Chapter 10

Saturdays are for the boys.

One of Wilder's top ten life mottos.

So, while I've spent the past two or three weekends hanging with them at the hours, they've decided that tonight is guys night. Therefore, Saturdays are also for face mask marvel movie marathons.

Once I've settled into my warm covers with the soothing stickiness stiffening on my face and a small bowl of popcorn warming up my lab, my phone decides to ring.

"Shh. Guys, I'm trying to talk to MK." I hear Wilder slur through the phone before chuckling loudly and whispering, "We are so fucking hammered. You should come supervise. We miss you."

I knew there was going to be a lot of trouble when pictures emerged of all four of them carrying a box or Truly's or Twisted Teas in each hand.

"What happened to Saturdays are for the boys, huh?"

"Puhleeease, Saturdays are now for you." His voice is even higher pitched than normal as he whines through the speaker, but that doesn't last long. He's soon laughing again. "And for drinking, obviously."

I sigh loud enough for it to transfer through the microphone. "Bryan, I'm already in my pajamas, and when it comes to you, what day isn't for drinking."

"I don't fucking care what you're wearing. Just get your cute ass over here."

"Ugh," I groan. "Okay, fine."

Why does he make it so hard to say no to him. I should be aggravated that he's interrupted my lazy night in, but instead I'm softly giggling at my idiot best friend, climbing off the couch and heading for trouble.

And trouble is exactly what I get.

I can already hear the music thumping down the street, and I can only expect for inside to be even more wild than the outside.

Much to my amused chagrin, Wilder is standing on a table, dancing and dry jumping the air, surrounded by a small crowd of unfamiliar people.

Too many unfamiliar people.

Too many people in general.

Lord, please don't let him fall on his ass. Or break anything. Or break himself.

Before he can spot me, some girl hands him another drink and everyone in the room starts cheering as he shotguns the whole entire thing in a few seconds. Throwing the can off to the side and making direct contact with me.

"MK, you're here!" He yells, rushing towards me and throwing his arms around me until the majority of his weight shifts onto me, and I'm stumbling to keep us both upright.

Some people are still dancing. Some are still drinking.

But the rest of them have their eyes glued onto us. Other than the other boys, no one in this room has any idea who the hell I am, and judging by their looks, I'm not sure they're very fond of strangers.

"Declan Wilder. You could have told me this was a party." I grit through my teeth.

"I didn't think you would have come." He pouts with his arm still around my shoulder. "You practically begged me to get you out of the party where we met."

"Mmm, I don't quite remember it like that."

"Here take this. I have some people I want you to meet." He hands me a drink as he drags me and my sassy eye roll across the room.

The only slightly cold can in my hand has become somewhat more of an accessory than a drink. I've decided sober is a good option for tonight. Wilder's already had enough alcohol for the both of us.

"This is Stella, Hailey, and Taylor." He motions to the three girls in front of me. I've never been one to feel extremely insecure, but compared to these girls, I'm playing T-ball while they're in the major leagues.

He pulls me a little closer, nodding from me and back to them. "This is MK. She's who I was telling you about earlier.

My love language is far from physical touch, but at the moment, I'm extremely thankful for his arm that is wrapped protectively around my waist. These girls in front of me are ten times more intimidating than Wilder and the boys could ever be.

"Hey," I smile awkwardly.

Stella and Hailey easily smile back, but the third girl—I believe Wilder said her name was Taylor—has been looking me over for nearly two minutes now.

I get it. I'm in jean shorts with a tank top and a oversized cardigan. Even my custom black and white Air Force 1s can't help me out that much. Are those even in style anymore? She makes eye contact with me when we both look back up.

"Sorry, Wilder didn't exactly tell me this was a party. I obviously need to go shopping." Then follows a feeble attempt to make my awkward laugh sound normal.

Stella laughs, pulling me away from the freeze rays of the fucking ice queen over here. "Girl, you'd look super cute no matter what you wear. I absolutely love your shoes."

"Oh, thanks. I actually got them from the kid section, and had a friend back home paint them a little for me."

Wilder must take our smiles as a good sign. "Well, I'll let you girlies get to know each other." He oddly gives me a sloppy kiss on the cheek before disappearing.

Drunk Wilder is annoyingly cute. All stupid and clingy, somehow even more unashamed than usual. But did he have to leave his spit on my cheek in front of these girls. It makes me severely uncomfortable. Although I'm sure he's acted the same way with them way more times than he has with me.

"Please tell me he only says 'girlies' when he's drunk." I roll my eyes and all three of them softly giggle, slowly unwinding the social anxiety knots in my stomach.

"That's actually the first time I've ever heard him say that." Hailey answers, twirling a piece of her dirty blonde hair between her fingers.

"Let's hope that's also the last."

Taylor, now known as Ice Queen, finally drops her fake smile once again, blandly stating, "I would ask where you're from or where you go to college, but I think Wilder has already covered your entire life story."

"Huh?"

Hailey comes to my rescue, saving me from the apparent bitchiness. "Taylor just means that Wilder told us a lot about you. Like how you're from Georgia, and you work in a hospital, and that you take amazing pictures. We saw the ones you did of the guys on instagram. They were amazing!"

"Ohh, okay. Yeah." I stumble to form a coherent thought, struggling to swallow the lump in my throat. Chris makes eye contact with me from behind Hailey, shooting me a thumbs up, encouraging me just enough to serve as a small confidence boost. "If you can help me shop for some decent new clothes, I'll definitely hook you up with some pictures."

Maybe a little too much of a confidence boost.

Hailey and Stella make some sort of telepathic connection before simultaneously squealing, "Deal!"

What is it with Los Angeles and making deals?

While Taylor isn't much help, keeping the conversation going isn't as difficult as imagined. I get the vibe that she doesn't like me very much, but after the initial intimidation, Stella and Hailey are nothing but angels. I don't think they'd ever pick me as a best friend, but whether it's for Wilder's sake or mine, they're super sweet and I like them a lot.

So, I now have the phone number of two more public influencers, and we really are going shopping.

But not any time super soon. My social battery is starting to run very low at the moment. I will say I've survived much longer than usual, making small talk with the girls, meeting a few others passing by, forcing my RBF into a smile. It could almost say it's been fairly palatable. No panic attacks. No bets. No alcoholic beverages spilled on me.

And that's all a really good thing because Chris and Tyler have been given the task of not letting me leave, so I survive the whole night without alcohol even after Stella and Hailey leave.

It's also a good thing I'm sober because as the party comes to a close and everyone scatters home in the early hours of the morning, I'm the only one clear minded enough to make sure no one does stupid.

All the boys are snug in bed except Wilder who is leaning over the countertop, piddling with a stray curl.

"Fuck, you're beautiful." He says bluntly.

There are two versions of drunk Wilder. The loud, wild, overtly sexual playboy, which we were introduced to earlier tonight, and the soft, dreamy sweetheart who unintentionally flirts with anyone in sight.

Right now, we're definitely experiencing the latter, which I prefer.

Just as long as he isn't saying 'girlies'.

"Aww, thanks." I laugh and roll my eyes.

He doesn't reply. Instead he just keeps staring at me. Still twirling that same curly strand of hair as before. It's beginning to feel like some form of silent intimidation of a staring contest.

"What?" I ask.

"Nothing, I just love you." He smiles softly. "I really do."

He is so drunk.

"I know, B. I think it's time for you to go to bed."

I move to pick up something from the floor, but jump when he yells, "No wait! I'm so fucking hungry."

"Shh." I jump, clamping my hand down over his mouth. "Shut the fuck up, you idiot. It's nearly four in the morning. Everyone's asleep."

I'm relieved when he doesn't fight me or push me away to yell again; however, that relief turns into a flood of frustration when he doesn't budge as I pull him towards his room.

"Wilder, come on."

Silence. No movement. Only a subtle blink.

I let out a sigh of defeat only to immediately pull it back in when he jerks me towards his chest. His face shadowing dangerously over mine as he envelops me in his arms. Eyes trailing down to my lips before moving back up to refocus on mine.

Then, he just smiles.

"Okay, we can go to bed."

It takes him a little more time than it should to kick off his shoes and strip out of his clothes. Nonetheless, once he's all settled, snug in bed, I turn to quietly slip out.

"Where are you going?" His messy head pops up from the pillow. Sober Wilder would not approve of this hair.

"It's late. I've got to get home."

"You're not going to stay?" He pouts before pulling the comforter up and patting right beside him on the bed.

"One day I'm going to learn how to say no to you." I let out a deep breath. Disappointed in my lack of self-discipline. Slowly making my way towards his bed.

A devious, yet childish, smile crosses over his face as I kick my shoes off and climb in next to him. He immediately engulfs me, drifting slowly off to sleep, mumbling some incoherent nonsense as sleep overtakes him within a minute or two.

Well, that was fast.

His warmth is willing me to stay, making it harder and harder to talk myself into going home, but my head is still on straight.

As I pry myself from his grasp, I begin to wonder just how much of tonight he'll remember tomorrow.