A Mess of Reason

By A. Wilding Wells

There are three sides to our story: mine, hers, and the truth.
This is happens every time I’m with him...eyes wandering, mouths craving, fingers stealing touches. Heartbeats tripping.
I want one woman: my best friend, Tess Harlow, the stone cold fox that spins my universe. Instead I’m dating a pop rock icon that checks her reflection in the back of her spoon.
I want one man: my best friend, Scout Steele, the number one country music crossover artist of our generation. He put the words hell-raiser-hot on the map. Instead I’m marrying his nemesis.
I crossed the line...she short-circuits my heart.
He crossed the line; I’m on the same page...sadly, in a different book.
Fifteen years is a long time to keep the secret she’s held from me. The gloves are coming off now.
It’s a dicey proposition he’s offering, but I can’t do it. I’m living a double standard. I’ve got a roadblock.
I want her. I’m taking her! I’m calling it ‘damage control’.
My compass points only to him. Too bad I’m travelling in the other direction.
I’m about to give her that knock-you-flat feeling.
Then he gives me that go-for-broke feeling.
Maybe she doesn’t love me. And maybe I don’t believe her.

"Witty", "romantic", "sexy" and "soul-swelling". An addictive heartfelt novel with a bold voice that will have you laughing out loud one minute then grabbing for tissue the next. An unforgettable romance with twists so emotionally wrought and endearing that they’ll make you weep. Get ready to carve out a chunk of your heart for Scout and Tess’s genuinely moving best-friend-turned-lover romance. This is an “I love you” like you’ve never read before. It’s not a story, it’s a sexy romance novel game changer.

• Language: English
• Publisher: A. Wilding Wells
• Release date: Jul 2, 2015
• ISBN: 9781311190130

A. Wilding Wells

ABOUT A. Wilding Wells is an author, storyteller and creative visionary that writes provocative adult contemporary romance novels. She describes herself as a passionately-obsessive, balance-seeking, oxymoron-living, modern-day dirty-minded woman. She lives on a ranch on the west coast with her husband, four boys and about enough animals to sink an ark. ABOUT MY WRITING I’ve written for years on end. I wrote my first books in the sixth grade, one of which was about finding luck...glass half-full don’t you know! Novel writing is new to me and a delicious addiction. I can be found writing 15 hours a day...easily, happily. All of which ends with a stiff cocktail. I’m addicted to reading when not writing. I can’t flip a pancake without my kindle in hand. I’ve been an avid reader my whole life, so this writing thing (which mind you is only part of what I do for a living) makes sense and is a huge part of my DNA. And the bonus is, it bodes well for one’s marriage (wink, wink). I live with my characters day and night. Most of the time I feel like a voyeur in their lives, which magically seem to unfold right in front of me. They’re in my dreams and on my brain non-stop. I’ll spend weeks editing and revising one book with the next plot swimming through my head and being scribbled onto endless reams of paper. When I write I feel everything - and I do mean EVERYTHING - about them. I’m turned on by them. I laugh at and with them. I get pissed at them. I bitch at them. I cry if something awful is happening to them. My heart speeds up when they fight. I get goose bumps because of them. And holy-smokin’-Jesus-take-the-wheel, I’m wildly thrilled when they have great make up sex. I’ll admit it sometimes feels a little like I’m playing God when I write (either that or a puppeteer). I love writing about strong characters that have flaws and imperfections to deal with, work on or resolve. My characters live well, because they can and it’s way more fun to fantasize about them in this way. Delicious sex is a part of every book, as is wit, zip, and boatloads of sarcasm. I don’t do vanilla, nor do I like to read it. I adore twists, turns and funky plot oddities that make life the crazy thing that it really is. I love putting my characters in awkward situations that allow for interesting, heated and often sexy dialogue to play out. And, while I’ve written several books in other genres under a different name, this is by far the most fun a girl could have without breaking the law (even though orange is my color). FAQ’s Q. How did you start writing? A. I’ve always loved writing. But novels are a different beast. It all comes down to committing to it. I make time and I want to write - I NEED TO WRITE. I crave it terribly, so I do it. It’s really not more complicated than that. Where you begin the process and where you end are worlds apart. Trust me. Q. Are the details of food, décor and fashion pulled from your life? A. Some of it yes. Some of it from childhood memories, etc.... The food part especially is us. We dig good eats. Q. How do you balance four kids, writing, another business, a ranch and all the animals? A. Define balance....ha! Things slip...my garden looks like a wonderland of weeds at the moment. Thank goodness for wildflowers. Laundry gets cumbersome, so I make the kids do it. I balance as well as I’m able and I also learned to ditch any form of guilt 98% of the time. I also happened to be married to a fabulous man that is super supportive of my creative endeavors. This would be impossible without him. It’s a marathon not a sprint, and I’m enjoying every millisecond of it. Q. Why the “Adult Contemporary Romance” genre (a/k/a “smut”)? A. Why ever not? I read many genres but adult contemporary romance is my favorite. I read close to 150 books a year which includes lots of genres and a very wide range of authors. When I decided to write my first novel I knew my genre was romance that very second. The day I made the decision to write was early September 2014. I sat down that night and five weeks later had my first book. Then editing took months. It was a learning curve; still is. But I love the amount of learning I’ve done in the short time since that day I began. I’m working on my fifth book now and have never been happier with how things are progressing. Q. What inspires your characters? A. Music has a huge influence over my characters. So do costumes, art, food...it’s endless, and these characters come in droves. Q. How does Pinterest play a role in your character development? A. Pinterest is where I begin to envision my characters when I create my plot. It helps me as a writer to see the entire story unfold. It can also help the reader see my vision. That said, readers tend to have pretty lively imaginations anyway from what I’ve learned!

Book preview

CHAPTER ONE

SCOUT

She doesn’t hear me when I walk into my bar, The Devil’s Tongue, because the new album I’ve just cut is blaring space-shuttle loud. I do, though, hear everything about her. Every parallel heartbeat, every breath. I hear the long sweeps of her honey-blond hair brushing across her slender shoulders as she turns her head in slow motion. I hear the swell of her sexy, gap-toothed smile kissing the width of her face. I hear the sway of her hips. She moves like an angel frosted with light in front of the holographic concert video of me singing. Her liquid arms reaching out to touch my face, causing a short-circuit in my heart. I hear and practically feel her hand move down my image in a shameless sweep, slowly tracing along my lips, my neck…my chest. Then both hands on my hips as though she wants to hold me, as though she really is.

Watching her startles me, because all I’ve ever wanted is her.

Tess Harlow.

It’s like Christmas being in her presence. Like capturing the lights of a thousand fireflies in the palm of your hand.

Sure, I’d had her in junior high, when we’d innocently made out behind the football stadium after my practices. But beyond a bit of messing around as teenagers? Nothing. I was in the friend zone. We became best of friends and that’s the way it stayed. Now that we’re both rounding thirty—bona fide grown-ups—I do everything I can to keep her in my life; friendship the only way I get to be near Tess. I like to think of our relationship as a rough draft, one that needs fine-tuning. So while it nearly kills me—and is not close to what I’d like to be with her—I man up and we just stay friends.

The translation for why there’s no us? Timing, fate, poorly dealt hand…choices? All of it. I wish it weren’t the case. But every time she’d broken up with someone, I was knee deep in a relationship. Should I have dumped that girl for Tess, only to have Tess tell me our friendship was too important to jeopardize? I don’t know if she’s ever wanted me in the way I’ve wanted her. Maybe in her heart she does only want to be friends.

Now for the hitch, the one I’d like to airbrush straight out of her life. The bane of my existence—her fiancé.

The good news; she’s just moved back to our home town of Echo Mountain, as she’s handling all the technology on my cutting-edge holographic concert tour. Did I mention she’s a tech genius? Now for the bad news, otherwise known as the hitch or the thing that needs airbrushing out of our lives; Creed Luce. He’s the modern-day version of Kurt Cobain. As big of a deal in the music industry as I am, just on the flip side, so to say. Between us, he’s toe fungus. She’s not a stars-in–her-eyes kind of girl, so for the life of me, I have no idea what she sees in him.

*

Hey, beautiful girl.

Thankfully I do get to touch her; in return, she punishes me with a bit of manhandling. She’s a ruthless flirt that makes me feel white-knighted.

"Scout!"

She races over to me. A graceful tiny nymph…wearing five-inch heels and painted-on crimson leather leggings, a fringed gypsy shirt flying behind her. An angel face that says love child of Mick Jagger and Brigitte Bardot.

Your new stuff is sick! I suppose you caught me checking you out?

Yeah, I saw you in action…petting me, as it were. Did you need me to take you out back for a little something? Chunks of me fall away as she flashes her billboard-sized smile. I spin her around as if she’s mine. And in my heart she is; she will never be anything but. I lay a devilish kiss on her lips, holding her captive…until she halves us, though she stays in my embrace for what feels like forever.

Sass…you’re scrumptious.

Aww, you laying out bait?

Only to the ones I love, sweetheart.

She pierces my eyes with her gaze, her veil of sooty lashes half masking her chocolate irises. Her long-fingered hands hold my face while she tenderly strokes my cheekbones with her thumbs. My heart thrums in skips. I’m doing all I can to remind myself it’s a marathon, not a sprint.

Speaking of the ones you love, how’s that plastic star you’re shackled to? Where’s she jetting off to these days? Shopping in Paris for more of those preppy tight little skirts?

There’s no taming this one. She’s a big golden heart with a razor-edge that could slice cream pie sliver thin. That person who she’s currently slicing into would be my girlfriend, Liberty Storm.

Darlin’, I can see you’re not going to need that knife sharpener I got you for your birthday. Tess is repulsed by Liberty. Is downright allergic to her. They are opposite end of the spectrum sort of women. Tess is authentic to the core, right down to the hilarious snort that spills out of her when she laughs. Liberty is the studio manufactured pop-icon of our time. Everything about her is plastic, planned, and in place, like a Martha Stewart brunch. From her bouncy faux tits to her sweep of platinum hair that’s blown out daily, she’s the sort of woman who checks her reflection in everything from the toaster, to the passing bald guy’s head, to the back of the spoon she’s eating crème brûlée from.

She smacks me in the ass with all her muster and I swear to you all I want to do is drag her into my back office and have my way with her once and for all.

Oh, my sweet Sass. This is just one of the many reasons I adore you. That tongue. We both chuckle as I wink at her.

You haven’t seen my rock. Look at this thing! She waves her hand in front of my face.Not that I care, but he had to have spend a fortune on it, right? I feel like Liz Taylor. I would have been fine with a gumball-machine prize. We could feed half the world’s starving children with this. It’s like he doesn’t get that part of me, right?

She says that, but still she’s with him? Help me. The thing is, he gets all the parts of her I want.

That’s a very ‘small dick ring’ of him. I grab her hand and examine the monstrosity as she laughs.

I’ve missed you so much…being with you. She throws her arms around my waist like she’s seven years old and I’m Santa. It melts me. You’re my favorite person you know, always have been.

I’m a guy’s guy, but I swear to you, I want to cry right now. Little man-baby tears. Did you hear her?

You’re mine too, sweetheart…mine too. I kiss the top of her head, breathing in her scent. She’s home for my heart…for all my senses.

You know what? Doe-eyed, batting her long lashes, she slays me again. I still have that gumball-machine ring you gave me for my sixteenth birthday when you told me you were going to marry me someday. Do you remember giving it to me? You put it inside a Twinkie and made me eat it in front of you, and I cracked my tooth on the damned thing. My mother nearly lost her shit, but then your dad paid to have my tooth capped.

She’s all smiles, showing me her capped tooth, touching it with the tip of her tongue—as if I’d ever forget it.

I wish you hadn’t been dating Roxanne back then because I swear to you, I was crushin’ so hard on you. I never told you this, but I would have lost my virginity to you if you hadn’t been screwing her…my other best friend! A slap comes flying at me, along with a pooling of what feels like wet clay in the bottom of my belly from her admission. She really said that.

Of course I remember. How could I forget? I think I blew twenty bucks in quarters until a ring came out. I’m still going to marry you someday. Wait, no I’m not…you’re engaged to that dude Creed.

Very funny, marry me…ha! It’s the dance we do. The conversation of flirtation. It’s the tiny drop of water on the pond’s surface that first hits with small, bleeding circles that keep expanding exponentially.

Hey, can we sit and have a beer if we’re going to start talking about the fact that you would have let me have my way with you back then? I think I need a little buzz to wrap my brain around that one. I wish you hadn’t just told me that… Jesus Lord, Tess, I’m a guy. You don’t say that shit to a guy. Even if he’s your best friend. I still have a full package down there, okay? I might need that ammo working for me someday.

Oh Scout, come on, don’t play that hand with me! You were having your way with anything that had female DNA in high school. I was your only non-target.

Harsh, Sass. Boy, you like to ride me hard, woman!

Oh, brother, you’ve never had a ride like me. She giggles and waggles her eyebrows at me as we walk over to the bar. I go directly behind it—mission; hide my hard-on.

Shooter with your beer? I ask as I pour us each a few shots, then slide them across to her side.

Yeah, hello…why would you even ask? Oh Lord, never mind. I have to remind myself you’ve been tamed by the shrew. Liberty probably drinks wine coolers or Long Island iced teas. Bartender…get me my regular!

With a raucous, booming laugh, she slams the palms of her hands on the bar top.

Well, if Liberty dies of rat poisoning, at least I know you’ll look hot in that orange jumpsuit you’ll be wearing ’till you’re ninety.

I slide her beer across the bar. Hey, cheers, baby. I raise my glass to her. I’m glad you’re back. In all seriousness…thanks for believing in me and dropping everything to get this ramped up. You realize this is a game changer, right? And it’s all you.

Cheers. It’s all us…and, just for the record, I’ll always believe in you. I’ve got your back. You’ve had mine more times than I can count…this is the least I can do for you. Let’s face it. Creed and Lib are on the road all the time anyway. This’ll be like old times! What’s the downside? Bottoms up!

She sinks back her tequila, chasing it with half a beer.

The downside, my beauty, is that you’re in a fogged glass bubble that’s as far out of my reach as I can imagine. I wish you would use your gaudy engagement ring to cut a hole through the glass to be able see me.

CHAPTER TWO

TESS

It might only be a holograph video, but it’s him; my hell-raiser-hot Scout. The one guy who sends me into joyness overload, who has owned my heart since the very first kiss he placed on my lips in the eighth grade. He’s the guy who makes me crazy. Always has…always will. He loves me, adores me…in the friend way.

A girl just knows these things, because if he wanted me, then when we kiss, he’d make love to my mouth. I end up pulling away because it never happens. Never. Never, as in You will never see a prostitute that looks like Julia Roberts never. He never opens his lips and gets carried away with me like I’ve seen him do with more girls than I care to count. Being near him makes my belly flip-flop in ways that I can’t wrap my brain around. Still, to this day, all these years later, he does this to me.

Scout Steele. Billboard magazine calls him the top crossover multi-genre artist of our time. A country-rock star who has a penchant for mixing in a little rap and hip-hop. Too handsome for his own good. Six-foot-three. Full head of short, jet-black hair. Ice-blue eyes. All-state quarterback in high school, full ride to Alabama. Ripped, bombed, chiseled, with guns that make Michelangelo’s David look like a twelve-year-old girl. God help us all.

Hell, I’m engaged to a foxy guy whom girls literally throw themselves at—though Creed and I don’t share the kind of chemistry that Scout and I do. Why, then, am I getting married, you ask? Simple. Creed fits my current plan. I can hide everything with him. He’ll never need more than I can give. That may sound crazy to most but it works for me, and that’s all that matters. He’s a little rough around the edges but not a bad guy. Here’s the thing. I’m twenty-eight going on aging ovaries with no other prospects. I figure, per the song, love the one you’re with, right? I have a need, he can fulfill it—this is part business deal. Life business, that is. No one needs to understand it but me.

Scout has always been with a girl. Every girl, that is, but me. I think my friend status had officially screwed me. I realize my chances of getting killed by a vending machine falling on me—which is 1 in 112 million—is better than me getting some of him.

So here I am, doing all I can to be near him, because if this is all I get, then I’ll take it. It’s still a sweet deal. He cares, he listens, he laughs, he tells the best raunchy jokes…there is no downside.

Okay. I lie. The downside is, I don’t ever get to be naked against his well-muscled flesh. Ever. I don’t get watch him walk out of the shower and dry off his chiseled arms, not to mention his hindquarters. Ever. I don’t get to look down between my legs to watch him wrap his hand around his hard and—I’m assuming—beautiful cock, then slide it into me. Ever. I don’t get to watch him throw his head back in ecstasy, calling out my name as his eyes slowly close right before he comes. Ever.

Get over here and sit next to me. I tell him. You’ve been behind the bar for the last hour. I moved here to be close to you.

He comes around and plunks down on a stool.

Let’s get down and dirty. Are you fucking her?

He drags a hand down over his face then lets out a groan. You’re insufferable. Yes, I’m fucking her. He almost sounds sad the way he says it. Numb. As though he’s resigned himself to her. Not the words I want to hear.

Oh my! She has an opening down there? Crass I know. We both laugh.

He gives me a sideways glance. Pretty sure, baby. The female anatomy is something I specialize in.

His words strip me bare. I spin on my barstool, looking back at him. I’m over the edge. I wish I weren’t. But I am. I can’t help myself. Shamelessly eye-fucking him. The very act of it wrapped in a prayer. I feel it coming straight back at me as he allows himself a deep chuckle that rides his penetrating gaze. He’s a master at it, all right. With every blink, the intensity of his eyes become a shade deeper.

Details, Scout? Give it to me. Hard and fast. I’m going to hate this.

He flicks me a look of amusement. You want it hard and fast…is that right, baby?

His laugh is masculine, charging at my most intimate parts almost against my will, sending me into survivor mode.

May I help myself? I ask as I hold my empty glass up.

The fact that you’re asking if you can help yourself is disturbing. You can help yourself to my anything. Must I place my hands on your ass and push you up there myself?

Please, just one little shove. I shake my bottom at him. He rewards me with another deep gaze.

What’s her pet name for you? I want to suffocate her with post-game football player socks while she’s strapped to a bed of nails.

I’m not telling. Not a good sign. He tells me everything…could he actually like her?

Did you ask me to move here so I could help you locate your lower anatomy? What’s happening to you? Please don’t tell me she’s also convinced you to eat chocolate bunny ears before the tail? Are you pussy whipped?

I kneel up on my stool, then lie across the bar, sliding my belly straight to the tapper. Giving him a full, perfect shot of my ass. And he loves it.

Get a good look. And while you’re at it, slide your glass over here so I can fill you up, too.

He looks at it, all right, then he shoots me a glance that hits me from my heart to my gut. That little waggle in his eyebrows doesn’t hurt either.

You still got it, Tess. Still the hottest girl in the room.

You see? He tells me this stuff and I don’t know what to do with it. I feel like a daisy that’s getting my petals torn off.

Aww, shucks, Scout…I’m blushing now. I think I am. I’m too old for these games. Gah.

I scoot back onto my barstool, then slide his beer down to him. He’s a hair further away from me than I’d like. I grab the leg of his stool and try to drag him closer—think mouse moving Superman—not happening. Naturally he gets the hint and comes to me. Just not as close as I’d like.

So, you never did tell me. Is she vanilla in the sack? Or does she like a little naughty?

I can tell he’s hating the topic. She’s vanilla. But a fuck is still a fuck, Tess.

Yeah, I know it is. But I’m sad for you. Well, if you ever want to liven things up, I’d be happy to be the third wheel in your threesome. Would that ruin my friend status?

No, it would not…but I promise you baby, she wouldn’t do a threesome if it were climbing up her ass.

He tilts his head at me, then drags his long, sculpted fingers over the thick stubble riding his jaw. Let’s talk about you. You’re my favorite topic. Enlighten me… His hand sweeps across my cheekbone, then under my chin.

Enlighten you with what, darling man?

What about you? You gettin’ all you need from your main man?

He flashes his crooked smile at me while giving my knee a ticklish squeeze. I could climb onto his lap right now. It’s…you know…pretty good. I take care of myself when it’s not.

He grabs my thighs, making me gaze up and down his delectable arms. I can’t not look.

I have to ask because you’re my girl. Are you head over heels with him? All hearts and rainbows? Tell me the truth, Tess.

I put my hands over his and he scoops my fingers into his palms. Inside I crumble as he takes them to his lips, kissing each fingertip like he’s done a million times over, but in this moment it feels so much bigger…and against my will, I pull away. Because I know I can’t have him. When he does stuff like that, it’s a wrench in my gut. I belt out a big Broadway laugh—he’ll call me on it any second now, but I don’t know what else to do except talk fast and avoid eye contact.

Oh, you know. He’s a good enough guy. What can I say?

My chin is in his hand, as his thumb touches my bottom lip. There’s no escaping his demanding vibe.

You can look at me instead of avoiding my eyes, he says. You can drop any more bullshit fake laughs. You can tell me the truth because that’s what we do, remember? I’m your Scout…you’re my Tess. Or what is it you used to say when we’d to go out in my pickup truck down by the pond, just the two of us? I’m the bit to your bridle. I’m the Jack in your Daniels….

Would it be weird if I were shedding tears right now?

You’re the fruit in my pie…you’re the sprinkles on my cake, I finish his sentence. We used to do this and try to get to one hundred of them. Each of us completing the other one’s sentence. And when we got there, we’d entangle our arms, then do a shot of something, the way brides and grooms do when they take their first sip of champagne post nuptials.

Looks to me it’s more like you’re the chicken to my shit, sweetheart. Now who’s not spilling it? He grabs my waist, picks me up like I’m a two-pound kitten, and plants me on his lap. He’s always done this with me, because since forever he’s been big, muscle-y, and yummy. Me…I’m barely five-seven, a little scrapper. But now I’m so close that I’m flustered. Is this what happens when you round thirty years old; you lose your edge?

What’s with the waterworks? Hey baby, come on…You okay?

You must be wondering. Maybe I like pain? Because I seem to be living the very act of it. I wish I could say the tender strokes of his fingers wiping away my emotion-filled tears felt soothing. But I can’t. His touch is so good it hurts me. It hurts in that way that leaves you empty because you know you can’t claim it and call it your own.

Yeah, I’m still a sap. You know me; wrought-iron spine filled with custard. I drag the back of my hand under my nose.

Scout takes my shoulders in his hands and pins his forehead to mine. I’ll change the topic because I see this is one we’re going to need to grease with more Jack, Johnnie, or Jose…but just know, you will not be getting off the hook quite that easily going forward, Miss Harlow.

I nearly fall off the chair as he tickles me. It’s an obnoxious power he uses to get me to talk, and usually it works. But being the good guy that he is, he lets me off the hook about Creed. I’m so damn happy about it that I just let him ruin me with his fingers until I can’t breathe.

Stop…oh my God…

Magic word, Tessie girl.

Please…uncle…stop!

Nope, the other magic word.

Stop, you cocksucker.

There’s my girl. I knew you’d come out to play.

I think I just ruptured my spleen. Jeez, Scout. I’m gonna be bruised tomorrow.

Scout chuckles as his eyes drop from mine then down to my chest. Speaking of ruptured, I think they’ve grown.

No they haven’t; they’re the same. Why are you looking at my tits anyways? I cross my hands over them.

You’re lying, he opens my arms then takes a nice long gander at me. They are bigger—that’s why I’m looking at them.

I’m