But Rachel and me—we were legendary. We were meant to be together, and I’d do whatever I needed to prove my worth. Matter of fact, there was one thing in particular that would blow her mind. Something that would prove how serious I was, whether she chose to forgive me or not.
Twenty-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.
I’m sorry, Ray. So damn sorry.
You’re my sunshine, baby. Let me make things right.
You deserve the world. I will prove how wrong I was.
More of the same flooded my phone, but I never replied. Ainsley, however, did. Her text read: Message her again, and a Candiru fish will appear in your toilet bowl.
He didn’t relent, and I read his words greedily.
“That Habitat thing isn’t the worst idea,” Ainsley said, wrenching me from my depressing thoughts. “Construction guys are hot.”
Owen certainly was. Devastatingly handsome, really. But not as sexy as my bad boy. I clacked my molars together, reminding myself he was no longer mine. “If I were still with Jimmy, I could have helped—his friend volunteers at a site. But I bet it’s easy to research online.”
The notion forced a much-needed grin to my face. I’d once witnessed Ainsley swear like a truck driver after smearing dirt on her white stilettos. Stick her high-fashion self on a construction site, and she’d be liable to break a nail and breathe fire. Video footage would be necessary.
Gwen zipped her gym bag. “Don’t let them give you power tools. I’m not picking you up from the hospital.” Then to me, “Any news on the Jimmy front?”
We gathered our stuff and headed for the door, me trailing behind. “He’s as persistent as ever, but I haven’t replied yet. It’s not that I hate him for what he said or can’t find a way to forgive him. I’m just…I don’t know. I feel stuck.”
Before his onslaught of texts, he’d sent me a note, long and eloquent. He’d explained how messed up he’d been, stuck in the past, stubborn to the last. He even told me about an eye-opening conversation with Sophia (Banana-fana fo-phia). It all made sense.
When with Jimmy, I couldn’t mention Sophia without being met by a brick wall, and the reason he’d joined the contest proved he hadn’t dealt with his issues. He’d twisted the situation with me and his parents, and had transposed all that negative energy on yours truly. It sucked. Like eat a bag of gummy bears and inhale a pint of rum raisin sucked. The girls had even taken me to a bar and pinned his picture on a dart board. Excellent therapy.
He’d since apologized to the moon and back, and I wasn’t one to hold a grudge. Still, I couldn’t reply. Not to yell at him. Not to ask him to stop. Not to forgive him or tell him I dreamed about him nightly, and that I’d gotten into my Viticulture program and was excited and couldn’t wait to pick courses and learn all things wine and finally have a career I loved. I couldn’t break my silence, and I didn’t know why.
He hadn’t given up, yet. If that time came, I wasn’t sure what I’d do.
“Anyw
ay,” I said, “there’s too much going on to focus on him. I’m picking courses soon, and the luncheon is this weekend.”
Gwen stopped, and I nearly slammed into her. “Are you wearing that hot outfit I bought you?”
I shoved her forward. “I am. My mother might have a cow, but I don’t care. I feel sexy in it.”
“You are sexy, in that and in your sweats.”
We made our way to the street, and I scanned the road for a motorcycle, as usual. When I didn’t see Jimmy, disappointment rolled over me. I’d have to sort through my feelings soon.
* * *
For the next few days, I continued on in my indecisive haze. A dimmer had been set to my world, removing the bounce from my step, the cackle from my laugh. My mother’s luncheon was a welcome distraction.
The Healing Hearts function was in full swing, the outdoor tent swathed in pink, gray, and white flowers. Original paintings were showcased against the sides, each in memoriam of someone lost to heart disease, all up for silent auction. My mother had commissioned one for my father—a sailboat cresting a wave, conquering the seas. He’d have loved it.
I smiled for what felt like the first time this decade. As I took in the space, my mood brightened further, and when I noticed the drink stations, my heartrate rocketed, each beat pounding to the jazz band’s drumline.
Just as Jimmy had suggested, five displays had been set up, each hosting a different wine. No labels were visible, only blind pours offered. Guests swirled and sipped and squinted, trying to guess the grapes, even the years and wineries. I doubted many would come close, but their enjoyment was obvious. The activity was the perfect way to loosen up the crowd, and their wallets. The concept was brilliant.
Jimmy must have been helping my mother with the event, even after we’d broken up. If he’d been struggling as much as his texts suggested, as much as I had been, working with my mother, who’d never breathed a word of their communication, would have been challenging. But he hadn’t backed out, because he was a good man. A man whose emotions had gotten the better of him, but that meant he was passionate. And fiery. And sensitive.
And worth fighting for.
Which is exactly what I suddenly wanted to do: fight for him. Because a life without that kind of electricity was no life at all.
Thanks to my mother, I’d paid my tuition this morning, but the act had lacked a certain thrill. Not calling Jimmy to share the news had been excruciating, his daily absence diluting my enjoyment of everything. He was sunshine, not me. I was a grape thirsting to ripen, his energy my life’s blood, and I was done putting him off.
My mother, unfortunately, chose that moment to nearly careen into my side. “Laura Ketlar has done nothing but take credit for my work. Ordering the rentals doesn’t mean she singlehandedly”—she waved an impatient hand through the air—“organized the event. She didn’t lift a finger to help with the grunt work.”
As hard as I tried to listen, my heart had migrated to my throat, my need to escape and call my bad boy all consuming, but the fundraiser was a big deal. My mother needed my support. “Well, I’m impressed. You’ve outdone yourself this year.”
She scanned the space, one eyebrow expertly raised. “The caterers are a server short. They thought they’d slip it past us. The whole thing is shameful, really.”
That and the unrest in the Middle East. “No one has noticed, and look how many people have bid on Dad’s painting. The whole thing is a success.”
She squeezed my elbow. “You’re right, as usual. It’s just taken so much time and—” She stopped midsentence and scrutinized my wrist. “Is that a rash, Rachel? Is your purse on you? Use some cortisone right away and again tonight. If it’s not better in a day or two, make an appointment with Dr. Rancor.”
“On it,” I said. No need to share that it was a mosquito bite. Why rob her of her daily dose of overreacting?
A trait that had her examining my choice of wardrobe. “And that outfit is way too revealing. This isn’t a costume party.”
“That’s a shame. I was counting on winning the Most Likely to Get Arrested for Prostitution costume award.” I could only imagine how she’d react to my piercing.
“Honestly, Rachel. You and your brother will be the death of me. And did you hear Piper Lewis named her daughter Feather? Of all the things.”
She ran with her new topic, and I didn’t bother keeping up. I glanced at my legs, admiring their length in my heels and short skirt. No, my outfit didn’t blend with the pantsuits and cocktail dresses adorning the crowd. The notion only heightened my confidence. If anything, I felt sexier. Jimmy would have stood out, too, if he were here. All rough and inked, drawing curious looks from the guests. He would have had me hypnotized.
“Ma,” I said, interrupting her rant. “If Jimmy and I were still together, would you have given him a hard time, too? You know, asked that he dress a certain way, have him cover his ink?”
She placed her hands on both of my cheeks, sending her shoulders pads near her ears. “You’re my girl, and I’m sorry for what I said. You look beautiful today. I’m just stressed and nitpicking.” She patted my cheek and released me.
The compliment was lovely, but she’d avoided my question. “What about Jimmy, Ma? When I was with Gabe, you banned us from your parties. Would having Jimmy here have made you uncomfortable?” Her answer didn’t matter. It wouldn’t sway me from my decision to accept Jimmy’s apology, but it would be nice to know she’d have welcomed him here.
Her reply came slowly. “When you were with Gabe, I’d been going through a tough time. Most of my friends were friends of convenience, and I never really felt like I fit in. I took some of that out on you. Things are different now. I’ve met wonderful women through this organization, and Jimmy is nothing like that Gabe boy.”
I held my breath, nosy and nervous. “So you like Jimmy? I mean, it looks like you’ve been working with him on this event, so I’m guessing you’ve spent time with him.”
Her eyes sparkled, like when she’d passed me my tuition check, pride in her glowing smile. “When I first saw Jimmy, I only saw his rough exterior, and those…tattoos. Afterward, I saw a strong man who was led by his emotions. A potentially dangerous combination, but Jimmy has a heart of gold. Your father would have liked him, too. I’d be proud to have him here.”
“Really?” I couldn’t fight the scratchiness in my throat. I’d stopped listening to my father’s voicemail as of late, waiting on advice that would never come, but her admission meant the world. I’d have been proud, too, and honored and thrilled to have him at my side.
I wanted him here with me now.
“Yes, really,” my mother replied as she waved to a friend. “Jimmy is smart and creative, and his knowledge of wine is astounding.” One foot forward to mingle, she added, “You should enjoy yourself today. I hear the souvlaki is something special.”
She winked, leaving me speechless and slightly creeped out. (Reminder to self: never discuss sex with my mother.) Her inappropriate comment also had my heart thundering. My eyes flitted around, sure Jimmy and his “souvlaki” were here. My neck tingled, just below my ear, a place he’d often worshipped, with his tongue and teeth and lips. I touched the spot, shaking slightly.
Was he watching me now?
As if on cue, a deep voice curled from behind me. “That outfit should be illegal.”
So should his rumbling baritone. I stood, faced forward, my body alive with desire. “Just something I picked up.”
I wanted to see myself through his eyes. My calves lifted by my high heels. The curve of my spine revealed through the dipping fabric. I wanted to see him. See if his eyelids had lowered like they did when he was aroused. Check if his jaw had slackened.
“I’d like to strip it off you.” His hot breath hit my ear. Goose bumps cascaded down my neck.
Holy hell. Four weeks. It had been four weeks of confusion and longing, and now he was here, just behind me. I imagined us in a game of trust, those team building exer
cises where I’d have to fall and believe he’d catch me. And I did. If I gave up my balance and let go, I had no doubt he’d latch his arms around me and hold tight.
Unable to resist a glance, I peeked over my shoulder and whimpered. He was in dark jeans and boots, his gray button-down shirt tucked in, a purple vest stretched over his chest, thin black tie disappearing below. Wild hair. Dark scruff. Cuffs rolled to his elbows, all that glorious ink on display. The clincher was his eyes—hope and love and regret swirled in ribbons of blue.
I was done for.
“You’re not exactly dressed to blend in,” I said. “Are you trying to distract me?”
“Is it working?”
“Maybe.” Definitely.
“All is fair in love and lust, then.”
“Isn’t it ‘love and war’?”
“This isn’t war, Sunshine. It’s many things, but it isn’t war.”
Except he’d laid siege to my heart, the delicate tissue surrounded and blockaded, nothing moving in or out but memories of us. Some days it was hard to function.
Instead of stepping beside me, he pressed closer to my back and laid his large hands on my hips. “You really do look stunning.” His breath grazed my ear again, and I nearly melted.
“So do you,” I replied, and, God, I wanted to touch him. I couldn’t take not facing him.
Belly aflutter, I went to swivel, but he held me firm. I’d been frozen since our fight, unable to make a move, but now I knew what I wanted. Namely, him. My arms around his waist, my head against his chest, his heartbeat pounding in my ears. He was having none of it.
He pulled me tighter to him. “How about a wager?”
“I could be tempted.” As long as the bet revolved around which of us got naked first.
“I’m sure you could, and I’ll even let you set the stakes.”
“Without knowing the game?”
He pressed his lips to my temple. “I won’t lead you astray, Ray. I love you.”
A shiver ran down my spine, his beseeching voice guiding the sensation. “You love me?”
Legs (One Wild Wish, #1) Page 23