Page 12 of Made for Wilde

Koda’s eyes darken as they travel from my face down to where my black tank top hugs my curves, then back up again.Something hot flaresin his gaze before he quickly masks it.

For a heartbeat, neither of us moves.

Then his lips curve into a wry smile that makes my knees wobble.

“Charlotte Palmer,” Koda rumbles. My name on his lips sounds different than it used to. “Well, I’ll be damned.”

THREE

KODA

For a second,my brain glitches.

The last time I saw Charlotte Palmer she was a skinny kid in French braids with scraped knees and a gap-toothed smile.

The woman standing behind the bar now stops me cold.

Honey-blonde hair falls in waves past her shoulders, framing a face that’s shed every trace of childhood softness. Her eyes are still that same piercing blue I remember, but there’s a confidence there now, a knowing quality that wasn’t there before.

She’s wearing a black tank top that hugs curves I have no business noticing, and when she moves, the fabric rides up just enough to reveal a strip of toned stomach that sends heat straight through me.

Shame burns through my chest like acid.

What the fuck is wrong with me?

This is Charlotte. My best friend’s daughter.

I force my gaze up to her face again, but the damage is done. My body’s already responded, and I hate myself for it.

“How’ve you been, Koda?” Her voice has changed too. Lower, with a smoky quality that does things to me I refuse to acknowledge.

I clear my throat.

“Good. Trying to stay busy.”

Jason claps me on the shoulder, oblivious to my internal war.

“This guy’s training champions while the rest of us mere mortals just try to survive Monday mornings.”

Charlotte grins. “Training champions, huh?”

“Ben Mitchell,” Jason says. “Koda’s been working with him for two years.”

Something shifts in Charlotte’s expression. A flicker of impressed surprise that she tries to hide. But I catch it, and the part of me that’s still a fighter preens under her admiration before I can stop it.

“That’s awesome,” she says, and there’s no mistaking the respect in her voice now. “I mean, I knew you were good, but world champion level...”

I shift uncomfortably under her gaze.

“Ben did the work,” I reply. “I just helped him refine his technique.”

“Don’t let him downplay it,” Jason interjects. “He’s the best trainer they’ve ever had at Worthington Sports. Fighters are lining up to work with him.”

Charlotte’s grin widens. “So, what can I get this world champion trainer to drink? My dad’s having whiskey. What’s your poison, Koda?”

For a second, I almost say her name aloud. That’s how rattled I am.

“Jack, neat,” I say gruffly. “And whatever your dad’s having.”