Talent and I choke on air, but the King and Queen of Disaster have a stare-off across the table. Lydia is eternally passive, blank-faced, and unmovable. Wilder is amused, shameless, and smirking.
“No one was sleeping, Lydia,” Wilder clarifies. He crumbles his napkin into a ball and throws it onto his plate, sinking into his seat for the fight.
I find my voice hiding under my heart and say, “Do we have to talk about this?”
There’s not a soul at this table who doesn’t know I’m paid to screw my way through Grand Haven. I was uncomfortable when I ran into Wilder at Benny’s office because bad timing put me in an uncomfortable situation, and I’m not emotionally mute like Lydia. The men I sleep with day in and day out are jobs. If they want to talk about that, so be it.
Wilder wasn’t a job, and I won’t talk about us like it meant nothing.
“No.” Talent pushes his chair back and walks to the fridge, carrying some of the tension away with him. It’s obvious by his stealth move to change the subject that he knows about his brother and me. “We’re going to sit our asses on that couch and watch a movie together like a normal fucking family. But drunk.”
Lydia was wrong.
Talent’s not trying to domesticate her. He wants to give her a family.
“Because let’s be real, not one of us is normal.”
Their love for whiskey isn’t something we share. I admire the way Lydia takes small sips and leaves a red lip print on the rim of her glass. She rotates her wrist, spinning the pretty amber liquid with ice. It comes off as sophisticated and mature, and I wonder if I’m not old enough to have developed a palate for it yet. Does it stop tasting like gasoline and pepper after a certain age?
Wilder and Talent drink theirs as fast as they pour it. How can they taste it at all?
Nursing my drink, the ice melts and sits on top of the liquor like a blanket. I use my finger as a cocktail straw and mix the concoction, hoping that diluting fuel with water will make it taste better.
My face must say it all because Wilder takes the seat next to me on the couch and chuckles. “Do you want me to get you something else?”
My experience with alcohol is novice, but I like the way it makes my lips tingle enough to shake my head no and wait for the rest of the ice to melt. The burn on the back of my tongue lessens with each small taste, and it doesn’t take long until I’m weightless.
Whiskey has my mood on a dimmer switch, and it turns my insecurities all the way down. Wilder’s thigh presses against mine, and my elbow rubs against his upper arm every time I inhale. Johnnie Walker tastes like gas on my tongue, but it smells like vanilla and oak on his lips. I scoot closer to inhale the scent of his breath.
Encouraged by liquor’s bad influence, I watch him instead of the movie. He takes my empty glass and sets it on the coffee table, sharing his drink with me instead of refilling mine. He brings it to my lips, and a drop of alcohol bleeds from the corner of my mouth. Wilder wipes it away with the pad of his thumb and sucks it off, and I exhale coolly.
“Is this what friends do, Camilla?” he asks in a low voice. “Is this what you had in mind?”
“I hope so,” I say without feeling the words in my mouth.
In the next instant, Wilder and Talent are on their feet, turning toward the front door like the police are about to break it down. My reaction time is delayed, so I’m the last to get up from the couch. Only to have Wilder sit me back down when whoever’s at the door knocks again.
“Who the fuck is it this late?” he asks as Lydia brushes past us.
“It’s only nine o’clock, boys.” She looks through the peephole and then tilts her head back, glancing up at the ceiling in annoyance. Lydia opens the door to reveal Dog Mom.
“Yoo-hoo, sorry to bother you. I know it’s after bedtime.” Dawn doesn’t wait to be invited inside, and she’s instantly flustered by not only one Ridge, but two. “Oh, wow. You’re both here. Such lucky girls.”
Smiling over the top of the couch, I wave. “Hi, Dawn.”
“Camilla.” Dog Mom hesitantly drags her eyes away from Wilder. “Just the person I was looking for. We spoke about getting you signed up for a patrol shift, but we keep missing each other.”
“Darn,” I say mischievously. Lydia snorts and closes the door.
“I was walking by and saw the lights on, so I decided to give it a shot and stop by. I’m glad I did,” she says like an afterthought. Dawn passes the clipboard. My heart sinks when I see no one else has signed up for the neighborhood watch. “As you can see, I can really use the help.”
“Sure, Dawn.” I sign my name for a night next week. And maybe whiskey makes me do it, but I add Wilder’s name next to mine.
“Wait.” Wilder palms the back of his neck, narrowing his eyes. “I—I’m busy that night.”
Smiling at Dog Mom, I return the volunteer sheet and say, “Change your plans, Wilder.”
Before she leaves, Dawn waves the clipboard in Lydia’s direction. “What do you say?”
