Page 43 of Wild Card

Gwen.

Airport Gwen. Beach Gwen.Tripp’sGwen. Gwen, who Tripp never so much as mentions.

I scoff, shaking off the way that thought makes my stomach turn and stride toward the door. As my hand wraps around the handle, I steel myself because every time I lay eyes on her, it’s this full-body, visceral reaction.

I freeze up like a fucking teenager. My heart pounds. My hands get clammy. And I have to clamp my molars together to keep from sighing like an awestruck little boy.

Because Gwen isn’t just hot as fuck. She’s kind. And fun. And thoughtful. Andflexible.

How do I know? Because I found her social media channels. I couldn’t keep myself from looking at her when I woke up from surgery.Alive. Just like she reassured me I would be.

And honestly, it’s fucking embarrassing.

Holding it together around her is hard enough, but then I went and invited her to live with me. I’m not oblivious to the shit Clyde pulled, but that’s not why I said yes.

It’s the way she flippantly wrote herself off as a burden. The way her smile fell and her amethyst eyes went flat. Her quiet voice at the beach when she so casually mentioned that she’s been told she’s too much.

I didn’t like it. Didn’t want to contribute to it.

We barely know each other, but I know the woman isn’t a burden. Like she said, she’s self-sufficient. She lands on her feet. And I didn’t want to be one more obstacle for her to overcome.

So I decided to be mature about it. Even though, thanks to Gwen Dawson, turning regret and self-loathing into an erection appears to be my new superpower.

I yank the door open with that galling thought on my mind, and just like I predicted, I take one look at her and the world around us stands still.

“Hi!” She waves meekly. “Sorry I’m early. Guess I’m still not used to how close everything is in a small town.”

It hits me all at once that Tripp’s ex-girlfriend is moving into my house and I haven’t told him. Part of me thinks I should text him immediately and explain myself. If he finds out, it will look bad. But the other part of me knows this is only temporary—a month or two—and what he doesn’t know won’t hurt him. Not telling him just seems…easier.

“It’s fine,” I choke out through an embarrassingly dry throat.

Then we just stare at each other—me gripping the door so hard that my knuckles turn white and her hugging her duffel bag against herself like a shield.

Because me being a surly dickhead all the time is probably not super reassuring. But the truth is, I don’t know how to act around her.

I fear if I soften up even a smidge, I’ll cross a boundary I shouldn’t. Take something that isn’t mine. Irrevocably fuck up my relationship with the son I’ve always wanted. It doesn’tmatter that they aren’t an item anymore. It would still be a betrayal. An incredibly unfatherly one at that.

Even just having her here in a professional capacity, living under the same roof as me, is a dangerous temptation.

“Bash? Are you feeling okay?” she asks hesitantly, because I’m still blocking her entry like a big dumb statue.

I step aside, internally chastising myself for being so fucking awkward, and gesture through the open doorway. “Yeah, fine. Sorry. Come on in. I’ll show you your room.”

Her lips roll together and she ducks her head as she enters the house, peeking around from beneath heavy lashes. She draws up short when she gets a good look at the wall of windows that face out to the balcony overlooking the water. “Wow. That view,” she breathes. “You have a beautiful home.”

I turn to face the lake, a spark of pride flaring in my chest. I love this house. Buying the lakefront lot was a gift to myself. I lived in a trailer on the property while I saved, knowing building on to the rocky slope wouldn’t be cheap.

Watching Gwen stop and stare is satisfying as hell. Those plush lips, slightly parted. That impressed expression sparking ideas in me.

It’s all trouble.

“Did you build this?”

“A lot of it. Or a lot of the interior, I guess.”

She turns in a slow circle, taking it in with total admiration. I step closer and take the heavy duffel bag from her. She hands it over silently, still gazing around the open living space and lofted ceilings with awe.

“I don’t think I’ve ever lived in such a nice house.”