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“He’s trying to get me drunk. Which makes me worry about the reasons as to why. Last time they got me drunk, I ended up in a canoe and woke up all the way around the double bend of the lake. My arms felt like they were going to fall off by the time I managed to paddle home.”
He snorts, shaking his head as laughter creeps out.
“I thought your aunt said she didn’t allow them over here,” he says through his chuckles.
“Beardless night is apparently the exception. I’m sure she’ll regret that before the night is over.”
“Gotcha. So a canoe, huh?” he asks, apparently wanting me to continue.
“That canoe trip took me past two of the other three corners, and I got shot with paintballs when I passed the Malone corner.”
“This odd shaped lake has only four corners?” he asks.
“Metaphorical corners. Four of them. There are probably really like forty literal corners. The wildest of the Wild Ones—”
“Wild Ones?” he asks, sitting up straighter, suddenly very interested.
I’m not sure why that rouses his interest so much, but I’m tipsy enough to continue running my mouth about Tomahawk’s system of crazy. Liam is growing on me, since he seems genuine and nice enough.
“Yes. The Wild Ones are put on very different parts of the lake to help break up some of the crazy. Vincents—my brothers and I—are on this end. Malones are on another ‘corner,’ Nickels are on another, and the final are the Wilders.”
“Wilders? You’re serious?” he asks incredulously.
I nod. “True to their name, they’re even worse than us, and that’s saying a lot, because…have you met my brothers?”
He laughs to himself. “I had no idea there was a political system on who was the wildest.”
“Yep. And the crazy scale is often adjusting to accommodate us all. My dad moved out here when he was younger, and raised the Vincent name up to full-blown heathen status with my mother at his side. My brothers and I have carried on the tradition. My aunt and uncle are only guilty by association.”
“So you’ve always lived here?”
I nod. “Mostly. Other than the one year of graphic design school. I don’t have a degree, but I learned all I needed to get my business started, and I make good money. Online, that is. Not so much here.”
“Doing what?” he asks, genuinely interested.
“Book cover design. Website design. Logo design. Anything in need of a graphic designer really.”
He flashes that smile again.
“And what about your parents?”
I go a little still, then recover quickly. “They died in a car accident when I was fifteen,” I say, clearing my throat. His face is instantly coated in remorse. “They were going to drive down to Seattle for their anniversary. Black ice on the road caught them by surprise. But at least they had each other when they died. One could have never survived without the other.”
He blows out a long, regretful breath.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t know.”
“We moved on. It’s fine. You’re not dredging up memories I can’t face. We’ve faced all of it head on with Aunt Penny and Uncle Bill. I’m just not used to someone not knowing the story.”
I glance over my shoulder to see Delaney is now talking to Benson, even though he looks less chipper now than he did before. His eyes are on me, and I offer a tight smile.
Delaney would back off immediately if I said something, but why bother? If Benson wants to have fun with other women and ignore me—the girl who has been hanging with him, beard and all, for the past few years—then he’s allowed to do that.
I refocus my attention on Liam as he leans back, running a hand through his blond hair.
“You said Malones were one of these wild families?” he asks.
“Yeah. You’ve heard of them?”
He shrugs, a small, secretive smile tugging at his lips. “Maybe. Are you enemies or something?”
“No. No Wild Ones are enemies to each other. It’s not like that. My best girl friend is a Malone. Her dad and cousins like to shoot us with paintballs when they spot us on the water, because my brothers accidentally blew up their dock last summer.”
He chokes on his beer. “How do you accidentally blow up a dock?”
“Pipe bomb. They were trying to blow a big stump out of the water, but Hale tripped, and the bomb flew out of his hand. It caught the edge of the dock just as it went off. No one was hurt, but they still hold a silly grudge.”
He laughs harder, as though he’s not believing this. It’s a true story. Not even one of the most unbelievable either.
“They rebuilt the dock to be even better than it was, but a Vincent still gets shot with a paintball if they get anywhere near that dock now.”
“Damn,” he says on a chuckle, then looks around and takes a deep breath, silence falling over us comfortably.
