Page 29 of First Verse

“Wild.” My name is wrapped in syrupy superiority. “Think about what you’re saying. You can’t trust any of these people. You think they want you to succeed?” She shakes her head, eyes pitying. “You and I both know they’d love nothing more than to bring you down. You don’t want to risk that, do you?”

Unfortunately, she has a point. Outside of Rye and the guys in the band, the list of people I trust starts and ends with my family. But even that trust only goes so far. None of my friends or family know about the rigid control I maintain day in and day out. How I self-medicate in order to show up as the frontman my band needs. They don’t know that once every few months, I cut myself off and spend a week in the misery of withdrawals.

They all think my weird, periodic ritual of locking myself in my room for days is a part of my songwriting process. It’s not entirely a lie—I wrote the bulk of our next album while my skin felt like it was melting off my bones. But it’s not the whole truth. I do it so I won’t become a true addict, upping my doses over and over until I can’t function without the drugs.

There’s only one person who actually knows my secret and that’s the woman in front of me… who just oh so subtly threatened to sell me out if I dump her.

I wish I could hate her, but thanks to a night last year when she poured out all the details of her twisted childhood to me, I have a damned soft spot for her. I understand why she is the way she is, and if she doesn’t quite understand why I am the way I am, then she accepts it. Accepts me.

Would Evangeline accept me as I am? The narrow line I walk? The method I use to manage my demons? Definitely not. And the kicker? If she did, I’d lose respect for her. She’d cease to be the woman I’ve put above all others in my mind and heart.

My muse. My Fairy.

Kendra slips her arms around me. I don’t pull away, but I don’t embrace her, either.

“I’m sorry, Wild. I had a knee-jerk reaction, and that’s not fair to you.” She exhales noisily against my chest. “You know what? If you need to sleep with her once to get her out of your system, then go for it. I trust you. You won’t break what we have.”

My heart stutters, adrenaline shooting through my veins. “You don’t mean that.”

Kendra gazes up at me. Her face is impossible to read, but the look in her eyes is sly. “I do. In fact, the more I think about it, the more I think it will be a good thing.”

I frown. “That’s an abrupt shift. Me sleeping with Evangeline will be a good thing? Why?”

She draws away from me and shrugs. “I’ve heard rumors about her.”

My eyebrows shoot up. “From who?”

She inspects her manicure. “An old friend of mine dated her for a while last year. You don’t know him.”

I swipe a hand over my face, exhausted with this conversation. “Enough with the manipulation tactics. Spit it out.”

She gives me a satisfied smirk. “He said she’s a bad lay. Boring. He wasn’t her first, but he said it was like fucking a virgin.”

For a few seconds I just stare at her, stunned by her audacity and an overwhelming need to rip this random guy’s head off.

Then I replay what happened in the bathroom. The way Evangeline arched against me, rubbing herself against my hand. Her breathy moans and clutching fingers, panting breaths and flushed cheeks. How her body fit against mine like a puzzle piece I’ve been searching for my entire life.

I think about how she came apart on my fingers three years ago even though she fought it. How she initially fought her reaction to me tonight, too. How she gave me the fucking green light, and if it weren’t for Kendra’s interruption, I’d be balls deep inside her right now.

Sex with Evangeline will be explosive. Call it masculine instinct or learned experience, or maybe I’m finally realizing how bored I’ve been. Kendra knows all the tricks—so do the women she brings into bed with us—but something has been missing for a while. Authenticity. True abandon. I’m sick of performative sex with women who are more concerned with moaning at appropriate times than actually enjoying themselves.

There’s never been anything artificial about Evangeline’s response to me or mine to her. Not mentally, emotionally, or physically. Time apart didn’t dilute our alchemy. I’m starting to wonder if anything ever will.

“Wild? What are you thinking?”

My eyes narrow on Kendra. “Talking shit about another woman’s sexual history is low.”

She flushes, decent enough to be embarrassed. “I only repeated what he said.”

“Uh-huh.” I pause, eyeing her like she’s a scorpion about to strike. “Do you really mean it?”

She doesn’t bother pretending confusion, though her nod lacks confidence. “Sure. Once. And don’t bring her here.”

I can’t completely smother my reaction. Excitement. Anticipation. Relief. Kendra sees it all. She doesn’t say anything. Neither do I. But in our silence is an acknowledgment that on some deep level we know this is a mistake. It’s in the pinched skin around her eyes. The layer of disquiet that sits atop my elation like oil.

But I can’t stop myself.

“Tonight?” Kendra asks softly.