Dallas Van Zant…
Water polo god.
Shameless flirt.
Beautiful disaster in the most literal sense of that label.

Trust me, it’s not hyperbole. He’s in big trouble with the law.

What does this have to do with me, you ask? Unfortunately, a lot. For some reason, which I still can’t quite wrap my brain around, I’ve been talked into driving him around as part of his plea deal.

Problem is, he makes me nervous. I’m not good with people, men in particular, popular athletes especially. I’ve worked really hard to get my disability under control and one minute in his company and all my hard work flies out the window.

To top it all off, I promised myself that I was going to make some serious changes this year. I’m tired of feeling awkward around boys. I’m tired of never having had a boyfriend. I’m tired of being lonely.

But I’m also not the type to turn away a person in need. So I’ll do what I must to help him out.

I’ll just pretend that I’m not enjoying his company. And I’ll ignore the fact that he’s sweet and funny. And I’ll tell myself every day that he’s out of my league.

Because I’m as inexperienced as they come…and Dallas Van Zant is nothing but wild.

Excerpt: Nothing But Wild

Dora

How did this happen? How did I get bamboozled into playing chauffeur for someone who could afford ten of them? I am so mad at myself I could chew glass.

“Sometimes I feel like S-Sisyphus,” I mutter to myself, gripping Bernadette’s steering wheel with undue force. It’s really not right to take it out on her.

“I’m pretty sure you need to have sex to get syphilis,” Dallas says in a lazy tone.

My skin flares with heat from my scalp to my toes and nearly singes the hair off my scalp. And there it is. No need to wonder if he saw my list anymore.

I run through a very short list of snappy comebacks and nix every one of them. Best I can do now is pretend I don’t understand English. It’s either pretend to no comprende, or drive this car into the ocean and pray he drowns before I do––which is highly unlikely seeing he practically lives in the water. He’ll probably be forced to save me and then I’ll owe him a debt of gratitude.

Stealing a sideways glance, I find his head tipped back onto the headrest and his mirrored sunglasses shading whatever is going on in his eyes.

“I s-said S-Sisyphus. You know…Greek mythology.”

“Heard you, Dory.” Sliding his glasses to the top of his head, he aims the force of his electric blue gaze, which is considerable, at me. “I just wanted to make sure you were paying attention.”

Then he smiles. It’s unvarnished delight at my expense. Bernadette hits the bottom of the California Incline and I hit the gas as we merge onto Pacific Coast Highway. He chuckles, and in that moment, I hate his guts.

Dallas

I’m trying to antagonize her. I am. I fully admit it. I need her to let loose all that anger she’s got bottled up. Know this about women: you do not, under any circumstance, want them carrying around a lot of anger. The longer it goes on, the worse it gets for us dudes.

“H-H-How did you know about the shelter?”

The first words she’s spoken in ten minutes and a good sign that I’m getting closer to getting what I want. Another indication is the stutter becomes more pronounced the madder she gets.

Mirrored shades hiding my eyes, I watch her grip the steering wheel like she’s ready to choke the life out of it. Her back stiff, stubborn chin lifted. Yup, she’s ready to blow any minute.

“I found it on your phone.” That should put her over the top. “When I was looking through it,” I add for good measure.

She’s turns an interesting shade of purple, far surpassing expectation, so all-in-all good progress.

“How could you! T-T-That s-s-stuff is private!”

“If it was private, you would’ve locked your phone, Dora. But you didn’t. So who’s fault is it?”

At the stop light one block from my house, she turns to face me, fire nearly shooting out of her eyes. It almost makes me smile.

“What you did is unf-forgivable.”

“You’ll forgive me,” I murmur flatly. It’s just a fact. Dora is good down to the fiber of her being.

She’s momentarily shocked silent. “N-No, I-I won’t.” The blinker goes on and she autopilots her little green Chiclet of a car down my street.

“Yes, you will. Because you’re a good person.”

He brows lower and her eyes get squinty. “This is a t-trick. I get it now.”

“No trick. Just pointing out the obvious. I’m an asshole and you’re a really good person.”

“Y-You’re not that bad––except f-for your language. That’s p-pretty bad.”

“You think I’m an empty vessel.”

Her face drops. So does her anger. Pulling into my driveway, she parks and turns the car off. “No…You’re not.” She sighs. “I was j-just…upset. And…and I wanted to h-hurt you back. I didn’t m-mean it.”

“I didn’t mean what I said either. I’m sorry…I’ll do better.” We stare at each other for some time and I can tell she doesn’t want to be mad at me anymore. It’s not in her nature. Her nature is to volunteer at an animal shelter, and help out a bonehead like me by taking notes and making margin annotations. Highlight all the paragraphs I need to focus on for the final, which I aced thanks to her. “Are you gonna accept my apology?”

She faces forward, chews on her bottom lip. “You have t-to earn it.”

I wasn’t expecting that. She’s not the pushover she pretends to be. It puts a smile on my face.

“You c-can ride with me to the shelter on one c-condition.” She turns to stare me down again, her amber eyes glowing with emotion. “How did the accident happen? Why w-were you arrested?”

It feels like a blindside punch. On me heels, it takes me a minute to answer, to search for an excuse. “Nothing much to tell,” comes out a thoughtless murmur. “I was on my way to Vegas and the road was empty…my foot got heavy. I hit one thirty, lost control of the car, and before I could regain it I was skidding off the highway.”

It was a miracle the car didn’t flip. The accident adjuster couldn’t explain why either.

She blinks those big warm eyes at me. “And…”

I shrug. “And nothing. I was charged with reckless driving. It was Thanksgiving so they let me chill in jail for a night.”

She studies me closely, picking me apart. I can feel it. “No.”

“No?”

“No. There’s m-more to it. Why were you being s-so reckless?” Her voice softens. So does the sharp look in her eyes. “You could’ve killed yourself. W-Why weren’t you with your family?”

Fuck. I don’t want to go there. I don’t want to even think about it. “I had a fight with my mother.”

She nods, expression thoughtful. “Okay. I’ll p-pick you up on Saturday.”

I breathe a sigh of relief. Smiling. “See you Saturday.”