Michael (Wild Men #8)

Chapter 7

CHAPTER SEVEN

Michael

Emery’s wavy mane of black hair with red-tipped ends fits her cool, laid-back vibe. She carries herself like she knows who she is and doesn’t need to apologize for that. I like her already. In fact, I can’t remember ever wanting to get to know a woman this much. Normally, I keep conversation casual and don’t give away too much. I prefer people to see me as broody Michael Wild, the fisherman, not Michael Wild the man. Because Michael Wild the man doesn’t let anyone too close.

But one look into Emery’s insightful blue eyes peeking out from beneath her thick fringe of black-as-night bangs, and I find myself saying things to her that I never tell anyone.

“You remind me of my hometown,” I say softly, immediately cursing myself inwardly.

Way to scare someone off, asshole.

But Emery smiles, a real, genuine smile that makes me lean in closer to her.

“I do? That’s so sweet. ”

I swallow hard, realizing too late that I’m actually fucking nervous.

Because I want to impress her.

I never get nervous. Not when a storm is coming and I need to keep the crew calm. Not even when I know our lives are in peril. Not when I get knocked down by the rough seas. I always get back up because that’s what I’ve done since I was twelve years old.

“Where are you from?” she asks.

“Maine. A small town by the ocean. It’s beautiful there, and I guess it’s such a part of me that I look for it when I leave.” I don’t mention that I’ve never actually felt this way with a woman before.

“You don’t live in Montana?” She furrows her brow. “I thought you used to be a rodeo guy.”

I chuckle. “Christ, no. I wouldn’t last five minutes in any event. I can’t even rope a dummy steer well.”

She laughs. “Your hometown sounds beautiful. I know someone from Maine.” She hesitates. “He was my godfather.”

Her comment gives me pause. Something about the way she said “was” catches my attention. Not wanting to lose the thread of the conversation, though, I only nod.

She shakes her head as if to clear the negativity from her brain, and then she changes the subject abruptly. “How long are you in Montana for?”

I shrug. “I guess until I find what I came here for.”

“Ooh. That sounds intriguing.”

I chuckle. “I’m scheduled to be here a couple of weeks. I’m not running a crime podcast or anything.”

“But you are searching for something.” Her eyes blaze into mine like she can see the demons that haunt me on the daily.

I suck in a breath, and rather than respond to her comment, I turn to signal the bartender. “Let me buy you a drink. ”

“That would be nice. Thank you.”

Emery

I should have said no to the drink.

It doesn’t take much to loosen my tongue.

One drink and I’ll tell you my life story. Two? God help me to keep any deep truths behind closed doors. I’ll fling that door wide open.

Alyssa jokes that all anyone would need to learn my secrets is a cheap bottle of wine. I wouldn’t stand a chance if ever put on the stand. I tend to be an open book anyway, but add in alcohol, and I suddenly believe I’ve got nothing to hide.

“So what are you doing letting your friend set you up?” Michael asks me as the bartender comes by again. “You clearly could find a date all on your own.”

We pause our chatting while I order a second glass of wine. Michael is still nursing his one beer.

“I shouldn’t be telling you this,” I say with an embarrassed shrug. “But you have an honest face. You make me want to tell you things.” Granted, it’s most likely the alcohol, but I’m too caught up staring into the fathomless depths of Michael’s dark eyes to listen to my brain.

So, I spill.

“I recently went through a bad breakup.” I shrug like that simple gesture can erase the shit Henry put me through. “And then yesterday…I lost my job.”

“That sucks.” Michael’s tone is sincere.

“And both of those events coming so close together…I don’t know, I guess I lost confidence in my judgment. So, I figured I could trust my girlfriend to help me out, right? Honestly, I may have been drinking when I agreed. ”

He laughs. “I’m sorry about your breakup. The guy’s obviously an idiot.”

I laugh, like, genuinely laugh, and it feels good. “Thank you. I think so too.”

“Have you been on a blind date before?”

“Honestly, I try to avoid them.”

“Me too.”

“I know, right?” I fiddle with the purse on my lap. “Blind dates are so nerve-wracking. But what about you? How come you’re here?”

He jams his hand through his sexy hair, and I fight—like really fight—the urge not to do it myself. I have to honest-to-God sit on my damn hands, or I would be caressing his thick head of hair right now.

“Honestly? I lost a bet.”

I burst out laughing. “Sounds like an interesting bet.”

“It involved roping a dummy steer, something a guy from coastal Maine doesn’t typically have a lot of experience with. And going up against an actual cowboy, I didn’t stand a chance.”

I’m still laughing. “Oh my God, I guess you won’t make that kind of a bet again.”

“I would have said absolutely not,” he says, and the cutest dimple appears on his left cheek. “But then I wouldn’t have met you. So now I’m thinking I may have won that bet after all.”

I take my hands out from under my legs and clasp them in my lap. Then, I start to fidget. Because…damn.

This guy may come off rough around the edges, but he’s so…complimentary. And thoughtful. And the biggest thing? He seems sincere .

Right then, I decide I’m going to sleep with him.

Tonight.

I never make spur-of-the-moment decisions like this .

But I am tonight.

The reason? It’s complicated. And yet so simple.

I like him.

I look closely at Michael. “You’re serious? You think you won the bet? You barely know me.”

He surprises the hell out of me when, instead of giving me some cheesy line, he nods. “That’s true. But I want to know about you. So tell me. I’ve got all night.”