Page 132 of Stay Wild Darlin’

She looked incredible—glowing, really. Her dark black hair was soft around her shoulders, and her black dress fluttered in the breeze. Though I definitely noticed she’d come with Gatlin, I didn’t say anything. It wasn’t my place, and tonight wasn’t about that.

“Hey, stranger,” she said as she reached me, pulling me into a hug.

“Long time no see.” I smiled as she looped my arm through hers, and we started toward the house together.

The inside of Beau and Fable’s house had been transformed into a warm, intimate dinner party—fancier than I expected, but still cozy. Candles flickered on every surface, soft music floated through the rooms, and the dining table was set with real plates, cloth napkins, and little name cards handwritten in Fable’s neat script.

It was their one-year anniversary celebration, and everything about the night felt like a celebration of not just their love, but the life they’d built with the people they loved most.

Laughter buzzed from the kitchen, and I spotted a few familiar faces, including Mr. Banks—Beau’s dad—standing near the back door with a bourbon in hand. He quickly called Dalton over and talked about the upcoming championship.

“You’ve got this,” I heard him say. “Ride smart. Ride like yourself. The buckle’s already yours if you believe it is.”

Dalton gave him a small, grateful smile and nodded.

Fable appeared then, her dress simple and elegant, hair pulled back in a sleek, low ponytail. She rang the little dinner bell she loved to use at every gathering and lifted her glass.

“Alright,” she called out, “everyone, come sit and eat before the food disappears.”

We all started moving toward the table, grabbing plates of BBQ from the kitchen island. Fable leaned in to whisper, “Same caterer from our engagement party. If it ain’t broke . . .”

She winked, and I laughed, balancing a plate piled with brisket, mac and cheese, and corn bread.

Dalton took the seat beside me, and Harleigh settled across from us next to Gatlin. Again, I noticed, but didn’t comment.

A second later, Harleigh leaned across the table toward me.

“I didn’t realize Dalton was kinky,” she whispered.

I nearly choked on my mac and cheese.

“I’m sorry, what?” I turned to her, wide-eyed.

She grinned and subtly pointed toward my wrist. I glanced down.

Damn.

There was a faint indentation, nothing dramatic, but noticeable if you were looking for it. Dalton always took good care, always lotioned me after, checked in, traced his fingers over the marks.

“I could be getting tied up and kidnapped,” I muttered under my breath.

“Kinky,” Harleigh said again with a wink, like she was thoroughly entertained and one hundred percent not sorry.

I shook my head, cheeks burning, but I couldn’t help the small smirk tugging at my lips.

Dalton chose that exact moment to look at me, catching the tail end of our exchange. He raised a brow, and I gave him a sweet, innocent smile.

He knew.

Everyone was mid-meal, mid-laughter, mid-life when Gatlin, with a mouth half full of brisket, pointed his fork toward Dalton and said through a bite, “Shit, Dalt—if this is the same BBQ from the engagement party, then isn’t that the night you conceived Cora?”

The entire table went still.

Dead quiet.

I blinked.

Fable froze mid-sip, Beau coughed into his napkin, and Mr. Banks stiffened beside me.