet mine as his eyebrows raise. “Why the inquisition into my dating life?”
“Just realizing I’ve never seen you with a woman.”
He grins. “Never had one out here besides you. At least not one that wasn’t related to me.”
He looks back down at his phone. He never studies his phone like that, so what’s going on? Why do I feel obsessed right now? Why is he being so suspicious? Or am I the suspicious one?
“So you leave Tomahawk to go back to…wherever…and date when you’re not here?”
He shrugs noncommittally, still staring at his phone.
“Girls here not good enough for you?” I ask, unsure why I’m stabbing my eggs a little harder than necessary.
“Heard they don’t like the beard,” he says, even though he sounds a little annoyed by that.
“Then cut the beard.”
“I’m not swimming across that godforsaken lake.” He shudders, not lifting his eyes to meet mine.
His phone goes off, and he stands. “Gotta get this. I’ll see you later if you really do need my protection,” he tells me without a backward glance.
Apparently I’ve been dismissed. Usually happens when I ask too many personal questions. Benson is a private guy, after all. He never gives more answers than he wants to. He’s lived here for years, and that’s all the information we have on him.
I’m his closest friend and still have no clue about who he was before he came to Tomahawk.
I finish eating and then take the time to wash up the plates. Benson never returns, so I let myself out and drive my boat back toward my place…but I notice my new neighbor down the lake on his dock.
It’s not surprising to see he’s well-built. It is surprising to see him shirtless as he hammers away on his dock. Deciding I can’t execute my plan until nightfall, I drive toward his dock.
I wonder if Delaney has seen him yet.
Making a mental note to drive out and get Delaney sometime soon, I pull up to his dock. He looks up, smiling when he sees it’s me, and wipes sweat off his brow.
He really is pretty.
Yet my girly parts are still dormant.
Funny, they seemed to be riled up this morning. I assumed they were ready to come out of hibernation.
But, despite the gorgeous male specimen in front of me, I’m still not having the appropriate reaction.
Figures.
“Hidey, neighbor,” he says with a mock southern drawl.
I quirk an eyebrow at him, and he flashes me that perfect smile. “Sorry,” he says, chuckling. “Always wanted to say that.”
He comes to help me tie off my boat, and I haul myself onto his dock, wondering if our backwoods accents sound southern to him or something.
“I take it you didn’t have neighbors at your last place?” I ask, prying.
“Had tons of them. I lived in LA. But you don’t really talk to your neighbors in LA, at least not the part where I lived. Then I moved to a more upscale home on the outskirts, and had no close neighbors there.”
He shrugs one shoulder as he moves back to his spot to kneel down and start prying an old board loose. My eyebrows go up in surprise.
“Why wouldn’t you tell us where you came from yesterday, yet have no problem with it today?”
“The company yesterday was intimidating. I mean, they’ve been growing beards for years because they’re too ‘manly’ to back down from a challenge. Didn’t figure they’d take too kindly to the new city guy, and didn’t want to paint a target on my back. Can you keep a secret?” he asks, that grin still blinding.
“No problem. So why the move?”
“Got tired of city life,” he says with another shrug, then goes back to hammering a new board. “Decided to come somewhere more remote. My realtor sent me this place as a possibility, and I fell in love with the cabin. I’ve always loved working with wood, so this gives me a chance to actually do it in nature.”
Yes, I could totally make half a dozen dirty jokes about him ‘loving working with wood’ and ‘actually doing it in nature,’ but I suppress my inner teenage boy and focus on the important part.
In five minutes, I know more about him than Benson. Well, about his past. I still find Liam suspicious. Just as I do all newbies.
“Just wake up?” he muses, looking me over.
I grimace, remembering I still haven’t seen a mirror or touched a brush. “Rough night,” I vaguely answer.
He grins again, then resumes hammering away.
I open my mouth to say something else, when the loud motor of a boat roars closer, and I turn, seeing Benson driving this way on his boat.
“Your boyfriend still pissed that your aunt tried setting us up with him right there?” Liam asks as I cut my eyes away from the approaching Benson.
“He’s not my boyfriend.”
He continues smiling down at that nail he must find amusing.
“Sure didn’t act that way yesterday,” he says.
Before I can correct him, Benson is coasting to the end of the dock.
“You forgot this,” Benson says, holding up my bra as a grin cracks through that beard.
Liam chuckles, and I narrow my eyes at the bearded man at the end. That bra has probably been at his house for two weeks, because I wasn’t wearing a bra last night.
“Just toss it in my boat.”
He does, and it lands directly in my seat. My boat is just a little flat-bottom thing with a motor Benson installed for me three years ago. Nothing flashy like they have.
“You coming back over tonight?” Benson asks, making this sound far more scandalous than it is.
He’s in his standard jeans and loose T-shirt now, so I’m thinking a little clearer.
“Probably,” I say, not bothering to make this seem like it’s not what Benson is implying, and giving him the satisfaction of seeing me defensive.
I genuinely don’t care if Liam gets the wrong idea, so no need in scrambling around like a fool to clarify things. Besides, for some reason, it wouldn’t feel right to deny it in front of Benson, almost as if I was wronging him on some level.
Which is stupid. We’re friends.
I’m not sure why he’s playing this game, but I still feel like I should be on his side of it.
I tend to overthink things and come up with a thousand different reasons for why things are going on, in case you haven’t noticed.
I end up convincing myself that Benson wants me to defend myself, and that’s the real reason I’m not. Because it’s obviously better than the alternative that I’m starting to notice him as more than a beard.
That’s terrifying.
I’m the head of the anti-beard committee, after all. We’ve been protesting this damn challenge since it started.
Hey, it’s Tomahawk. We don’t have much else to do.
Benson winks at me before pushing away from the dock and restarting his motor, driving toward town.
We have roads, but it’s usually quicker to boat to town from his side of the lake.
My eyes turn back to see a sly grin on Liam’s face. “Not your boyfriend, huh?”
Again, it still feels wrong to correct him. Why? Beats me. I blame it on the distinct lack of caffeine this morning.
I talk to Liam about the town, telling him how it works and explaining some random things, keeping all the conversation topics safe. Just as I’m filling him in on how spread out all the neighbors are, another motor revs, coming closer.
I smirk when I see Delaney driving this way, waving at me as she nears. I guess I don’t have to fetch her after all.
I also notice a few other familiar faces too, and then see a few cars pulling into Liam’s house.
I flash him a grin when confusion mars his face.
“Welcome to Tomahawk,” I tell him as women start walking down the bank, covered dishes in their hands. “The land of a hundred unruly beards, and everyone’s own individual brand of crazy. You’re officially the most eligible, baby-face bachelor.”
Delaney barely even says hi to me as she shoves her way to the front of the line, and I hop on my boat, ready to get away while I still can. Besides, it’ll free up space for another boat to tie off.
“I…uh…I,” Liam says, gesturing for help as five women talk over him, trying to introduce themselves.
Grinning, I drive away, leaving him to fend for himself as I head to my cabin.
I notice a few of the guys fishing on the lake, staring over at Liam’s home that is being swarmed with more and more women. Paul is among the crowd, and he tosses his hat into the lake, looking annoyed.
I shoot him an I-told-you-so look, and he flips me off as I laugh and coast up to my dock. I’ll be glad when my brothers get my lift fixed. The lift they tore up with their boat that was way too big for it.
I step over the few shady boards they jacked up during the lift-breaking debacle, and head toward my cabin to shower and change for the day.
Tonight is when the magic happens.
So I pack a bag.
I’ll be staying with Benson for at least two nights.