Chapter 2
Wild Ones Tip #74
Wild Ones are always wild, so lock your doors and sleep in body armor.
KYLIE
“Hey, everyone, this is Kylie Malone, and she’s filling in for Jake’s pussy ass tomorrow so we have that fifth,” Rudy says as we drop to a booth inside a bar.
It’s a laidback bar, just on the outskirts of LA, not far from where the gallery was.
I flash a smile at all the guys around the table, my gaze lingering on one seriously sexy face for a moment longer than the rest, before giving a little wave.
The sexy guy arches an unimpressed eyebrow at me as he lowers his beer bottle.
He’s blond, the perfect splash of tan, and has a strong jaw with no hint of stubble. I’ve been stuck in beard central for the vast majority of my adult life, so I’m still adjusting to the smooth faces.
And his is my favorite so far.
“You’re going skydiving with us?” Sexy Guy asks skeptically, and I restrain a secretive smile.
“Yeah. Problem with that?”
He shakes his head slowly, his smirk lazily etching up. I can tell he’s going to be a dick.
“That’s Liam,” Rudy says, gesturing to the dick.
He goes around the table, introducing the other three guys, and I pretend I don’t feel the disbelieving gaze of Liam as he studies me without subtlety.
As I’m about to tell one of them where I’m from, Liam talks over us.
“This is expert level skydiving. No instructors are going to be strapped to you.”
Guys like this? Never get challenged. I’ve learned that about LA in the past three weeks. I’m only here for four more, which will be the end of my showcase tour.
So far, I’ve learned it’s nothing like what I’m used to.
But I’m also nothing like they’re used to.
“Really? I had no idea.” I mock a gasp. “Rudy, why didn’t you tell me?”
Really, though, my acting skills are so over-the-top that you can hear the sarcasm coating each word. Rudy starts laughing, and Liam’s cocky smirk flattens to a thin, disapproving line. I wink at him before ordering a shot of tequila.
“Shots? Before skydiving?” Liam asks.
“You always mother the ones around you?” I ask absently, not looking directly at him.
Really is a shame such a sexy face belongs to such a prick.
Five minutes into speaking to him, I know three things.
He’s entitled.
He’s rich.
He’s a prick.
All I need to know.
My shot arrives, and I grin up at the waitress, thanking her before handing her my money. Then I toss it back and order another.
She keeps them coming, and before I know it, the conversation has veered to the more pornographic pieces that were in the gallery today. I laugh under my breath, trying not to notice how Liam is still studying me.
“You always have such curly hair?” he asks as I stack up my fifth empty shot glass.
“You always stare at curly hair? Or am I just special?” I ask, tugging a light brown curl of mine that springs back into place when I let go.
I smirk at him this time. It seems to bother him when I don’t let him bother me.
He spins the coaster on the table, not looking at me anymore, and I go back to pretending to listen to the conversation.
I mean, Rudy offered me a free spot on their dive, and usually, a dive like this would run close to seven hundred dollars, possibly more. I couldn’t pass it up, so I can pretend to like them for a night.
Even Liam.
The prick.
The guy who is staring at me again.
My hair is shoulder length, and I swear, I have those ringlet curls that turn to straight fuzz if I don’t use a thousand hair products.
There’s something you should know about where I come from…
The women may dress like something out of a fashion horror magazine, but we damn well take care of our hair.
Long story for another time.
I stand and move toward the jukebox when the weight of his very scrutinizing gaze continues to follow me. I pick a song I love, mostly to remind me of who I am, and walk back when it starts playing.
Liam’s eyes slowly scan down the front of my little white sundress and drop to my boots—okay, this is where I tell you I have a small issue. Well, it’s a big issue. An obsession, really.
Cowboy boots.
My small apartment back home has two walls full of boots.
No lie.
It’s where most of my money goes.
Don’t judge me. It’s an addiction.
“Nice boots,” he says, his lips twitching as I sit down. “Straight off the ranch?”
Oh, this guy is really close to getting his ass kicked by these boots.
“I’m a real wild child,” catches my attention as someone from the bar sings along.
My grin spreads, and I turn back to face the prick. “These boots are made for walking,” I joke as I stand again, move to the dance floor, and dance with the first guy who has the balls to join me.
I have no idea what his name is, but he’s a sweetheart, and a damn good dancer.
I’m laughing and enjoying myself, when I turn and see Liam watching me, like he’s trying to figure me out. I go back to ignoring him as someone else starts playing the song over.
It makes me a little homesick, but it gives me a piece of home at the same time.
I keep taking shots. And I keep dancing, enjoying myself.
Several other songs play, and before I know it, the once-empty dance floor is now packed full of people. I dance until I’m suddenly plowing against a firm body, and I move a curl out of my face to look up at…Liam.
He smirks down at me.
“How is it you’ve now had ten shots, yet you still seem mostly sober?” he asks, handing me yet another shot of tequila.
“I’m very sober. Are you counting my shots?” I ask, shooting the drink without thinking about the fact he might have done something to it.
I’m not used to having to be wary.
If I feel funny in a second, I’m going to karate chop his dick so hard, he’ll never be able to get it up again.
He smirks before mouthing, “Eleven.”
And then he winks at me.
Even though I hate him a little, and wonder if he’s poisoned or drugged me, for some reason I still smile. His eyes dart down to my lips, and then they flick back up to meet my eyes. He seems amused more than anything.
“Are you going to answer my question?”
I roll my eyes, still dancing. “Two reasons. One, my family are big drinkers. You grow a tolerance, because no one wants to be the first one who’s drunk at a family event. Two, the shot glasses are half the size of normal shot glasses. And they only fill them half way up. So I’ve maybe had three shots in reality.”
He cocks his head like he’s studying me.
“And you’re just dancing because…”
My eyebrows go up. “I like dancing. Besides, if I had stayed over there, something terrible would have happened.”
He waits expectantly, and I grin at him.
“What?” he finally asks, taking the bait.
“You would have just kept smirking at me and delivering veiled insults.”
His smile spreads for the first time. A real, genuine smile.
I’m human, and I’m capable and crass enough to admit that smile of his is like a live wire straight to my clit. Not that I’d ever tell him that.
“That would be terrible, I suppose,” he says, stepping closer.
“Very,” I agree, wondering if I’m crossing into flirty territory when he tucks another curl behind my ear.
I might even shiver a little when his fingers brush my cheek during the motion. This guy smells as good as he looks. And it’s been…six months? At least six months since the last time I found someone to scratch an itch with.
“You really sure you can skydive? Because tomorrow is no joke,” he says seriously.
My lips twitch.
“You skydive often?” I ask, vaguely aware we’re just standing in the middle of a bunch of people dancing.
“Not too often anymore, but still on occasion. I like the rush it gives me.”
“I’m well-acquainted with adrenaline rushes,” I say with a shrug.
He gives me a dubious look that tells me he doesn’t believe me, but I hold my secretive smile in place, not elaborating.
“You’re a confusing little specimen, Kylie Malone,” he says. I’m not sure why my name sounds so good coming off his lips.
I blame it on all the beards I’ve endured for too long. Our town stopped fornicating when the beards got long enough to hide baby birds in them. The whole nest and momma bird too, in some cases.
“I’m actually simple. We all are.” I smile again.
“Simple? We? Who’s we?” he muses.
“My family. Friends. Everyone back home.”
“On the ranch?” he asks, but this time his tone is light and teasing instead of insulting.
“Back at the lake. No ranching.”
“They wear cowboy boots on the lake?”
“I wear them.”
He tugs one of my curls, and I allow him to keep invading my space. His foot is touching mine, but it’s not offending my boot yet. If he scuffs a boot, I really will kick his ass. Then kick it some more.
“What were you showcasing at the gallery?” he asks, not bothered by the bodies bumping into us as they dance around our unmoving ones.
“Several pieces, actually. Why? Did you come peruse the massive showing?”
He cocks his head, his own secretive smile etching up. “I own the gallery.”
Well, damn.
My eyebrows go up, and he smiles cockier. He’s proud of his money and prestige, I guess.
I grab the sides of his face, and his smile dies as I tug his face down. He acts like he’s about to struggle when I narrow my eyes and make a show of looking him over.
“Funny. I was thinking you to be more of the model type. Perfect symmetry.”
His eyebrows go up again, and he stares at me like he thinks I’m crazy, while I keep his face smashed between my hands, giving his lips a bit of a fish pucker effect.
“You truly are a beautiful man,” I say on a long sigh as I release the sides of his face.
“Beautiful?” he asks, laughing lightly.
“Yes. A beautiful…prick.”
I pat the side of his cheek, and all the humor in his expression disappears.
“See you tomorrow, Pretty Boy,” I say over my shoulder as I sashay away in my awesome boots. “See you guys bright and early,” I say cheerily to the table of artists.
“You okay to walk back to your place alone?” Rudy asks so helpfully.
I wink at him. “Don’t worry. I’ll give someone hell if they fuck with me.”
I grab my purse, and Liam is suddenly back at the table.
“Someone should walk you back to your hotel,” Liam says firmly.
My smile creeps up, and I peer over at him. “I’m not at a hotel. I’m staying with a family friend. And don’t worry,” I tell him as I walk away. Without turning around, I loudly add, “I’m a Wild One.”