Page 150 of One Wild Wish

Her tone was abrupt, her movements purposeful, as though the momentum would keep her together. Her stiffness tore at me.

I needed to prove how much I cared for her. Show her I was a man of my word, faithful and true. I also needed to thaw this fresh ice between us. Her delight at my dancing admission earlier had been a thing of beauty, the way it had lit her up. A flame I could fan. Maybe it was time to pull out my rusty moves and make Ainsley Hall the star of her own Hollywood Musical.

16

Three-letter word for the horizontal distance between the eaves and roof ridge.

Or your natural instinct when facing the boy who bullied you.

R U N

Ainsley

Half the fun of meeting the girls at the gym was wearing my favorite white camo Lululemon tights while watching them grunt and sweat from a safe distance.

Gwen dropped her ten-thousand-pound weights. “My shoulders are on fire.”

Rachel finished her umpteenth squat. “My thighs might explode.”

I fixed my ponytail. “I could totally go for a smoothie.”

Gwen rolled her eyes and jumped up and down on a freaking box , as a few men snuck lusty glances her way. “Why do you even come here?” She shot the question at me, barely out of breath.

I pointed to my five-pound weights. “I’m practically Super Woman. You should feel my muscles.” Posing like a bodybuilder, I flexed my biceps.

Rachel squeezed them indulgently. “Let’s get that smoothie, Wonder Woman. Gwen can meet us when she’s done showing off.”

Gwen gestured rudely while still jumping on a box like a crazy person.

After a deep gulp of my coconut, pineapple, avocado smoothie, I slumped in my seat. The gym had a few tables nestled beside the juice bar. People hurried by with gym bags slung over their shoulders, occasionally blocking the view of the treadmills and the street beyond the windows. I watched the frenetic movement, slightly detached. Pretty much how I’d felt the past week. The seven days since Owen’s big revelation.

“You seem quiet.” Rachel knocked her smoothie against mine.

I shrugged and kept sipping.

She wrenched my cup from my hand, placed it out of reach, and faced me. “What’s up?”

“Nothing.”

“Seriously?”

“Seriously.”

She made an annoyed sound at the back of her throat. “I rarely get to see you these days, which means time is valuable. If you don’t start spilling all your secrets in the next five seconds, I’ll tell Owen you also crushed on the hot chocolatier.”

“You wouldn’t.”

“Try me.”

I harrumphed. (Ten-letter word to express dissatisfaction.) But she was right. We didn’t see each other nearly enough, and I’d done nothing but let my emotions fester the past week. Although I’d visited Owen’s apartment twice, our time together had been heavy. Thick with unspoken tension, weighing down our previously light banter.

We still couldn’t keep our hands off each other, and I’d let myself enjoy flipping through a magazine while my construction hunk massaged my feet, lavishing me with attention. Like he couldn’t do enough to prove his affection. Still, we’d avoid any and all topics involving his divorce and the details he’d withheld. There had also been a few nights where I’d texted him, but he hadn’t replied until much later. Unusual behavior for him.

It was likely him feeding off my distance, but familiar anxiety knotted my belly. Maybe he was lying to me. Seeing someone else.

I needed to get my head together before I lost my mind.

My clutch purse was beside me. I fiddled with the zipper. “Do you know Owen’s wife is accusing him of cheating?”