Going Wild (The Wild Ones Book 2)(63)
It’s like my brain shut down today, and I got lost in the fucking moment. Now I’ve gone and made shit awkward and pushed her way too fast.
“What’s your deal?” Killian asks as I toss aside a screwdriver.
“I made it weird.”
Both his eyebrows lift. “Made what weird?”
“Nothing. Let’s just get this put together. I’d like to not think for a little while.”
Chapter 25
Wild Ones Tip #209
We weren’t born with enough middle fingers to deal with people. Wear a helmet.
KYLIE
Wandering around aimlessly, I head into the hardware store to buy my supplies. Today is the first time in a while that I took a paint inventory, since I haven’t done much painting at all with Liam’s crash-landing back into my life.
Obviously I’ve been consumed.
How could I not be?
But now I need to think, because I’m still not really sure what happened this morning or why he ran off to hang with the Vincents right after. So, I buy some paint, since I think clearer or not at all when I paint.
Maybe he scared himself.
Maybe he regretted it.
Maybe it really was a fart.
Maybe it’s all in my head.
I blame the back-to-back orgasms for the mind-fuckery I’m dealing with.
Frustrated, I dump my basket out on the counter.
Max starts ringing me up, his eyes flicking to the paint then up at me and back to the paint. “What’s wrong, Max?” I ask, not really caring.
“Nothing. Are you sure you got all the right colors?” he asks with a hint of dread in his tone.
Frowning, I glance down at the counter, going over all the colors. Those are the colors I’m low on. Just to be sure, I check my list.
“Yeah,” I say with a shrug.
He releases a shaky breath, his hand trembling a little as he rings me up.
“Is someone holding a gun on you right now?” I whisper.
Nervous laughter flies out of him. “No,” he states with a trembling voice. “It’s just…are you sure those are the right colors?”
“Positive. What’s wrong with these colors?” I ask incredulously.
“Noth-nothing,” he stammers, proceeding to ring me out.
“Oh, dear,” Janice Holland—notorious Tomahawk busybody—says, coming up as her eyes flit over my purchases before Max can bag everything. “I knew you went from buying condoms twice a week to not buying them at all anymore, but I had no idea it’d gotten this bad,” she says on a sad sigh.
What?! I knew she was intrusively nosy, but not to the point where she took notice of the fact I haven’t bought condoms in a while.
“I stopped using condoms two weeks ago. Not that it’s any of your business,” I tell her with a dark smile.
She pats my shoulder.
Really?
Who touches me without permission? Why is she scared of Nila and not me?
“What’s your defect?” I ask, shrugging her hand off me.
She gives me a pitiful little look as I toss my cash to the counter for Max to take.
“You can weather the storm, Kylie Malone. You’re better than that rotten mother of yours,” she assures me. “It’s not your fault you don’t know how to be a normal woman for a man like that.”
Then she’s gone, literally hustling away like she’s in a rush to do something or whatever crazy, nosy women do when they’re not keeping tabs on the condoms you’ve bought or not bought.
“Can you believe that?” I ask Max, who is notably a few shades paler than a few moments ago.
“Change is in the bags with the receipt,” Max states, shoving the bags at me like they’re contagious.
“Everyone in this town is acting even weirder than usual,” I grumble as I take the bags.
When I reach the door, I see Max picking up the phone, his eyes darting to me very suspiciously. Great. Now I sound like Lilah. She’s the one suspicious of everyone. Not me.
I walk to my apartment, since it’s not far, and raise my flag before heading in. Shit. I forgot to lower my flag at Liam’s house.
Maybe one of the Vincents will do it.
My screen door is broken, so I actually have to use my front door for a change, and that blocks out a ton of natural light.
This day sucks, in case it isn’t clear enough yet.
Just as I get my paint put down, someone knocks at my door. Lilah walks in without waiting on me to call her in.
“Hey, I thought I saw you leaving the hardware store.”
“Were you banging your husband in the parking lot again?” I ask her, trying and failing to smile.
Her lips purse as she studies me. “Benson is helping my brothers with the water cannon.”
“Seems to be the thing to do today,” I say with a little more bite than I mean to.