Page 21 of One Wild Wish

Unbelievable.

I swiveled away, the humidity in the room descending between my breasts. Unlike Ainsley, I wasn’t gifted with ample cleavage and burlesque curves. I was long-limbed and thin, no definition to my arms. Jimmy’s rapt attention put the sexy in my step. I moved to the glass wall, my back to him, a sway to my hips that hadn’t been there before. Like I was a thing to be admired. Like I could grip a stripper pole and blow the roof off a club.

A man had never made me feel so desirable with nothing but his eyes. But I was a relationship girl, and Jimmy was a bad, bad boy. I’d been down that road before.

He was also competition.

To quell the heat in my blood, I focused on the wall of bottles in front of me. The breadth of the collection was astounding, new and old world wines, each worth more than my savings. They even had a few bottles from Tamber Bey. I’d gnaw off my right arm to taste a drop of that Cabernet.

There were also a number of bottles I didn’t recognize, enough that my confidence waned. At the first tasting, my nerves hadn’t bested me. Discerning the whites poured was easy enough, and the hopefuls vying for the position were so varied my limited experience hadn’t been a hindrance.

The stakes had changed.

In one quick move, Alonzo had eliminated over half the group, leaving only those with a nose for wine and the drive to win. I wasn’t sure where I fell on the spectrum.

Sensing the room filling up, I turned to find a seat. Jimmy’s attention had shifted from me to the wall of wines at the back, his steely eyes broody. Or maybe sad. I may not have remembered our night together, but the bleakness of his apartment was hard to forget. His forlorn expression now was difficult to ignore, too. The few seats around him were empty, the other contestants keeping their distance, scornful looks tossed his way. As though his tattoos were contagious.

At sixteen, I’d seen a Jane Goodall documentary and declared myself a future primatologist. I’d spend hours at the zoo, staring at the chimpanzee enclosure, taking important notes: Murphy smacked Daisy’s head. When I realized actual documentation involved rain forests and bugs the size of Texas, I aborted the plan, but not before befriending one chimpanzee. Sir Lancelot would spend his days hunched in a corner, his back turned to the world. My best friend, Elise, had just moved away, and the group we’d eaten lunch with decided my hair wasn’t stylish enough or my shoes weren’t hip enough. They left me to fend for myself. Sixteen-year-old super villains.

Sir Lancelot had understood me. I’d tell him about my crush on Ross Zuckerman, and he’d pick at his fur. The day he held out a branch toward me, I cried.

Jimmy might have oozed dude and sexual confidence, but there was no denying the loneliness beneath his tough exterior, and Ainsley’s advice drifted toward the shadows. I could have sat in the empty chair near me, put an end to whatever game Jimmy and his six orgasms were playing, but watching life through a one-way mirror wasn’t fun for anyone.

Before I could overthink my decision, I rounded the tables and sat next to him.

He crowded my space, his elbow brushing mine. “Couldn’t stay away, could you?”

“I wanted a front row seat for your elimination.”

He edged closer. “Hope you don’t cry when you’re cut, Sunshine. I don’t deal well with criers.”

Maybe I should have pondered my seat choice longer. But his use of that silly nickname amused me, our banter more fun than irritating. “I don’t deal well with cocky men who talk to mask their incompetence.”

“If you remembered our night, you’d know my cockiness is justified.”

“If it were that good, I wouldn’t have blocked it out.” He was toying with me, using my memory lapse to get under my skin. So why was I smiling? Biting back my grin, I removed two pens from my purse and set them perpendicular to the table’s edge.

“Too much of a good thing can kick you into shock,” he said.

“Too much ego suffocates brain function.”

He leaned into my side. “It wasn’t my brain that fucked you.”

Whoa. My witty reply dried up, all moisture heading south. Since our last meeting, zoning out had become habit. The memory of his nose in my hair after the tasting, his lips by my ear, the word cock whispered for only me to hear, had played on repeat. Each time, my irritation rose—frustration that I couldn’t remember details of the night in question.

And Bad Boy knew it.

Time for a topic change. “The Nose looks like stiff competition.”

I nodded toward a contestant, but Jimmy’s focus lingered on my face. He had deep blue eyes with hints of steel. Intense eyes. I liked the attention, enjoyed our flirtatious joking and our proximity, how his body heat mingled with mine. I liked it all too much.

Taking my cue, he searched out the Nose. I’d spotted him at the first round and his intimidation factor was still high. His navy vest and tie had country club written all over them, his gaunt cheeks and sharp chin debonair. His nose was the most worrisome. A nose that large and straight had the power to unlock scents from any glass.

Jimmy whistled. “That is one mighty schnoz.”

“The Wizard of Schnoz,” I said and cringed. My father and I had played this game, swapping words in movie titles, both of us cracking up. Men didn’t often get my silly sense of humor.

Instead of raising an eyebrow, Jimmy played along. “The Schnoz of Wrath.”