“You’re beautiful,” he says. “Stunning actually. I get lost in your eyes when I shouldn’t because they’re so unique and I want to know more about the brown ring around your pupil and why it fades into this ocean blue that I can’t quite figure out. I’ve caught myself catching glimpses of your lips, wondering why they look so soft when I never see you put lip balm on. When you speak, there is hurt in your voice, like someone took a piece of your soul and hasn’t returned it, yet it makes you who you are—makes you that much more interesting. There have been times when I’ve wanted to touch your hair, push it behind your ear, just feel it because it’s so silky. You’re unlike any woman I’ve ever met before—complex yet simple. Insecure but also very confident. And I’d be lying if I said that I wasn’t attracted to you. And I’m not saying this to hit on you. I’m not saying this to try to get you to tear your shirt off. I’m saying this because you deserve to hear it. You deserve the truth. You are beautiful, Scottie.”

My heart is hammering against my rib cage.

My mouth is dry, but my palms are sweaty.

And for a girl who has a hard time taking a compliment even though she wants them…I felt that one all the way to my soul.

I wet my lips. “Th-thank you.”

“You’re welcome.”

And then we stare at each other for a few seconds, his hand still on my stomach, his frame nearly hovering over mine, the proximity of our bodies so close. I have this overwhelming sensation to trail my hand down his chest. To ask him to lift my shirt and caress his warm palm over my skin. To wrap my hand around the back of his neck and bring him in even closer.

“You know,” he says, breaking the tension building between us, “it wouldn’t hurt you to compliment me.”

A sense of ease works its way through me as I chuckle. “Fishing?”

“Maybe a little. Go ahead.” He nods. “Say something nice. Boost my ego for me.”

I sigh but continue to look him in the eyes. Honestly? There are many things I could compliment Wilder with. He’s a faithful, kindhearted brother, someone who defends people he feels are being wronged. No matter the consequences. He’s funny. He’s super sexy with those nearly colorless eyes and ripped muscles. But the need to tease him is overwhelming. “You’re not normally my type.”

“Wow.” He laughs. It’s hearty and from the gut. “Jesus, please, stop. Don’t say more. I don’t think my ego will be able to fit in this tent if you keep up with the compliments.”

“You didn’t let me finish.” I laugh.