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Wilder shakes it. "I've heard a lot about you, Pierre."
"Oh," Pierre blushes, "I'm sure you have."
I swallow the words threatening to leave my mouth.
"Yeah," Wilder clears his throat awkwardly.
"You should have seen the mess down there before I worked my magic," Pierre continues as his eyes dart from my jean shorts back to Wilder. "I went through a ton of strips."
My mouth drops open in horror. I can't look at Wilder. I cannot. I will not. I'm MORTIFIED.
"I think we've overstayed our welcome," Wilder interjects. "Nice meeting you, Pierre."
"Harassment," I mouth at Pierre. "I'm telling Loretta."
Pierre winks at me before his eyes trail up and down Wilder's tall, toned body. "See you tomorrow, Ingrid."
"I didn't do it for you," I rush to get out when we're walking to my car.
"I didn't say you did, Blondie," Wilder nonchalantly replies.
"I did it for me," I make clear.
He stops walking and twists to face me. "I know you had to explain to Cash why you made the choices you did, but I'm not him. You don't owe me an explanation every time you do something. If you want to whack your bush, then whack it. If you want to braid it and put little flowers in it, I really don't care."
I swallow hard. "Did I explain myself to Cash all the time?"
Wilder nods as a strand of blond falls across my face. He gently removes it with his fingertips and places it behind my ear. "All the fucking time."
"I didn't realize," I chew on the inside of my cheek. "I mean, I guess I did. But I didn't..."
"It's okay," he assures me. "I get it. Cash has a way of making everyone feel they owe him an explanation."
"Even you?"
He hitches a shoulder. "Even me sometimes."
"Must be that Allred blood," I tease.
"I am my own," Wilder quips.
"What?" I scrunch my face in confusion.
"You said that," he reminds me. "I am my own. The only person you owe an explanation to is you."
I lick my lips as his hazel eyes glint in the shifting sunlight. Bottled-up lightning. I swear he's bottled-up lightning. Rare, electric, and extraordinary.
"Same goes for you," I smile.
"Eh," Wilder waves me off, "I don't think that's true for me."
"Why not?" I tilt my head to the side.
"I'm not ready to tell you why," he admits.
"Because it has to do with your dad?" I guess. "Or Elowyn?"
"I don't owe my dad anything," Wilder clarifies. "And Elowyn..."
