Page 9 of Wild for the Knight

“Are you going to be insufferable the entire time, or should I expect some semblance of civility?” He says nothing; he just stares me dead in the eyes like I’m the problem. For pity freaking sake. I shove the list into his chest, meeting his steely gaze, pushing off just enough to let him know I’m not happy about this situation either. As we walk into the store, my mind runs through every place I could hide his body after I run it over later.

I can feel his attention on me every few minutes, and I hate that I notice. “Would you like to split this up? You get what Greyson needs, and I’ll get what he wants for Han?” He nods and turns to walk to one side of the store. Huffing, I blow a piece of fallen hair off my face. This is not how I imagined spending my day off. I hoped to do the rest of this by myself, but nope. God has a sense of humor, and suddenly, someone wants to help.

Walking through aisles and aisles of decorations ranging from baby showers to the typical genitalia-inspired supplies, I look down at my list. Item one—a bride sash. Item two is a pink cowboy hat. Item three, pink heart sunglasses. Item four is an ungodly amount of balloons and streamers. Item five is mini cowboy boots. Greyson had a pair of actual boots custom-made for her. They’re white and have “Mrs. Wilder” stitched into the heels. It’s actually adorable how much thought he put into this.

I put the last of the items in my basket, then walked through the penis-inspired aisle. To make this trip more entertaining for me, I grab a pack of unsuspecting curly straws, and pairs of glasses that are, in fact, heart-shaped but have “I love peens” written down the sides. I make sure to have a general idea of where Grumpy Gills is so he doesn’t foil my plans. The prankster part of my brain kicks in as I see the realistic snakes. Yup, Tatum is going to have his very own prank category.

Hours later, we’re sitting at a local sandwich shop, going over the remaining to-do items. I don’t know what I did in my past life to deserve this kind of cruel and unusual punishment, but we still need to make a few more stops today, so here we are.

“I ordered you grilled cheese.” He says, before I can get a word out, a plate is set in front of me equipped with a grilled cheese, an extra pickle on the side, and chips. I’m rarely speechless, but leave it to Tatum Wilder to make that happen.

I blink at the plate, momentarily caught off guard. I don’t get caught off guard. “How do you even know I like grilled cheese?” I ask skeptically.

“I pay attention, Tink.” The shrug that follows is so maddeningly nonchalant that it takes my brain a few seconds to catch up. He pays attention? To me? And wait, did he just give me a nickname?

“Tink? Care to elaborate?” I lean forward slightly.

“Short, blonde, sassy as hell.” His shoulders pull up in a half-shrug. “Basically Tinkerbell.” He picks up a chip off his plate and pops it in his mouth, looking entirely too pleased with himself.

We eat in silence, which is fine by me, but the longer it stretches, the more I start to stew. It’s not just the nickname; it’s how he said it. Like he knows me. Like I’m not an enigma wrapped in sarcasm, self-sufficiency, and a heavy dose of trauma.

Eventually, I can’t take it anymore. “Look,” I sigh, leaning my forearms on the table. “We’re going to be spending some time together, considering you’re the Best Man and I’m the Maid of Honor. We might as well be civil with each other.”

“I agree,” he says all too quickly, as if he’s not giving much thought to it. His eyes are on his food, not me, so I take a moment to really look at him.

Big mistake on my part.

His jet-black hair is closely shaved on the sides, longer and slightly tousled on top. His ocean-blue eyes stand out against his tanned skin. Unlike his brother, he has freckles dotting his nose and cheeks. His lips are full, and he’s dressed in typical Tatum attire–all black. His shirt stretches over broad shoulders and clings to a chest I’m trying hard not to notice.

But his arms? Lord Almighty! His forearms alone could make him a healthy living if his soccer career doesn’t pan out. The sleeves are practically strangling his biceps, and for the life of me, I can’t stop staring. Why does he have to look like that? Why does it bother me so much that he–

“Please continue,” his deep voice jolts me out of my thoughts. “I enjoy getting ogled like a piece of meat.”

My eyes quickly snap to his, a smug, knowing smirk on his face. He licks his lips, slow and deliberate. His thumb follows, wiping a crumb from the side of his mouth like he has all the time in the world. My body flushes hot from anger, definitely anger.

What a colossal asshole. I push to my feet without saying another word. I can’t be here anymore. I need distance. I need air. I need–

“Abby, wait.”

But I don’t, I’m halfway to the door when his laugh catches me off guard. It’s low and rumbly and bounces around in my chest in a way that has no business making my heart trip over itself like this.

His hand closes gently around my wrist, his touch warm and comforting, two things I would never use to describe him. I spin toward him, ready to unleash, but the motion brings me face-first into his chest.

“I’m sorry,” he says softly, the words whispered into my hair. “But listen, it’s okay; I’d stare at me, too.”

My body betrays me. My heart stutters, breath catching, and the skin where his hand still rests is nice and tingly. I should pull away, but I don’t move. I’m caught in the unexpected closeness and how freaking nice it feels to be pressed against him. But then his words register, and I snap out of it.

“Your apology doesn’t mean shit when your actions don’t back it up, Sunshine.” My voice cracks, and I hope he doesn’t call me out on it.

“Sunshine?” He tilts his head to the side, smirk dripping with arrogance. “Care to elaborate?” He. Did. Not.

“UGH!” I barely restrain myself from decking him in the face. “I’d rather drag my naked ass across a cactus.”

He blinks slowly as he leans closer to me. “You’re no walk in the park, either. But the way you challenge me is strangely attractive.”

“Gah, I hate you!” I’m going to pretend I didn’t hear that last part. “How about you make this easier on both of us and let me do this alone?” The growl in my voice surprises even me, but I can’t stop.

My skin feels like it’s on fire, I can feel my pulse in my temples, and tears are threatening to spill at any second. But I’ll be damned if I let him see them. I don’t cry, especially not in front of people.