Wild Thing. Nicola Marsh

She perched on a bar stool and rested her chin in her hands, studying him. ‘You look sad. Are my lame jokes at your expense that bad?’

      He shook his head, impressed she could still read him so well. ‘Just thinking about Dad.’

      Wariness clouded her eyes. Like most people who lived at the Cross back then, she’d known Wiley Watt was a deadhead drunk and a mean prick. ‘How is he?’

      ‘Dementia claimed him a few years ago. Drifts in and out. He’s in a private facility.’

      Before she could say anything else he changed the subject, not wanting to taint their reawakening friendship by discussing the one subject he’d rather avoid at all costs. ‘I saw Bluey today.’

      Her eyes lit up and for a ridiculous second jealousy stabbed him as he wished she’d look at him like that. ‘Haven’t seen him in years. How is he?’

      Damn, when he’d wanted to change the subject, he’d grabbed at the first thought that popped into his head. Not the smartest move, considering that brightness in her eyes would fade the moment he divulged the truth.

      ‘He has lung cancer. Terminal. Few months tops.’ He slid her drink towards her, and when she slumped he felt like he’d revealed there was no Santa. ‘But he’s happy. Brash as ever. Wanted me to hear it from him and not get a call for his funeral.’

      ‘That’s Bluey,’ she said, blinking rapidly, as he quelled his first instinct to bundle her in his arms. ‘He was so cute, the way he mooned over Mum.’

      ‘Did she know?’

      ‘Of course.’ A soft smile of remembrance played about her mouth. ‘But Mum was too smart to mix business with pleasure.’

      She eyeballed him as she said it, a clear warning he should heed. But damned if keeping his hands off her wouldn’t be the hardest thing he’d done in a long time.

      ‘Smart woman, your mum,’ he said, taking a slug of his bourbon. ‘You must miss her.’

      ‘Every single day.’ She downed two thirds of her vodka in one gulp. ‘That’s what I hated most after you weren’t around any more because I’d just lost Mum. And not having my best friend there to bounce ideas and feelings off, the kind of friend who moved in the same circles, the friend who knew me almost better than I knew myself...’

      She trailed off and for a horrifying moment he thought she might burst into tears.

      Before he could say anything remotely comforting, she tossed back another gulp of vodka. ‘Don’t mind me. It’s the alcohol loosening my tongue and making me maudlin.’

      ‘I missed us too,’ he blurted, wishing he hadn’t said anything when she stared at him in hope as she used to.

      Back then he’d known he couldn’t be Mak’s hero, no matter how much he wanted to. He wasn’t built that way. He’d learned from a young age to take care of number one and that was him.

      He hadn’t fostered anything beyond friendship between them because of it, even after Mak had turned eighteen. It would’ve been so easy to slip into a relationship with her, especially considering how much he’d wanted her.

      But he’d known he wasn’t the kind of guy Mak deserved, not the kind of guy she wanted. Not really. Mak craved stability and he could never give that to her. Not after what he’d been through. Pushing her away that night he’d seen her strip had almost been a relief in some ways.

      Now she was back. Tugging at his heartstrings all over again. Making him want to slay a goddamn arena full of dragons in order to protect her from bad stuff.

      Not good.

      He was a different man now. He’d moved on from that guy who’d felt unworthy. But he still couldn’t be her guy. He had too many demons, most of them linked to that night he’d seen her strip, a night he might never get past no matter how close they became.

      ‘Here’s to us,’ she said, raising her almost empty glass. ‘To friendship.’

      Friendship he could do. Contemplating anything else would be beyond madness.

      ‘To friendship.’ He clinked his glass against hers but when he took a slug of bourbon it burned all the way down his throat, testament to the lie he’d just uttered.

      He didn’t just want friendship with Mak. He wanted her. He always had.

      In his arms. In his bed. Wrapped around him.

      It was going to be one hell of a tough time ahead.