Page 138 of One Wild Wish

I wasn’t sure when Owen had crouched in front of me. I could barely register his gentle hands on my face. “I called Emmett. He’s on his way. We’ll get it open together. He shouldn’t be long.”

My saliva had turned to sludge. “You called him?” It was then I noticed the phone on the floor by his boots.

He nodded. “I’m sorry, doll. This is my fault. I was so desperate to see you. I wasn’t thinking straight.”

“Maybe a striptease will help.” My attempt at levity waned under my shaky voice.

He must have heard the panic coursing through my words, but that didn’t stop Owen from standing and reaching for his belt. “Whatever you need.”

“I need a football stadium’s worth of air, and I was joking.” I pulled my ponytail away from my neck, hoping to cool down. I closed my eyes and counted to ten, but everything seemed to shrink closer, spin faster. When I blinked, Owen was still hovering in front of me, a sly smirk on his full lips. He pushed the edge of his leather belt through the buckle and flicked the prong from its home. He released the ends slowly and popped the button of his jeans.

“Honestly,” I said, “don’t waste your Magic Mike moves on me today. The blue bean has turned gray. Fear doesn’t increase my sex drive.”

Ignoring me, he slid his zipper down and dropped his jeans to his knees, displaying black Hugo Boss briefs and the package they held in place. An impressive package. I should have been panting to crawl toward him and slip that thin cotton down, down, down, but I was sweaty and nauseous and hot and clammy at once. Still, his male review continued. He flipped around and dropped his underwear, flashing his toned ass.

And…what in the hell? “Is that a tattoo?”

“Yep.”

Forcing my windpipe to function, I leaned forward and studied the spray of black ink on his left butt cheek. “Are they Japanese letters?”

“Apparently. You asked on the phone if I have any tattoos, and this is it. But I have no clue what it means.”

I shocked myself by laughing. “I so need an explanation for this.”

“Thought you would.” He pulled up his briefs and jeans. Once facing me again, he jutted his chin in my direction. “Okay if I join you down there?”

His awareness of my discomfort, his concern, had me breathing slightly easier. “Sure.”

Nudging me forward, he sunk behind my back, letting me lean on him without wrapping his arms around me and constricting my airflow further. He pushed my hair aside and kissed my neck. “It was, like, nine years ago. Maybe ten. Shortly before I met Tessa, my ex.”

Hearing her name had the thickness in my throat expanding. It gave her life, made her real. It emphasized his exclusion of this important fact. I couldn’t imagine Owen being like Dean or Thomas Arlington the third , spewing lies about divorces that would never happen. But Owen’s blatant avoidance of the topic nudged at the damaged tissue guarding my heart, warning me not to trust men.

His chest expanded into my spine, his deep voice following. “I’d sometimes go out with Emmett, hit the clubs he liked. We always acknowledged the anniversary of the day our mother left us. Not sure why. A reminder of what we still had, maybe? Or a ‘fuck you’ to her. Either way, once we got fake IDs, we’d go out and get drunk. That night we went overboard. The club and the scene were nuts.”

“A gay club?”

“Yeah. A wild one, with disco lights and men in crazy outfits. Pretty sure I danced a lot, and I made out with at least one guy.”

“Seriously?” I didn’t know why I found that so hot, but I did. Unbelievably sexy. “Did you like it?”

“It was nice, but it didn’t turn me on. I never did it again.”

I pictured my masculine man rubbing bristly cheeks and hard bodies with Aazam (Because Aazam ), and a glimmer of my desire sparked back to life. “Is there a video?”

His chest shook as he laughed. “No video, thank God. We kept drinking. Hard. It was the most wasted I’ve ever been. The last half of the night is a blur, but I remember waking up, my head as painful as it’s ever been, then I spent the next six hours puking my guts out. I didn’t notice the tattoo until I crawled into the shower the next evening. I also wasn’t sure why my ass hurt so bad. At first, I freaked out. Thought maybe more happened with that man than a kiss.”

Squealing, I covered my mouth and cackled into my hands. “Oh my God. If I didn’t know the outcome of this story, I would not be laughing at you right now, but oh my God .”

“Don’t hold back. Emmett never does.”

“I mean, they make movies about this stuff. Actually, it’s something Rachel would totally do after four glasses of wine, but I digress. Continue your confessional.”

I leaned my head back on his shoulder, giddy for the rest of his juicy story. I was still uncomfortable, but I could once again access the rational side of my brain. Thanks to Owen’s distraction techniques.

Still giving me room to breathe, he traced shapes on the dusty floor. “All I know is what Emmett’s told me. A friend of his back then was a tattoo artist. We ended up there, and I got inked. When I asked Emmett what the hell the Japanese letters meant, he busted his gut laughing. I endured that a few times, until I gave up. Whatever it means, it’s enough to send my brother into hysterics. I decided I’d rather not know. If I had to guess, I’d bet Emmett had the guy tattoo something stupid like, Ugly Bastard Eats Shit .”

He went on to talk about Emmett and him, two teen boys who’d wanted to ride horses and run soccer fields until the sun set. I listened. I breathed. More oxygen pumped through my lungs. The walls didn’t press so closely.