Page 80 of One Wild Wish

CHAPTERTWENTY-FOUR

RACHEL

“I’m a bad person,” Ainsley said. Her back was, thankfully, to me as she dried her hair, the gym locker room empty except for her, Gwen, and me. Ainsley liked to dry her hair topless, nothing but a towel around her waist. Talking to her boobs always made me uncomfortable.

I knotted my towel around my chest. Snugly. “You’re one of my best friends, so technically, you can’t be bad.”

“Did you kick a puppy today?” Gwen asked. “Trip an old lady on purpose?”

“No. Seriously.” Ainsley ran a brush over her last section of hair, her honeyed strands billowing like a shampoo ad. She shut off the drier and faced us. “If karma is a real thing, I’m going to end up so screwed.”

Boobs. All I could think was: Boobs.

Gwen wasn’t fazed. “Is this about Emmett? Because he turned you down?” She dropped her towel and pulled on her thong. Only her thong.

“No,” Ainsley said, but she smirked. “You were right, though. The guy is a one-man pride parade. I never had a chance.” Her smile slipped. “It’s just, I love being a personal shopper. I really do. But I’m contributing to the downfall of society.”

Gwen tousled her hair, a quick flick of her fingers that had every wave landing just right. I ran my fingers through my straight strands, but it reminded me of Jimmy’s hand in my hair, his nails dragging along my scalp.

Everything reminded me of him, including the piercing I’d gotten last week. The event had involved me jumping out of the chair five times, while Gwen rolled her eyes and I panicked and the piercing guy laughed, but I did it. Every time I looked at the hoop through my belly button, a thrill rushed through me. I’d signed up for motorcycle classes, too. I was finally owning my inner bad girl.

Without the man who’d helped me find her.

“You may not be contributing to world peace,” Gwen said, “but I don’t see how your job is setting back humanity.”

We brought our makeup bags to the counter, mascara and blush studiously applied. Me between my half-naked friends. Images of Jimmy spun like a broken record through my mind, so I kept quiet, their conversation rolling without me.

“I buy gifts for mistresses,” Ainsley said. “I’m helping men cheat on their wives.”

Gwen cringed, pausing mid-mascara application. “It is pretty shady.”

“Exactly! If I don’t redeem myself, I’ll get visited by the Ghost of Christmas Past, and I do not want to relive my high school days.”

“So change jobs. Take a page from Rachel’s book and start fresh.”

“Aside from the fact that I need the money, I like what I do…just not that aspect of it. And are you ignoring me, Rachel? Because this silent treatment isn’t cool.”

Before I could answer, Gwen snickered. “She’s just uncomfortable. She hates talking to us when we’re topless.”

“Yep,” I said, but their nakedness wasn’t the only thing stealing my speech. These days, if I opened my mouth, I’d lament about how confused I was. And sad. Really sad. I was tired of my voice. “Just can’t focus when ‘the girls’ are out. They are that distracting.”

Ainsley stepped into her jean skirt and made a show of shaking her shoulders (and breasts) before getting dressed. “I consider it a compliment. But back to my disreputable life. I need to make a change. Not become some born-again do-gooder who gives her savings to charity and lives off smiles and happiness, but…I don’t know. Contribute more, maybe?”

Her tone was light, but her face was pensive, like the day we’d had our smoothies and she’d asked if I thought the post-wish blackout was odd. I was no longer sure the event had been a magical twist of fate. I’d be returning to school in August. My tuition hadn’t been paid yet, but I’d been accepted, which meant my resolution was nearly complete. I expected the enchanted power outage to somehow polish the rest of my life. Outside of school, my life didn’t feel particularly shiny.

“What about volunteering?” I asked, forcing my focus back to Ainsley. Whether this was about her wish or not, her frustration was palpable. “Something to make you feel like you’re helping.”

She pushed at her cuticles. “Could be smart, but animal shelters spike my allergies, and working in a soup kitchen isn’t my thing. You know how I get around meat.”

Her vegan-loving self would toss her cookies at the sight of a chicken bone. “Would you consider construction? There are always Habitat for Humanity projects. I know of one going on.”

Because Owen had mentioned one such project the day Jimmy and I had broken up.

My mind often traveled to that time, and many before it, snagging on details like a fisherman desperate for a catch. I couldn’t see a motorcycle without my belly tumbling, couldn’t glimpse a tattoo or dark hair or ripped jeans or belt buckles or leather jackets without fantasizing, wishing Jimmy were waiting for me, at home, with nothing on but a wicked smile.

The cavity in my chest widened. It had been four weeks, and the man was nothing if not persistent—calling constantly, sending emails and texts.

Jimmy: I’m sorry, Ray. So damn sorry.