Page 57 of Wild Rivals

“You told me it was twice,” Grayson says, a question in his tone.

I drop my chin to my chest, angling my head to hide my face from him as if having sex with her is something to feel shameful about. The only thing to feel shameful about is that it took me this long to ask her on a date.

“You slept with her again?” Grayson asks when I don’t respond.

I nod. “Yeah. Something about her just keeps pulling me in and it’s like I can’t stop myself.”

“Look, I’ve been there with Avery. I get the addictive feeling, but do you think, given the history you have with her brother—and her for that matter—that you should maybe walk away?”

Logically it makes sense. But this thing with Maddie feels like it might be worth pursuing.

I press my lips together before forcing my next words out. “We’re going on a date tonight. You can’t tell anyone.” My eyes are on the big red barn with its worn paint that’s just up ahead, standing out as a beacon for our journey home.

Kade, not usually the voice of reason, pipes up and says, “That’s something, I guess. But I think Gray is right, you can’t exactly have anything meaningful with her if you’ve been feuding with her family for years. If this turns into something real, you can’t ignore that history, Wy. It’ll come back on you.”

They’re right. This isn’t just about me and Maddie. It never was. I know that if anything beyond dinner and sex is going to happen with Maddie, then I’ll have to figure out this shit with Deacon, but that’s a worry for another day. I mean, whatever this thing is between us, it might not even make it past dinner.

Right now, I need to focus on the present, stop worrying about what comes after and wrap my head around the fact that I’m going on a date. A real one. With Maddie Hart.

34

MADDIE

I stare at my reflection in the mirror, twisting my body left and then right. Is this too much? It feels like too much. I love this satin minidress. I love the structured bodice, lace-up back—which was a feat in itself to do up—and the square neckline. The burgundy color is perfect… but it might be a little too formal.

Sighing, I run my hands over the soft material of the dress, tilting my head as I admire my reflection. I look good, but the question still plagues me: what do I wear on a date with a man who probably hasn’t been on an actual date for much longer than I have? I have a nice pair of jeans and a bodysuit I could wear, but that feels too casual. I’m driving myself insane.

I glance at the clock on my dresser. It’s five, which means I have one hour until Wyatt is here to pick me up. I wish I’d had the forethought to ask him where we’re going. At least then I wouldn’t have spent my afternoon trying on every possible combination of outfits in my closet.

God, why am I overthinking this so much? It’s just Wyatt.

The same man who’s seen me at my most stressed—usually because of him—and still wants me. I think I could wear a paper bag and he’d still find me attractive. I grin at the thought, unable to hold myself back.

If I’d been asked a month ago if I ever thought I’d be going on a date with Wyatt Wilde of all people, I’d have laughed and said not a chance. But as I stand here, looking at myself with my dark hair styled in bouncy curls and my makeup subtle but sultry, I’m excited. Nervous, but excited.

A noise travels from downstairs. I freeze. It sounds like my back door being opened and then closed. I listen intently for any more noise. Panic sits on my chest, and I contemplate grabbing my bathrobe for a second, just in case it’s one of my brothers.

“Maddie,” Daddy calls from the bottom of the stairs, concern threaded through his tone.

My eyes grow wide as I stare at my reflection. I swallow down the nausea climbing in my throat.

Shit.

How do I explain this to him? I don’t think he hates Wyatt, but he also doesn’t always have the nicest things to say about him. But is that because of me and the things I say about Wyatt?

I hear the telltale creak of the first step and drag in a lungful of air. Pushing my shoulders back, I keep my chin high as I walk out of my room and to the top of the stairs. He’s halfway up and I see the confusion on his face as he looks up at me. He shuts it down, and I don’t acknowledge that it was ever there.

“Hey, Daddy, this is a surprise.”

He looks a little tired as he scrubs a hand over his jaw and heads back down the stairs. “Mona said you’d gone home. I thought something might be wrong and wanted to check on you.”

I don’t answer him until I’m standing in front of him in the hallway, and even then, I can’t bring myself to look him in the eye. Instead, I turn and head for the kitchen.

“Do you want a drink?” I ask, hoping he’ll not press me on my obvious change in topic.

He doesn’t answer me, but I feel his presence at my back as he follows me into the kitchen.

Where do I start? Should I come clean or tell him that I have an off-ranch meeting? The idea of lying fills me with dread.