Page 48 of One Wild Wish

Gwen sucked back water. “Who doesn’t know you exist.”

Ainsley swatted the air. “He’s playing hard to get.”

“More like you’re dying to get him hard,” I replied.

She fanned her face. “You have no idea. Have you seen him with his shirt off? The guy makes Chris Evans look like the Stay Puft Marshmallow Man.”

I rubbed my towel over my forehead, then used it to flick Gwen’s butt. We were both in capri leggings and fitted tanks—mine black, hers splashed with a CrossFit logo. We’d both worked out for an hour. Somehow her loose hair had that sexy, disheveled look, while my lifeless ponytail was plastered to my sweaty neck.

“It’s smoothie time,” I said. “Let’s call it a night.”

Gwen checked her watch. The thing was some minicomputer that calculated her heartrate and steps taken…and probably the number of times she blinked. “I’d like to do another round of cardio. I’ll meet you after.”

I put away my weights, then Ainsley and I ordered smoothies and sat in our usual spot—one of three tables facing the cardio room. Towels were strewn by the treadmills, the disinfectant spray bottles half empty. There would be lots of work tomorrow.

Good thing I had those college degrees!

“I read an article about your contest,” Ainsley said, “by some restaurant critic blasting the thing, saying it’s nothing more than a lame attempt to increase business.”

I sucked my straw, blueberry and banana swirling on my tongue. “I read it, and it totally is. I’m not even sure what I’m doing there. Actually”—I pressed my wrists to my cup, hoping to cool down—“I know exactly why I’m there. It’s a delay tactic.”

She adjusted her sports bra. “I don’t follow.”

Since Jimmy’s Master Sommelier revelation, I’d been stewing over the contest and my place in it. Realizing I wouldn’t win didn’t upset me as much as I’d imagined. Frustration weighed me down, but not the way it had on impact. I’d jumped on this opportunity because I’d quit yet another job and had no clue where to turn my focus. With the birthday wish taunting me, wine seemed like the right move.

But the thought of winning, as hopeless as it was, had me breaking out in hives. It wasn’t what I wanted, but that left me at ground zero, sifting through the internet for inspiration, again.

“I’m in a holding pattern,” I said. “My mother has pushed me forever to work for my uncle’s funeral home, and I’m running out of options. I’m not sure this sommelier position is for me, but if I hang on until the end, she’ll back off. That gives me a month to figure something out.”

“And to flirt with Jimmy?”

The heat flushing my chest had me placing my smoothie against my neck. “I’ve fallen hard for him. I still question things, thinking I’m nuts to pursue him, but my excuses are drying up.”

Ainsley pushed her straw around. “Is he a player?”

“I don’t think so.” A player wouldn’t own his discomfort when confronting an ex. He’d shared bits about his family, had admitted the contest was a way for him to ease back into the land of the living. As was dating me. He’d never been anything but honest.

“Are you attracted to him?” she asked.

“Is that a real question?”

She smirked. “Do you have fun with him? Does he make you laugh? Do you think about him when he’s not around?”

I bit my lip, and the truth spilled out. “Yes. Yes. And all the time.”

“Then stop worrying about the rest. Enjoy him. Open up. I bet your mother will surprise you. She might love him.”

I stared at her, wide eyed.

“You’re right,” she said. “She’ll hate him. But it doesn’t matter. The only one who has to live with him is you.”

That sent my mind to Jimmy and me sharing an apartment—something small and tasteful, warmer than his, with new quotes on the wall. Sayings about love conquering all and opposites attracting. I’d hang my pencil skirts next to his ripped jeans, and we’d cuddle on the couch, wine in hand, talking about our days. Days that hopefully wouldn’t include discussing the benefits of open versus closed caskets. I blinked the vignette away.

Unless I got over myself, that daydream would never happen.

Ainsley fiddled with her straw, a stirring motion that sloshed her kale smoothie. “Do you ever think about our birthday? About the blackout after our wish?”

More than I cared to admit. “Sometimes. It was pretty nuts.”