Page 5 of One Wild Wish

“No sharing,” I reminded them. “And no peeking at what we wrote,” I told Gwen.

We traded excited glances as Ainsley counted us down, landing on her final three with a flourish. I made my wish, the prospect of quitting and finding a fulfilling career spurring my heart nearly as fast as it had thrummed at Bad Boy’s touch. Nearly.

Then we were plunged into darkness.

The lights went out. As did the music, again. Shouts and gasps sounded for two frantic seconds. Our pinkies clenched harder, anchoring us to one another in the darkness. Just as quickly, everything sparked back to life.

The lively crowd became more boisterous, but we’d fallen silent. The air seemed to vibrate. My shoulders shivered, the hairs on the back of my neck at attention. Nervous energy was mirrored on my friends’ faces.

“Jesus.” Ainsley shattered the tension. “That was horror-movie creepy, but it was worth the price of admission.”

Gwen released our fingers and studied her hands. “They must be having some serious technical difficulties tonight.”

“Right. Technical difficulties.” But my erratic pulse didn’t slow. Something was screwy with the electrical system, all right. Still, the lights shutting off just as we’d made our wishes had felt eerie. Magical even. A ridiculous notion. Magic was for children and movies and fantasy novels.

Shaking off the tingles dancing up my arms, I moved aside my empty wineglass—glass three—and reached for “the red.”

* * *

Glass four disappeared quickly, too. We linked arms and traipsed outside on a happy high. I was on the talkative side of tipsy, Reckless Rachel hovering below the surface. We crossed the quiet street, the spring air cool enough to bring the bars and streetlights into focus. My promising future had me leaning my head back to gulp in the possibilities. Gwen waved down a cab, and I hummed to myself, practically floating.

This birthday felt different, our wishes holding more weight. I wouldn’t treat it lightly. When the timing was right, I’d quit my job and follow my (yet to be determined) dreams, and my life would be more than fine. It would be exciting and rewarding and fun. It would be zestful! A zesterific life! Completely zestastic!

A drunk giggle tripped off my tongue, but the sound died on a heavy sigh. Bad Boy was across the street, leaving the bar, that swagger of his ever present. I watched him like I would a spider crawling near my leg—fear, intrigue, and fascination intermingling. He pushed into a blue door a few buildings down. The sign above the bar read The Blue Door.

The sight of him had me wishing I’d accepted his drink offer. A sketchy thought. I’d been tempted by a rebel once, an experience I’d rather not repeat. I stared at that door anyway, desire curling through my blood stream. If my wish suddenly was a magical thing, I’d spin it on its head. I’d wish I could handle one wild night with Bad Boy. Not get shy. Not lock up when naked in front of a stranger, as though having sex for the first time. I’d let him ride me—no, I’d ride him—until the sun kissed the sky.

“We’ve made a decision.”

I turned to Ainsley, unaware they’d been talking. “What?”

“We’re getting in a cab,” she said, her voice even raspier after yelling in Vesper, “and you’re following your tongue into The Blue Door.”

“No way.” Was I that transparent? As lonely as I’d been, as many bad dates as I’d endured, I hadn’t realized how unfulfilled my body was until I’d watched couples flirt in the bar, a guest at a show. Until Bad Boy had touched me.

“Yes way.” Ainsley tucked my hair behind my ear. “Rachel, this is your birthday. Our birthday. You’ve been kind of down lately, and we think you need to let loose. Have fun. Not everything in your life has to fit into your spreadsheets. He’s not the type of guy you date or take home to meet Mom. I know you want that, but sometimes you have to turn things upside down to find your feet.”

“You did see how hot he was, right?” Gwen added. “Don’t tell me you weren’t picturing all the ink he had under that shirt. Go out and have fun.” She hit me with her trouble grin—one corner of her mouth kicked up, her eyes narrowed yet twinkling. The grin she’d unleashed the night of the Dildo Incident.

Reckless Rachel stirred to life.

But who was she kidding? Me have fun with the guy who heard me scream pussy? The kinky freak? “What if he has body parts in his freezer?”

Gwen raised her phone. “I’m friends with the bartender at The Blue Door, and I’ve already texted him. Turns out he knows the Lone Wolf and says he’s a decent guy, family owns a winery or something. But if he turns out to be a creeper, all you have to do is tell Cameron. He’ll make sure you find a cab.” Again with her trouble grin.

The same grin that now tugged at my lips.

Nothing about walking into a bar to stalk a stranger was smart, but I was amped up, my fine life and fine job itching at me until the urge to scream or dance or proposition a bad, bad boy had my blood thrumming. A cool breeze whispered across my back, echoing the sensation of Bad Boy’s fingers, but nowhere near as sweet.

“Go,” Ainsley said as she patted my ass.

“Hall of Fame Fuck,” Gwen reminded me.

Heart in my throat, my string of painful dates and lonely nights coaxing me on (as well as four glasses of wine), I let Reckless Rachel out to play.