The Wild One (Forever Wild #3)
Read The Wild One (Forever Wild #3) Online
Authors: Magan Vernon
The Wild One
A Forever Wild Novella
Magan Vernon
Text copyright© 2014 by Magan Vernon
All rights reserved
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental. All rights reserved. No part of this publication can be reproduced or transmitted in any form by or any means, electronic or mechanical, without permission in writing from the author.
For information visit
www.maganvernon.com
Summary: Wes never considered himself a lucky man - until one wild night in Vegas that ended with a marriage to Valerie Wilder. She doesn’t consider herself as lucky, and gives him thirty days to sign the divorce papers, forgetting their marriage every existed. There’s just one problem. He’s fallen hard for Valerie. Wes loves everything about the girl he married by mistake, except the fact that he doesn’t feel worthy of her - especially when hedge funder Max Green keeps coming back in the picture. Wes can’t compete with the rich and powerful man who also wants Valerie as his own, but he doesn’t want to lose her. To prove his love for Valerie and save their marriage, Wes is going to fight hard for the woman he loves, putting his wild side behind him to be the man she needs. Before it’s too late.
First Edition, January 2014
Cover Design by Sharp Covers
http://www.sharpcoverdesign.com/
Cover photo by K Keeton Designs
http://www.kkeetondesigns.com/
Cover models: Walter Veale and Suzanne Patterson-Smith
Edited by
Red Road Editing
Other Books by Magan Vernon
How to Date an Alien (My Alien Romance Series #1)
How to Break up with an Alien (My Alien Romance Series #2)
How to Marry an Alien (My Alien Romance #3)
Mrs. Flowers was a screamer and not in the good way.
“I can’t do it, it’s too
damn hard,” she said in her two-packs-a-day scratchy voice.
“Come on, ma’am, just one more rep,” I said, trying my hardest not to groan as I bent over her. The lady huffed and puffed over the smallest little bit of exercise. I should have known the
woman probably never worked out a day in her life and her idea of weight lifting was picking up her pack of Virginia Slims.
She groaned, pushing up the bar with a ton of help from me just to get it back on th
e bench. She sat up, wiping the non-existent sweat off her forehead before grabbing her water bottle from the side of her bench.
When Valerie made up the story about me being a personal trainer I didn’t actually think the ol
d broad secretary would call me, nor did I think she would be married to some rich old dude who lived in one of the nicest places I’d ever been in. As soon as I stepped into the apartment building in my cut-off shirt and gym shorts I thought they’d escort my ass out. That was, until Mrs. Flowers appeared at the front desk wearing some pink velour sweat suit and carrying a fluffy purse dog. It was surreal. I just hoped she wasn’t trying to use me as some sort of gigolo; I had enough of those propositions in Vegas.
Luckily she really did buy that I was a person
al trainer and not the dude who got drunk and married her co-worker in Vegas.
“So, when should I expect you for another sessio
n, Wesley?” Mrs. Flowers asked breathlessly, toweling the back of her neck before she stood up.
“Well, I guess we can set something up,” I said with some hesitation. The divorce papers were dropped off by some dude just yesterday. As soon as I signed those suckers I knew Valerie would throw my ass out. She probably couldn’t wait for me to l
eave. At first I thought she might have been sort of into me. The way she bit her lip and actually got nervous when I kissed her neck ...but then that douchey business guy showed up and I could tell she was into him. Girls get turned on by huge bank accounts. Why the hell would she want to stay with her Vegas mistake when she has Mr. Suit and Tie banging on her door?
“Good,” Mrs. Flowers
said, pulling out a wad of cash from her sports bra and dropping the sweaty bills in my hand. It made me feel like a high-price call boy. Even though I’d done a lot worse for a lot less money.
“I’ll text ya, babe,” she said with a wink and blew a kiss before grabbing her water bottle and towel and shuffling out of the expansive workout room. These Chicago broads were just getting weirder and weirder.
***
Valerie’s bitchy-
ass roommate Paige said she didn’t trust me enough to give me a key to their apartment, so I still had to knock every time I wanted in. I just hoped Val was actually at home and I didn’t have to deal with Paige.
Valerie had a meeting with a client that morning but she was supposed to be home. Paige acted like her job was important but
really she worked at some high-end makeup place on Michigan Avenue and did eye shadow stuff on old ladies who paid her a shit-ton of money for a bunch of powder. It was nuts.
When I got to the front door I knocked softly. It was the right thing to do. I should have just opened it and proved th
at I had some right to be there. But I really was Val’s husband by mistake, as she called me. So I really only had as much right as she gave me.
No answer.
Shit.
I hoped someone was home or I wasn’t sure what I’d do. Probably go for a run or something.
I knocked again and that’s when I heard it. It started as a whisper and then it got louder; the faint mumblings like someone was talking. No. Not talking. Crying.
I turned the handle and it gave way, so I slowly opened the door. The apartment wasn’t that big and as soon as I opened the doo
r I was in the living room. On the couch, looking at me, was Paige’s cat, Dexter. He jumped off the couch to greet me at the door.
If he was on the couch
, that meant it wasn’t Paige who was crying. It was Valerie. My heart sunk at the sound of those sobs and then my fists tightened, wanting to hurt whoever made the girl cry.
I turned and saw the open refrigerator door and I quickly made my way over to it, yanking it open
farther. She gasped and turned around, staring at me wide-eyed with a giant, half-eaten stick of butter in her hand.
I swallowed hard, sta
ring at her in silence. Anyone else would have laughed. To me it brought me back to a place I didn’t want to be.
“What the fuck do you think your lard ass is doing?” Daddy looked at me with his eyes of steel, a beer in one hand and a cattle prod in the other.
I knew I shouldn’t have been eating the butter out of the fridge, but he took away all the other food. He said that there was no way I was going to be in shape for junior high football if I ke
pt eating like Meemaw and Mama. But I was so hungry and I didn’t think I’d get caught.
“N-n-n-othing, D
addy, I w-w-w-as just ...”
Five million volts of electricity zapped through my skin and my arm jerked back into the fridge, causing the butter to go flying and a searing pain to shoot up my arm as Daddy smacked me with the cattle prod.
I wanted to cry, but I knew if I did then Daddy would say I was soft and shock me again. So instead I just stared at him, ready for his next instructions.
“This here is to make sure your ass gets up to speed for football. Your tubby ass isn’t going to be making first string quarterback unless you drop that baby fat and run.” He took a swig of his beer and tossed the empty can in a nearby trashcan.
“But, Daddy, I’ve been working real hard in practice and with two a days I think I can—”
He cut me off with another shock. This one was longer and right on my hip. My whole body went into convulsions and
I flopped on the linoleum like a fish. I stayed on the ground, unwilling to move. Not knowing if I even could.
“Did I ask you to talk, boy?”
“N-n-no, sir.”
Daddy nodded before getting
down in my face. His breath reeked of beer and crawfish and I could count every gray hair that stuck out of his nose. “Now you listen here, tubby. You’re not gonna get anywhere if you keep talking like that. You will do as I tell you and stop dicking around. No more of this singing songs with your Meemaw and that other queer shit, got it?”
I choked back the sobs and whispered, “yes sir.”
She sniffled and wiped the stray tears from her cheeks. She then put the butter back in the fridge before closing it. “I’m fine.”
I cupped her face in my hands, forcing her eyes to meet mine. What I liked about Valerie was how confident she always seemed. Even when she had her moments of vulnerability, the girl always carried herself like she was the
best there was and I admired her for it. I hated to see her cry. “No, you’re not fine. Now, are you going to tell me what’s wrong?”
“It’s not a big deal, I’m just being a girl about a stupid situation that h
appens all the time with stupid-ass clients in the city. I need to learn to just get over it and stop eating butter when I’ve had a bad day.”
I slid my hands
from her cheeks down her arms until I interlaced our fingers. “How about we get ice cream instead? They’re both dairy and I’m sure it’s gonna be a helluva lot better on your bowels than butter.”
She sighed and dropped my hands
, walking over to the couch before plopping down on it. “No, ice cream is the last thing I need right now.”
“Why? Were you crying because someone with an ice cream truck ran over your mouth so you had to
get butter to ice it?” I asked and took the seat next to her.
She smiled, bringing out the dimples in her cheeks. “No,
and that’s a really weird thing to say.”
“Yeah, but I knew it would make you smile.”
"I need to stop getting worked up over these dickwad gym owners. They always treat me like shit and I know coming home, crying, and eating butter doesn’t do anything, but it’s better than letting these guys see me fall. I’ve been working sixty-hour weeks for these juiced up douchebags, trying to improve their membership rate with social media campaigns and I do it. I do it because I’m actually pretty damn good at my job. They tell me that over the phone and by email, but when I have to drop something off to them, and they see me in person, they treat me like I’m the biggest piece of shit."
She sighed and wiped the makeup from under her eyes.
“I know I’m young and not in shape, but that doesn’t mean I suck at my job, you know?"
“If they
don’t want to listen to you then why even try? Forget about them and move on.” I placed my hand on top of hers.
“I wish I could.” She let out a deep breath. “But it’s my job. I’m just ready to move on
to the next round of clients, but I keep getting stuck with everyone else’s grunt work. Sucks about being a first year.” She sucked in a deep breath and then let it out slowly. “Sorry to bitch to you about it. I’m just having a pity party.”
“Darlin’
, you don’t need to apologize to me. I’m here for you. I don’t mind listening.” It sounded cheesy, but there was no other way I could say it. I did like listening to Valerie. She was real and I loved that about her. She never fed me bullshit just because she thought that’s what I wanted to hear. Everything that came out of her mouth was exactly how she would talk to anyone. The girl didn’t have a filter and those things were only meant for vacuums. And vacuums suck.
“I shouldn’t be sitting here and telling you my problems when you just had to spend your morning with Mrs. Flowers. I should probably be on my knees and thanking you for biting that bullet.” She sniffled and pushed her hair back before smacking her lips together.
I took my hand off hers and placed it on my knee. I didn’t want her to get the idea that everything we did had to lead to sex. That’s not where I was going. Sure, the sex was great, but that’s not all that I wanted from her.
“You don’t have to do that.”
She raised her eyebrows, sliding her fingers along the inseam of my shorts until her fingertips were at the head of my cock. The fine touch of her nails at the tip instantly brought me to life, but I wasn’t going to go there. I saw the pain in her eyes just a few moments before and I saw the pain in her eyes when that dickwad, Max, showed up at her apartment the other night. I wasn’t going to be another guy who took her sorrows away with sex.
It took everything in my power to grab her hand and pry it away from my cock and put it back on her lap. “I said, you don’t have to do that.”
She narrowed her eyes. “Seriously? Now you don’t want me either? Do you just prefer old ladies like Mrs. Flowers now?”
“What? What the hell kind of assumption is that?
” I flinched involuntarily and prayed she didn’t see it. No such luck.
“Did you just wince like I was going to hit you or something? Were you with so
me sort of stripper dominatrix before me?” she practically spat the words.
“Will you cut all that stripper bullshit? One job mistake in my life and you brand me with that forever. I don’t want to be known as your stripper husband by mistake
forever.” I said the words much sharper than I intended and this time it was her who flinched, like I did slap her. I regretted the words the moment I said them.
“Hey
...” I put my hand to her cheek, running my index finger along her jawline. “I didn’t mean that to hurt you. I was upset and didn’t mean it.”
“I feel like there’s a lot you’re hiding from me, Wes. Something that you don’t want me to know,” she whispered, looking into my eyes with something between longing and sadness that I could
n’t look away from. They hypnotized me and I was glued to the spot.
“I’m not hiding anything from you. Just didn’t think you’d want to know my who
le sad life story,” I murmured.
“Tell me. Please tell me.”
I didn’t want to let her in. When I first met Valerie, I had to admit I saw a pretty face and a big bank account when I knew she worked for the company that planned the Hardest Abs of Vegas event. She was a thick girl, which just meant that I knew none of the other strippers would probably try as hard with her because they’re vain as hell. On the outside the girl oozed self-confidence. She was a fireball who I fell for her the moment she opened her mouth.
Okay, it was actually when she laid her hands on me and my dick came alive for her.
But behind closed doors she let me see a different side of her. The vulnerable girl that wasn’t just the foul-mouthed no-holds barred, tough chick she pretended to be. I enjoyed the softer side as much as I enjoyed the spitfire.
I thought marrying her would be the best way to get the hell out of
Vegas and finally get away from the scum I’d become. I could live with a wealthy lady in Chicago and forget all the shit I had to do to get there. But instead I woke up next to a girl who found me to be a walking cliché. And I was falling head over heels for her in just a few short days. Now I just hoped once I let her in that she wouldn’t send me packing.
