Page 45 of One Wild Wish

“I didn’t propose marriage. I just suggested you’d be so desperate to fuck me again you’d be begging for another round. So it won’t be weird. Sitting in Crush’s cellar, imagining me taking you from behind, will be fun. Don’t you think?”

Her slender fingers drifted to her neck. She stared at my bare chest. “Maybe…”

“Definitely?”

“God, you’re annoying.” She hurried toward the door.

“I aim to please. And Ray,” I said, as she was one step out, “I changed my name in your phone. Thought you should know. Don’t want you freaking out when you can’t find my number.”

“I won’t be using it.”

“You will.”

Her breathing escalated, a deep rose coloring her cheeks. Like at the bar, her brown eyes went hazy, everything about her telling me she wanted this, too. Then she blurted, “I have to go,” and left.

Thirty minutes later, my cell buzzed with a text.

Rachel: You’re coming over tomorrow.

I nearly fist-pumped.

Me: Sure thing, Sunshine.

My phone buzzed again, my grin widening as I checked it, but the name that popped up had me scratching my head. Owen Phillips? I hadn’t seen Owen since we’d played soccer in high school, the fucker always one move ahead of me—his passing slightly stronger, his ball handling a notch better. Last I heard, he was working at some Washington D.C. finance firm, married and living the life. I hadn’t seen him in twelve years.

Owen: Got your number from your folks, he texted. Just moved back to San Fran. Wanna grab a beer sometime?

After Rachel’s quick turnaround, Owen’s message brightened my mood further. It was nice to smile again, to think about a future that didn’t involve me alone in my shell of an apartment. Moving around Rachel in a kitchen, flour on my hands, her hips brushing mine, sounded pretty fucking good. Having a drink with an old buddy was appealing, too.

Me: Name the time.