Wild Ever After: A Marriage of Convenience Sports Romance (Wildcat Hockey Book 3)
Wild Ever After: Chapter 16

I haven’t stopped smiling since Declan and I got on the dune buggy. I forgot to read the fine print, which required a driver with manual transmission experience, but thankfully, Declan had us covered. We drove on roads, dirt paths, and on the beach—which was my favorite. We went up hills and down valleys, cruised local streets, and stopped to take in breathtaking views.

My hair is windblown and I’m wet and covered in dirt, but it was worth it. Declan pulls to a stop with the rest of the group. I get out and remove my helmet. My legs feel shaky from the long ride. Declan’s grin is just as wide as he pulls off his own helmet. There are two other couples and two friends, a pair of teen guys with us. It’s our last stop, a quiet stretch of beach off the beaten path.

Everyone heads for the water. I kick off my shoes and strip down to my bikini. Declan is still pulling off his T-shirt when I wade into the water. It feels so good to wash off some of the dirt.

I’m staring out at the endless green-blue water when Declan swims out to me.

I turn to him while treading water. His dark gaze is warmer, softer somehow after this morning.

He brings his hands together in front of him and squirts water at me.

“Hey.” I send a splash back at him, and soon, we’re in an all-out war.

With no other clear path to victory, I move behind him and grab hold of his shoulders, essentially using him as a shield.

“Oh, I see how it is.” He holds onto my legs and then falls back, dunking us both underwater.

When he comes up, we’re both laughing.

“The water is pretty, but it doesn’t taste very good.” I remove one hand to wipe my eyes, then hold onto him again. He’s so strong and steady, and I’m tired from tensing my muscles throughout the bumpy drive.

“I think you enjoyed the dune buggy more than me,” I say. “I thought the guide was going to lose his shit when you took off past him along the water.”

“I’ll probably be blacklisted.” He keeps right on smiling. “Worth it.”

“Not gonna lie, I spent a majority of the ride holding on for dear life. You’re a crazy driver.”

“What?” His brows tug together. “No way. I’m a great driver. I’d never put you in any danger.”

“I didn’t mean it like that. I never felt unsafe, just a little scared.”

His expression eases. “I’ve been driving four wheelers and dirt bikes since I was little. I know when I can push it and when to back off.”

“Where did you grow up?”

“Mostly Illinois, outside of Chicago.”

“Mostly?”

He looks away from me, but I note the tensing of his muscles underneath my touch. “When I was seven, I went to live with my grandparents. Before that, my mom and I moved all over. Missouri, Kansas, two months in Arkansas. She was an addict,” he clarifies, his voice lowering. “She did her best to stay clean after she had me, but it never lasted that long. She’d burn one bridge and we’d pack up and move somewhere new, where she’d have a clean slate.”

I barely breathe as he speaks, too afraid any noise or movement will stop him from confiding in me.

He clears his throat. “My grandparents had a lot of land, and my granddad was always buying and fixing up old dirt bikes and stuff.”

“And you tested them out?” I want to know so much more, but that feels like the safest question.

“Oh yeah.” A small laugh lifts his chest.

I try to picture a younger Declan racing around on a dirt bike, probably going too fast and driving a little too recklessly. Is that how he dealt with the turmoil in his life? I locked myself away in my room and journaled or escaped to a friend’s house.

“I have a motorcycle and a four-wheeler; we’ll have to go sometime when we get back.”

“I’d like that.”

I’m ready for a nap when we get back to the resort, but Declan insists we paddleboard first. I do not master it, but I’m able to stand up after a couple of tries.

The day has been amazing, but as the afternoon comes to a close, I realize it’s almost over. Tomorrow morning, we’ll head back to Minnesota, and while some part of me is looking forward to that (no more half-naked Declan in the mornings, thank goodness), another part of me is sad (no more half-naked Declan in the mornings, bummer).

As we walk back to our room, we pass by the outdoor restaurant. They’re setting up for the night. They do this cheesy, romantic dinner with live entertainment. We have carefully avoided it all week and instead gone to more private restaurants, where we can eat without prying eyes or feeling like we need to act a certain way.

“We should have dinner here at the resort tonight,” I say. It’s so not our scene, but I’m feeling some sort of way about this trip ending and maybe a little cheesy fun is the perfect send-off.

His brows rise in surprise, but he nods. “All right. Sure.”

When we get back to the room, Declan decides to go to the driving range, and I jump in the shower, eager to wash off the day. After, I text with Scarlett and then decide to spend a little extra time getting ready. I saved my favorite dress for tonight. It’s short and flowy and the white material makes my tan seem darker. I put on makeup and curl my hair. I even watch an episode of The Kardashians. Declan still isn’t back.

Instead of waiting for him, I decide to text him that I’ll meet him at the restaurant, and I go downstairs to the gift shop to buy a few souvenirs for my friends.

When I get to the lobby, my gaze halts on a familiar dark head. Declan is sitting at the bar. The bartender, a woman, leans on her elbows in front of him. She’s wearing the resort polo and smiling at him. Jealousy hits me so hard it’s difficult to breathe.

He’s just talking to her; there’s absolutely no reason for me to be jealous, but I can see it in the way she looks at him. She’s attracted to him. She wants him.

I fight every instinct in me to go over and claim him, because that’s not fair. He’s already done so much for me. And even if he is flirting, so what? I’ve shackled him to twelve months without sex. Maybe I should tell him to sleep with her. It’d be the best gift I could give him, but even so, rage at the idea has me balling my fists.

Turning away, I replace the gift shop, but I can’t stop seeing the bartender and that look on her face. It’s the same one I know was on mine today when I looked at him. Because I want him. Bad.