Page 128 of One Wild Wish

I’d picked apart our relationship countless times since it had unraveled. We’d met at college. She was beautiful—blond hair and red lips and full of confidence. I was away from home, missing Nana and Emmett, even my soccer team. Feeling at loose ends. Like I was a kid again, left to fend for myself. I got wrapped up in Tessa quickly. Her friends became mine. We spent our free time together. I proposed before we graduated, didn’t hesitate moving my life to be with her. I craved building my own family.

That should have been my first clue things would fall apart. When I’d bring up kids, she’d sidestep the conversation. Her work hours extended. My job sucked. We’d fight. I wound up feeling more alone and discarded than I had since I’d stopped searching the beach for broken glass. Now here I was.

Jimmy finished the last of his wine. “Tessa sounds like a wack job.”

“Vindictive, yeah. It’s how she’s been so successful at her firm. Thing is, Ainsley might not believe I’m innocent in all this. Since Tessa’s spinning nothing but lies, and the divorce has to end sometime, I figured she didn’t need to know yet.”

He drummed his thumb to the music, nodding. “Just be careful. I won’t say anything to Rachel, but you need to get this sorted before it bites you in the ass. And where the hell is your brother with our drinks?” He nudged his empty glass aside.

Another glance at the bar showed Emmett punching something into Cameron’s phone, his number likely. Cameron was still smiling shyly, his hand lingering on my brother’s as Emmett returned the cell. “Looks like drinks might be a while. But yeah, I’m trying to organize some face time with Tessa. That’s why I’m heading to D.C. tomorrow. I’m hoping to talk some sense into the woman. Get our house sold and the papers signed.”

“Sounds like an upward climb. I’d love to go out soon, though. With Ainsley and Rachel, when you’re back.”

Ainsley and Rachel. Still couldn’t get my head around that. “We’ll make it happen.”

As long as Tessa didn’t fuck everything up.

11

Eleven letters to describe a knife or chisel’s concave bevel.

Or seeking release when your hunky crush is MIA.

H O L L O W G R I N D

Ainsley

I didn’t normally walk through life disoriented, barely able to coordinate my shoes with my belt, but yesterday’s make-out session had rendered me intoxicated. Trapped in an endless state of horny inebriation. (Blue Bunny would need a heart transplant soon.) I couldn’t stop imagining the situation going on below Owen’s T-shirt. There was an undiscovered world under those wash-worn threads. He was a cityscape unto himself, all stacked bricks and polished marble. Miles of real estate to explore.

I was also dying for him to tug my hair harder and kiss me rougher, his thighs chafing mine as he thrust his length into me, but I found myself picturing other things, too. Us waking in bed together—those lazy mornings where you’d stretch and touch in the soft place between wakefulness and dreams. I’d always found that time intimate. Vulnerable. Sheets would rustle. Legs would tangle. Contented sighs would whisper along warm skin.

Missing that bond and imagining it with Owen had trepidation tapping restlessly in my chest. I wanted that connection with a man. Wanted it with Owen, specifically. But I was nervous. Scared to walk that open road again. Owen seemed perfect, but there was no such thing as perfect. Perfect usually came with secrets and skeletons in closets. Or I was just wary of repeating my mistakes. Which meant I needed a diversion.

Thankfully, Rachel was in town. I’d be able to seek oblivion tonight while drinking fruity cocktails with my friends. I’d made plans to take Sherise dress shopping tomorrow. Felipe’s wife, Gabriella, was on the books for Sunday. She’d need easy dresses and comfortable yet stylish shoes for their Italy trip. I had several stores lined up.

That left today. I had no clients booked. No sample sales were in need of my perusal, and I couldn’t afford my own shopping until things turned around for my folks. Normally, I’d head to the Habitat site. Volunteering had become my safe haven, a place to release my turmoil through manual labor. But it was Friday. Basic reconnaissance had informed me that Anton Bickley would be at the build on Fridays.

My arch nemesis was a school teacher now. He’d be at the site weekly, guiding his co-op students through the paces. I should have used the intel to head over and apologize to him for my awful stunt, but when I thought about how terrified I’d been in that walk-in fridge, how disgusting it had been to stick my hand in a maggot-filled bucket, my temper would flare. I was sick about the cockroach prank. I was angry about Anton’s bullying.

I wasn’t sure which emotion would rule me when I finally faced him.

I chose a hike instead. The fresh air cleared my mind, but not my Owen Restlessness. I checked my phone incessantly afterward, hoping Owen would send a flirty text, to no avail. I also creeped him on Facebook, but the mysterious man didn’t have an account. My wariness increased. People with secrets avoided social media, like my ex had. But Owen wasn’t Brandon, and I was letting my past affect my present.

Hanging out with Gwen and Rachel would be the distraction I needed.

Unfortunately, when I met them at the given address and realized where they were taking me, I nearly left. “Is this your idea of a joke? What kind of club needs an elevator?”

“A new swanky one,” Gwen said. “Don’t worry. I’ll hold your hand.”

“You’d be better off holding a barf bucket.”

She tapped the toe of her turquoise stiletto, unimpressed, while we waited for Rachel to get off her cell. The girls knew I disliked confined spaces. They knew I’d be green by the time we reached the top floor. They also knew I’d recover. Checking out a new hot spot trumped my claustrophobia. “They better sell margaritas by the pitcher.”

Gwen petted my hair. “I’ll buy the first round. And we’re doing you a favor. You can’t spend your life avoiding your fears.”

Except avoiding the Habitat build today proved I could.

Rachel hurried over, jamming her phone into her overflowing purse. “Sorry. Mother drama. She thinks my niece might have meningitis because the little peanut coughed.” She planted her hands on her slim hips and exhaled.