Page 7 of Wild Card

I smile my thanks and then slam back the rest of my margarita to cover any blubbering I might do. “You should tell my dad that,” I mutter before dropping my glass like a gavel on the table.

Internally, I berate myself for dumping my personal baggage all over this hot stranger just because he’s being nice to me and saying things I desperately want to hear.

Then, I push to standing and change the subject. “All right, too serious. Let’s go do something.”

CHAPTER THREE

BASH

I blink up at her, wanting to go back to the part about her dad. Or the comment about her size. Because I barely know her, but I’m pissed off thatanyonecould make her feel that way about herself. I’ve been in her presence for just over an hour, and I can tell she’s got a knack for helping people. For making a dark room feel just a little bit brighter. And that’s not something you can learn in the pages of a book.

But I can tell by the way she quickly hefts her bag over her shoulder and glances around that she’s practically running in the opposite direction of that conversation.

So, I let my agitation go and ask, “Do something? Here?”

“Yeah.” She shrugs. “Where else? There’s gotta be something to entertain us.”

“I was thinking of sleeping.”

“Pfft.” She waves me off. “Please. How many times in your life are you going to be stuck in an airport overnight?”

“Hopefully only once?”

“Exactly! This is a core memory. A night we’ll tell our kids about one day.”

I wince.Kids. That’s a sore spot tonight, but she doesn’t notice the sobering effect her words have on me. She just carries on, unruffled.

“And if the story ends withI lay on a dirty floor unsuccessfully trying to fall asleep for hours, it’s going to be the worst story. Don’t live life with regrets,Sebastian.”

Fuck me. It’s like she’s found my fresh wound and is squeezing her limes right into it.

Her arm shoots out, hand stretched toward me. “Come on. Don’t quit on me now. I have a deep inner need to make you like me, and I feel like I’m getting close.”

With a roll of my eyes, I toss back the last of my margarita. “I like you just fine, Gwen,” I grumble as I reach for her hand.

“That’s what you keep saying. But I’m not settling for fine,” she volleys, giving my arm an eager tug.

It feels strange to be holding hands with a woman I only just met. And yet, as she leads me out of the restaurant, I don’t pull away. I let her thread her dainty fingers through mine, as though we’ve done this a thousand times before. Heat hums through my hand, racing up the veins in my arm.

She warms me. And a cautious optimism surges from within. It makes me think that maybe—just maybe—despite my surliness and sour mood, she might be enjoying my company.

I hope she is. Because I know I’m enjoying hers, bewildered as that might make me.

She turns and leads us into the long, open hallway, pulling me along on her adventure.

My eyes drop to her round ass—jeans hugging her hourglass shape perfectly, curved hips swaying confidently with every stride.

Yeah, she’s hot as hell. She’s fuckingtrouble.

I let my hand fall away as I take a couple of longer strides to catch up with her. Walking side by side seems more appropriatenow that I’ve taken a few breaths of fresh air and looked at something other than her unusual eyes and soft lips.

Gwen glances over her shoulder at me, her expression almost disappointed. Which is impossible. So I brush the thought away with a question.

“Where are we going?”

She shrugs, gazing around with an expression of wonder on her face and a flash of amusement on her features. “I don’t know. Do we need a plan? Maybe we’ll just walk along, and something will catch our eye.”

My Adam’s apple bobs in my throat as I regard her and wonder what the hell was in those margaritas. Because my mind is consumed by one thought:somethinghascaught my eye.