Page 101 of One Wild Wish

How her waist had felt in my grip.

That part left an imprint on me. Like muscle memory. The way I could go years without kicking a soccer ball, then hit the field and weave between players and bend the ball into the net. My legs just knew how to react, and every time I neared Ainsley, my hands burned. They tingled with awareness of how her hips had flared below my touch. The soft give of her middle.

I’d remind myself she hated me, that I wasn’t supposed to lust after a woman who wore name-brand clothing as a status symbol. But she was volunteering her time to help the community, and I kept thinking about her sharp tongue and what else it could do. Her quick wit.

Her smell—the one drifting toward me now.

Vanilla and chocolate and something flowery invaded my senses. Not sure how she smelled so sensual with all the dirt and sawdust kicking around the place. She always did, though. I sensed when she was near me. Behind me. Upwind from me. That’s when my hands would twitch, wanting to latch around her again.

I swiveled as she and Sherise overlapped a section of synthetic housewrap. The older woman held it in place while Ainsley taped it down, securing the protective barriers that would shield the homes from mold and rot.

It made me think of my rainbow-walled home growing up, a ramshackle house in southern Texas, nothing protective guarding it. It didn’t have visible mold, but there’d been no denying its shoddy workmanship. Or the fact that my mother had rarely been there.

The last time I saw her, she took Emmett and me to visit the beach. She had a faraway look about her that day. The one she’d get when high, before she’d disappear for a day or two or seven. She’d piled a collection of beach glass in her lap, while I sat across from her. “When glass is made,” she’d said, “it’s strong. If it breaks, the edges are sharp enough to cut, but they can be glued back together. Unless it’s carried out to sea.”

She’d held up a blue piece, and the sun had shot through it like a prism. “Those pieces get swept away. They turn soft from the push and pull of water. From drifting. Those pieces never fit together again.”

She’d flitted down the coast then, her long dress and dreadlocks lifting in the wind. I could sense it—that something was different. I was twelve, Emmett ten. We didn’t know our fathers, and we’d been cared for by her and the dozen or so hippies living in our commune, but there’d always been people to kick a ball with, fellow explorers to help search the woods for treasures.

Eternal children content to drift through life like shattered glass.

I’d scoured the beach after my mother had left. Gathered as many pieces of broken bottles as possible, determined to prove they could fit back together. They never did, and she never came back.

Now I was adrift, too, unmoored after a failed marriage, and I’d taken out my frustration on Ainsley, like some insecure jerk.

Sherise nodded to me, but Ainsley didn’t glance my way. I busied myself, cleaning up a section of the site. I picked up discarded wood and stray nails, biding my time. Hoping for a minute alone with Ainsley, to finally apologize.

“A blue dress,” Ainsley said to Sherise. “Like a deep sky, nothing too ultramarine.”

Sherise swatted the air, dismissing her. “I usually wear neutral colors. Nothing too bold.”

“Which is safe , but blue will highlight your skin. Your eyes will shine. And I know exactly where to go.”

Sherise flattened her hands on the wall. “Don’t go choosing something flashy. Jerome is my baby. My only child. Being part of the wedding means everything, and I want to look good, but we got to keep the price down.”

They moved around a corner, and I inched closer, lurking like a creep. I wasn’t willing to let another day go without making amends.

Instead of offering a pitying smile, Ainsley winked at Sherise. “Then it’s a good thing you came to me. I’m a personal shopper, but I’m also the queen of sample sales. Looking this fly”—she gestured to her ample curves—“isn’t easy.”

Sherise coughed out a laugh. “If I had your figure, I’d wear a bikini to the wedding. As it stands, we’ll look for a blue dress .”

Ainsley’s grin widened. “You won’t regret it, and I won’t charge you my fee. It’ll be my wedding gift.”

I knelt to collect a pencil, watching Sherise gush over Ainsley from the corner of my eye. Not only did Ainsley volunteer at a Habitat build, she was offering her services for free to a woman she’d just recently met. The superficial girl I thought I should avoid was turning out to be anything but. And she wanted nothing to do with me.

Sherise smoothed down the last wrap. “Let’s grab lunch.”

“Lunch sounds amazing.” Ainsley groaned—a sexy sound that lit a fire in my gut. She kept her focus on Sherise. “I’d say I’m so hungry I could eat a cow, but that would happen on a cold day in hell. I’ll get my stuff and meet you by the bench.”

Sherise left, and Ainsley raised her arms above her head, grabbing her wrist and stretching from side to side. She was likely sore, as I’d been my first month on the job. The good kind of ache. She arched her back, sending her hardhat tipping backward. It lifted and tumbled to the ground, and I didn’t hesitate. Taking my opportunity to corner her, I dropped my wood scraps and snapped up her hat before she could bolt.

“I’m sorry.” I rushed out the words.

She turned and crossed her arms. Her red T-shirt had a worn look about it—frayed at the bottom, a rip at her neck. The type of top designed to look old. Spending cash on that stuff confused the piss out of me. Like I could sell my jeans for a couple hundred bucks because the ass and knees were faded.

But it was the writing across her breasts that had my gaze locked on them longer than was decent:

A woman without curves is like jeans without pockets.