As I pass by the window, I freeze. Wylder’s stalking down the street and sporting what looks like a new black eye. He stops, glances over, and our eyes lock.

My breath catches in my throat from the intensity of his stare. “Oh shit,” I whisper, unable to look away from him or get my feet unstuck from the ceramic tile.

Without an ounce of thought, I raise my hand and wave.

What the hell is wrong with me?

Wylder’s hawkish stare softens immediately.

Dumb, girl. Dumb.

Two seconds later, he comes through the door of the shop and is standing in front of me. The guy is so big, he creates a shadow over me, blocking out the bright overhead lights.

“Hey,” I say, drawing out the word and sounding way too chipper for a moment like this, especially with him. “Did you want some ink?”

He shakes his head, and I brace myself, waiting for him to say something totally shitty about what happened earlier. He doesn’t seem to be the type of guy to do small talk and pleasantries.

However, there’s nothing but silence, and it fills the room like a blanket of thick smoke.

“Um, what happened to your eye?” I ask, filling that void of quiet. I reach up, not thinking that maybe the man doesn’t want to be touched.

He grabs my wrist, stopping me from touching the tender skin. I don’t even know why I did it. It’s not like anyone wants someone poking at their wounds, but I couldn’t stop myself.

His grip is surprisingly gentle, and I fully expect him to drop my hand, but he doesn’t. “What are you doing?” he asks, his voice gravelly.

“I don’t know,” I whisper, staring up into his blue eyes. “It looks painful, though.”

“And that made you want to touch it?”

I shrug, not even the littlest bit concerned that he’s still touching me. “I wanted to see how bad it is.”

“I’ve had worse,” he admits, and I have no doubt that he’s telling the truth.

“What’s going on?” Alyssa asks, stalking toward us with her high heels clicking against the floor.

Wylder uncurls his fingers, letting my arm go immediately.

“Nothing. Just talking to Wylder.”

Alyssa’s eyes widen as soon as I utter his name. “Hazel and Maddox’s dad?” she asks, but she already knows, and she’s already soaking him in.

“Yep,” Wylder bites out. “Those are my girls.”

“They’re sweet girls,” Alyssa tells him. “Did you need something?”

“We were just having a conversation,” I reply. “Are you two heading out?”

“Maybe I’ll stick around,” she says, looking between Wylder and me. “Help you lock up and shit.”

“No. I got it. Go back and pack. I’ll be there soon,” I tell her.

“Behave,” Alyssa tells Wylder. “And if she doesn’t come home, I’m heading right to Cheryl’s after I go to the cops.”

“I’m not here to hurt her.”

“I tried to touch his eye,” I explain.

Alyssa wrinkles her nose, and she gawks at me. “Why the hell would you do that?”

“I don’t know,” I whisper through clenched teeth.

“That good old impulse control seems to be slipping,” she tells me with a smirk.

I know what she’s talking about. Maybe she feels the snap, crackle, pop of the air between Wylder and me.

“Ready?” Timber asks Alyssa, not giving Wylder a second glance.

“I guess so,” she says to him, adjusting her purse strap over her shoulder. “But only if Tate’s sure.”

“I am,” I tell her, shooing her toward the door. “I’ll be fine.”

She stares at me as she moves. “Are you sure?” she whispers, glancing over my shoulder.

“I promise.”