R

He’s got a second chance to prove he can give her what she needs…and that he never stopped loving her.

This time, it’s forever.

It wasn’t hard for Bailey to come up with a birthday wish. The fantasy—to be used for the pleasure of others—has lived in her head since college, when she and her boyfriend Nash had planned to fulfil it together. But he broke her heart, and eight years later the fantasy remains unfulfilled. For Bailey, that’s just about long enough, and her thirtieth birthday seems like the perfect time to correct that.

But she needs someone who knows her, someone she can fully trust, to help her make it happen. And there’s only one person she can think of who fits that bill.

Nash has one regret in his life—that his fear had cost him the only woman he’s ever loved. He’s spent the last eight years hoping for a second chance with Bailey. In the last few years they’ve become friends again, giving him cautious hope that he might one day get it. But he never thought it would come like this.

Bailey insists it’s just sex, no matter how much her heart is telling her otherwise. But for Nash, it’s his second chance. Maybe if he can give Bailey the thing she wants most—and show her he never stopped loving her—he’ll earn back the happily-ever-after he so foolishly threw away.

This book is perhaps the filthest thing I've ever written - and if you're familiar with my work, you know that's saying something. Bailey is my absolute favorite kiind of heroine to write: confident, unapologetically sexual, and still achingly vulnerable to love. We all are, aren't we? No matter how head-on we face the challenges of life, love can bring us to our knees, and taking the chance on a broken heart is the ultimate act of bravery.

Chapter One

Bailey Pachis was so relaxed she was practically a puddle. A warm, smooth, fragrant puddle of soft skin and loose muscles that had become one with the massage table under her. She’d probably need to be peeled off it at some point, like wax left out in the hot sun too long, but that was a problem for future Bailey. Present Bailey was too busy being stroked and rubbed and massaged into bliss by a beautiful woman to worry about such matters.

It was, unfortunately, non-sexual bliss, but beggars couldn’t be choosers.

Music was playing, Stevie Nicks’ husky, dreamy voice soaring over soft guitars, and the vanilla scent of the candles she’d lit mixed with the almond of the massage oil, making her think of cake. She’d order some later, she promised herself, and grunted when strong hands, slick with oil, stroked firmly down her forearm.

“Too much, honey?” Marissa—the aforementioned beautiful woman, masseuse extraordinaire and Bailey’s new favorite person—asked softly. 

Pushing through the thick fog of relaxed pleasure—seriously, it felt like she didn’t have bones anymore—Bailey roused herself enough to respond. “No, it’s good,” she mumbled and tried to sink back into her massage-induced languor. 

She was almost there when the clatter of the door opening pierced the dreamy guitars, and voices not nearly as melodic as Stevie’s rang out. 

Bailey sighed. “Shit.”

“Everything okay?” Marissa asked, her magic fingers pausing.

“It’s fine,” Bailey said, determined to block out the intrusion. The massage was almost over, and she wanted to savor every last moment of it. “You can keep going.”

The magic fingers resumed, and Bailey tried to get back into the pleasure-fog. But Chloe was talking, and Gwen was laughing, and one of them dropped something that hit the marble floor so loud it could’ve woken the dead, and with a curse Bailey gave up.

“You assholes are ruining my birthday massage,” she called out, and opened one eye to glare past Marissa at her friends standing in the foyer of the hotel suite.

Chloe looked pretty and cool in a pair of pink shorts and a white tank top that showed off a faint tan that added a golden glow to her usually pale skin. She wore her blonde hair in a pixie cut, which needed a trim, and Bailey made a note to get her into the salon in the next week or so. Maybe she could finally convince Chloe to add some color to the blonde. A strong pink, or maybe a summer-sky blue to match the eyes currently wide with surprise.

She stepped forward into the living room of the suite, eyeing the table set up in front of the enormous fireplace where Bailey currently lay face up under a sheet. “We get massages? Cool.”

“I’m getting a massage,” Bailey corrected while Marissa, a smile on her truly stunning face, continued to stroke her arm. “You’re not.”

Chloe’s expression went mulish. “How come?”

“Because you had sex.”

Gwen, a head taller than Chloe with thick chestnut hair pulled back in a neat tail and no tan to speak of, gamely turned a laugh into a cough, brown eyes dancing behind her glasses.

Chloe shot her a glare, then jutted her chin at Bailey. “You don’t know that.”

“You have beard burn on your neck.”

Chloe slapped a hand over her neck. “I do not.”

“Other side,” Gwen advised.

Chloe’s cheeks turned pink under her tan. “What if it was bad sex?”

“It wasn’t bad sex,” Bailey said while Gwen snorted. “You never have bad sex. That’s why, if you weren’t my best friend, I would hate you.”

“It could have been bad sex,” Chloe insisted, stubborn to the last.

“Why don’t I just call Jesse and Knox to verify that,” Gwen offered, and Marissa, who like a true professional had been pretending to be invisible during the exchange, froze.

“Wait.” She held up a hand, shiny with oil, and narrowed her eyes—a lovely hazel that trended toward gold and glowed against her warm brown skin—on Chloe. “Two men?”

Chloe bit her lip, the color in her cheeks deepening. “Um, yeah?”

“She’s in a polyamorous relationship,” Bailey explained with smug relish.

Marissa turned to Bailey, dark curls swinging, lush lips pursed. “Are they hot?”

“Oh, yeah.”

“Smokin’ hot,” Gwen chimed in. “Sexy carpenter and a silver fox Daddy.”

Chloe grimaced. “What have I told you about the Daddy stuff?”

“They’re bisexual,” Bailey went on, ignoring Chloe. “They like to do her and each other all at the same time.”

“You don’t get a massage,” Marissa declared.

“Dammit,” Chloe muttered.

“What about me?” Gwen said, raising her hand like a kid in class. “I haven’t had sex. Do I get a massage?”

“No,” Bailey said before Marissa could answer. “It’s not your birthday. You can have one on your birthday.”

“Sorry,” Marissa said with a shrug and, picking up Bailey’s hand, went back to work.

“Well, this sucks. You get a massage and Chloe had sex. What do I get?” Gwen wondered.

“You can have the bathtub first this time,” Bailey said and closed her eyes, determined to enjoy the time she had left with Marissa’s magic fingers.

When the massage was over, she opened them on a blissful sigh. Gwen and Chloe had disappeared, and she was back in the pleasure-fog. Feeling warm and loose and pretty damn good about turning thirty in a couple of hours, Bailey wrapped herself up in a hotel robe and guzzled a bottle of water while Marissa broke down the table.

“Plenty of water now, so you don’t get sore,” Marissa instructed, and waved her down when she started to stand. “No, you just relax, honey. I know the way out.”

“Thanks.” Digging into the pocket of the robe, Bailey pulled out the cash she’d tucked there earlier for a tip. “This is for you.”

Marissa’s smile warmed. “Thank you, honey. I’m going to give you my card.” She plucked one out of the pocket of the short spa jacket that would’ve looked boxy on any other woman. But there was no way to square off those curves. “Just in case.”

Bailey took the card, intrigued by the smile that accompanied it. She was in a sex slump and her radar was admittedly rusty, but it was beeping now. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

Marissa’s laugh was a throaty purr. “You do that, honey. Bye, now.”

“Bye.” Bailey watched her carry the table out and wondered idly if the pendulum-like swing in Marissa’s generous hips was their usual motion, or if it had been added for her benefit.

When the door clicked shut, she tucked the card in her pocket and went to find her friends.

The hotel suite was huge, but having been there before for Chloe’s birthday in January, she wound her way easily through the marble-tiled maze to the main bedroom. As she approached the open double doors, the unmistakable sounds of a baseball game told her Gwen had won the battle for the remote. Well, she’d fix that.

“We are not watching baseball on my birthday,” she announced, walking into the room.

“Told you,” Chloe mumbled smugly from her spot in the middle of the big bed. Well, as smugly as she could with the sheet mask covering her face.

“Your birthday’s tomorrow,” Gwen reminded her and adjusted her glasses carefully on her nose. She wore a mask too, and both of them had changed into robes that matched Bailey’s. “And besides, you weren’t here.”

“Well, I’m here now.” To settle the matter, Bailey plucked the remote off the bed and turned off the television.

“Thank you,” Chloe said.

“You’re welcome. What’s on your face?”

“A mask.” Chloe lifted a finger to poke at it. “I forget what kind.”

“It’s collagen,” Gwen told her. “Hydrating.”

“Right. My skin is having a drink.”

“Cool.” Bailey climbed onto the bed. “I want one.”

Gwen picked up the canvas shopping bag sitting beside her and dumped it out. “Got you covered.”

Bailey’s eyes widened. “What’d you do, buy out the drugstore?”

“Drugstore, hell. This is quality shit.” Sifting through the pile of masks, lotions, serums, creams, and bottles, Gwen held up two packages. “You wanna suck bad stuff out or pump good stuff in?”

“Gimme the good stuff.”

Gwen tossed her a mask, then scooped up the remote. “If we’re not going to watch baseball, then I’m picking a movie.”

“Something fun,” Bailey ordered, reading the instructions on the package. “Nothing dreary or depressing.”

“There’s a documentary—”

“No documentaries,” Chloe and Bailey said at the same time.

“But it’s about an amusement park in New Jersey in the 80s.”

“No,” Bailey said.

“It’s called Class Action Park because it was completely unregulated and dangerous,” Gwen wheedled.

“No,” Chloe said firmly.

“Fine.” Gwen handed her the remote and flopped back against the pillows in a pout. “You pick, then.”

“I don’t want to watch a movie,” Chloe said. “I want to hear Bailey’s birthday wish.”

Busy smoothing the thin sheet of the mask over her face, Bailey shook her head. “It’s not midnight yet.”

“Technically, you don’t have to wait until midnight,” Gwen pointed out. “Chloe just did that because she was paranoid.”

“I wasn’t paranoid. I was superstitious.”

“What’s the difference?”

Chloe thought for a moment. “Paranoia is irrational. Superstition is quirky.”

Gwen rolled her eyes.

“Shut up,” Chloe said and turned back to Bailey. “Well?”

Bailey continued smoothing. “I want cake first.”

“Cake?” Gwen echoed.

“Yeah. Vanilla cake,” Bailey elaborated. “With lots of frosting. And champagne.”

Gwen looked at Chloe. “Who’s calling room service?”

“Not it,” Chloe said.

“I’m the birthday girl.” Mask in place, Bailey stretched out on the plush king-sized bed to wiggle into the pillows.

“Fine, fine.” Holding her robe together with one hand, Gwen slid off the bed. “Cake and champagne. Anything else?”

“I’ll take a club sandwich and fries,” Chloe said.

“Oysters,” Bailey added from her pile of pillows. “Two dozen, with lemons and hot sauce.”

Gwen wrinkled her nose. “Ugh.”

Well accustomed to Gwen’s opinion on her favorite indulgent treat, Bailey just smiled. “Get an extra side of fries, too.”

“Cake, champagne, club sandwich, oysters, and two orders of fries,” Gwen recited and headed out of the room.

“Don’t forget the hot sauce!” Bailey called after her, then looked at Chloe. “She knows there’s a phone in here, right?”

Chloe rolled her shoulders in a shrug. “She’s in a mood. Let her have a minute to herself.”

Bailey frowned. “Is something wrong?”

“I don’t know. If there is, she’s not saying. It’s not work,” Chloe went on, crossing her feet at the ankles. “I’d know if anything was off there.”

That was probably true. While they didn’t technically work together, Chloe was the sometimes bartender at the pub and restaurant where Gwen was the head server and de facto assistant manager. Owned by Chloe’s Aunt Mo and her wife Carrie, The Wild Clover had expanded six months ago into to include a restaurant, and they’d wooed Gwen away from her waitress job at Braxton, Ohio’s only Michelin[RS3]  starred restaurant, to run it. If something was wrong at work, Mo and Carrie would know. And if Mo and Carrie knew, so would Chloe.

“Is she seeing anyone?”

“Don’t think so.” Chloe’s eyes met Bailey’s, concern in their summer-blue depths. “She did mention her mom wants to come for a visit.”

Bailey winced. Gwen’s mother lived in Florida, which was healthier for everyone involved, and rarely made the trip north. But when she did… “That would do it. When?”

“Sometime this summer. She didn’t say exactly.”

“Well, when Bonnie gets here, we’ll run interference. In fact…”

“What?” Chloe prompted.

“What if we got her a room here?” Bailey asked.

“Here, at The Mark?”

“Half the reason these visits are so tense is because Bonnie insists on staying with Gwen, and then they’re practically on top of each other. If we put her up in the hotel, at least Gwen would have some breathing room.”

“It’s not a bad idea, but she’ll be in town for a week, maybe more. The cost of that, even if we split it…” Chloe trailed off, then shook her head. “I don’t think I could swing it.” 

“Yeah.” It would be a stretch for her, too, Bailey realized. “I can ask Jenna.”

Chloe looked blank, then Bailey saw the name land. “Jenna, your ex-client? The one who gets us this suite?”

“It’s worth an ask, right?”

Chloe looked uncomfortable. “Maybe. I know she’s grateful to you, but she’s already giving us a lot.”

Bailey couldn’t disagree. The suite they currently occupied was the best the hotel had to offer, a gesture of appreciation for the help Bailey had provided when Jenna was trying to escape an abusive marriage. The husband had ended up in prison, Jenna had ended up with most of his assets—including part ownership of The Mark—and Bailey, Chloe and Gwen had ended up with a high-end hotel suite for their traditional birthday-eve sleepovers.

“We’ll figure something out,” Chloe said, pulling Bailey out of her thoughts, then Gwen walked into the room.

“All right, food is on the way, and I pulled the champagne out of the mini bar.” Gwen flopped across the foot of the bed. “What are we talking about?”

Bailey lied without hesitation. “Marissa hitting on me.”

“Who’s Marissa?” Gwen asked.

“The masseuse,” Chloe reminded her.

“She hit on you?” Curled on her side to face them, her head propped on her hand, Gwen frowned. “That’s wildly inappropriate.”

“It would be,” Bailey allowed. “And she didn’t really hit on me, not obviously. Let’s just say there was subtext.”

“Are you going to subtext back?”

Bailey grinned, appreciating Gwen’s humor. “I don’t know. She was cute.”

“That’s an understatement,” Chloe drawled.

“And I’m in a sex drought,” Bailey continued.

“Same,” Gwen sighed.

“So maybe I’ll ask her out for a drink and see where it goes.”

“That would be a nice way to start your thirties,” Chloe mused.

Bailey had a plan for that already, but nodded in agreement.

“Also, I didn’t say this earlier, because you told me I couldn’t have a massage and I was mad at you, but I like your new hair.”

Bailey reached up to pat the mass of it, still caught up in a band for the massage, and beamed. “Thanks.”

Gwen was frowning again. “What’s different about it?”

Chloe snickered, and Bailey huffed out an exasperated breath. “I cut off about five inches and did a subtle widow’s peak on the bangs. And the streaks are purple instead of blue.”

Gwen blinked owlishly, her eyes wide behind her glasses. “Oh.”

“How did you not notice?”

“Well, I can’t tell it’s shorter when it’s up,” Gwen said defensively. “And purple looks almost the same as blue with your black hair.”

“It does not.”

“Did you get purple contacts to match?” Chloe asked before Gwen could protest again.

“Of course.”

Gwen squinted. “Are you wearing them?”

Bailey rolled eyes that were currently their natural hazel. “No, Gwen, my eyes are not purple at the moment. Do you need new glasses?”

Gwen nudged the large round frames up her nose. “These are new.”

“Uh-huh.”

“If you two are going to bicker all night, we’re going to need to order more booze,” Chloe declared.

“Who’s bickering?” Gwen wondered. “I’m not bickering.”

“I might be bickering,” Bailey said with a grin.

Chloe kicked her in the shin. “Knock it off.”

“Yes, Mother.”

Chloe kicked her again.

“Hey!”

“You deserved that.”

“Regular sex makes you mean,” Bailey complained.

Chloe looked smug. “That’s not what it makes me.”

“Please don’t tell us what it makes you,” Gwen begged.

“Spoil sport,” Bailey accused.

“I was going to say it makes me happy,” Chloe said loftily.

“Well, this conversation is boring,” Bailey decided.

“Then liven it up,” Chloe suggested, and nudged Bailey’s leg with her foot. “Tell us your birthday wish.”

“My cake isn’t here yet,” Bailey protested.

“So?”

“So, I want cake with my wish,” Bailey said stubbornly.

Gwen picked the remote up off the bed. “We’ll watch Class Action Park while we wait.”

Both Bailey and Chloe groaned.

They were twenty minutes into the documentary—and Bailey had to admit it was entertaining—when a trio of chimes rang out.

“Thank God, food,” Chloe said fervently.

Gwen paused the screen. “That was fast. It took a lot longer last time.”

“It was New Year’s Eve last time,” Bailey pointed out. “Not a random Tuesday in June. They’re probably a little less busy tonight.”

“Oh. Good point.”

Chloe snatched the remote out of Gwen’s hand and shut off the TV. “Go get the food.”

“Why me?” Gwen demanded.

“Because my brain is too numb from this documentary to work, and it’s your fault.”

“Excuse me for trying to introduce a little fucking culture,” Gwen grumbled and rolled off the bed.

“I thought it was kind of interesting,” Bailey whispered as Gwen stomped out.

“Me too, but don’t tell her that,” Chloe whispered back.

Bailey snorted out a laugh. “How are we going to watch the rest of it without her saying ‘I told you so’?”

Chloe wrinkled her brow in thought. “Wait until she falls asleep?”

“And maybe get her a little drunk, so she sleeps nice and hard.”

“Good call,” Chloe said and held out her fist for a bump.

“Hey! Get out here!” Gwen hollered from the living room.

“Why?” Bailey shouted back.

“Because I’m not carrying all this shit for your lazy asses!”

“She’s so mean,” Bailey complained.

Chloe laughed and grabbed Bailey’s hand to drag her off the bed. “Come on, birthday girl. I’m hungry.”

In the living room, Gwen was already stretched out on one of the two white sofas that flanked the enormous—and now lit—marble fireplace. She held what looked like a hot fudge sundae, complete with whipped cream, sprinkles, and a cherry on top, and a room service cart with dome-covered plates was parked beside her.

“You couldn’t just push the fucking cart in?” Bailey demanded.

Gwen shoved a spoonful of ice cream, dripping with fudge and whipped cream, into her mouth. “Nope.”

“Why is the fireplace on?” Chloe wanted to know.

Gwen swallowed her ice cream. “Ambiance.”

“It’s June,” Chloe reminded her, and flicked the switch to kill the leaping flames. “We don’t need ambiance that comes with heat.”

Bailey lifted a dome off a plate and found Chloe’s club sandwich and fries. The second plate held more fries, and the third yielded her oysters. “Where’s my fucking cake?”

Gwen rolled her eyes. “It’s on the table already, weirdo, with the champagne.”

Bailey looked at the coffee table, where champagne sat chilling in a bucket beside three crystal flutes, and a whole layer cake sat on a delicate china platter.

“I said a slice of cake,” Bailey told Gwen.

“No, you didn’t.” Gwen waved her spoon. “You said, ‘I want cake, vanilla cake’, and that’s what you got. You’re welcome.”

Chloe stepped around Bailey to snag her sandwich and the ketchup bottle. “Cool, now we can all have cake.”

“Says who?” Bailey demanded, picking up the platter. “I don’t have to share.”

“If you eat all of that you won’t have room for oysters,” Chloe pointed out.

Bailey considered that. “You can have one slice to share.”

“So generous.” Chloe settled into a corner of the empty sofa, her legs crossed under her, and opened the ketchup bottle. “Okay, you’ve got your cake and your champagne. Let’s hear this wish.”

“Hang on, let me pour it out.” Setting the cake down—well out of the reach of her friends—Bailey poured champagne and handed out flutes, then picked up the cake and a fork and sat on the sofa next to Chloe.

With the platter balanced on her lap, she dug in. “That,” she mumbled around the first bite, “is good cake.”

“It’s not better than this sundae,” Gwen said and shoveled in another dripping spoonful. “It’s real hot fudge.”

“Okay, I’m getting one of those,” Chloe decided. “Since greedy over here isn’t sharing.”

“I am not,” Bailey confirmed, forking up another bite. The cake was fluffy and light, the frosting thick and sweet. “You get none of this cake.”

“Greedy,” Chloe said again and dipped a fry in the puddle of ketchup on her plate. “So?”

Bailey sipped her champagne and found it went beautifully with the cake. “So, what?”

“Your wish,” Chloe prompted.

“Oh, right.” Spotting a smear of frosting on the side of her hand, Bailey licked it off. “Well, I decided to follow your lead.”

On the other sofa, Gwen blinked. “Your wish is to have sex with Jesse and Knox?”

“No,” Bailey said with a laugh, then paused. “Although I wouldn’t object.”

“I would,” Chloe put in.

“She’s so selfish,” Bailey said to Gwen.

Gwen shook her head in mock sadness at Chloe. “Best friends share, you know.”

“You didn’t share your cake, I’m not sharing my boyfriends,” Chloe told Bailey.

“I take it back, you can have cake,” Bailey said.

“Too late.”

“Harsh, but fair,” Gwen commented and looked down at her empty sundae bowl. “Holy crap, I ate this whole sundae. I feel a little sick now.”

“Did you order yourself any actual food, or just the sundae?” Chloe wanted to know.

“Just the sundae.” Looking a little green through her sheet mask, Gwen pressed a hand to her belly. “I need protein.”

“Want some of my sandwich?” Chloe offered.

“Yes, please.”

Chloe held out her plate. “Go on, Bails.”

“Where was I?”

“Following my lead,” Chloe prompted as Gwen chose a section of sandwich.

“Right. My birthday wish is a gang bang,” Bailey announced, and waited for the expected expressions of shock.

Instead, Chloe looked at Gwen with resignation. Gwen looked back with smug triumph and said, “You owe me twenty bucks.”

“What?” Bailey looked from Gwen to Chloe and back to Gwen. “What?”

“She owes me twenty bucks,” Gwen repeated, nibbling on the edges of the sandwich.

Bailey looked at Chloe. “Why?”

“Because she called it,” Chloe said and popped a ketchup-covered fry into her mouth.

“Called what?” Bailey asked blankly, then goggled. “You guessed my birthday wish?”

“It wasn’t hard,” Gwen said blithely, continuing to nibble. “You talk about it all the time.”

“I do not talk about it all the time,” Bailey protested, then blinked. “Do I?”

“All the time is an exaggeration,” Chloe acknowledged. “You haven’t mentioned it in at least, what?” She turned to Gwen. “Three years?”

“About that,” Gwen agreed. “But for the five years after college, it came up a lot.”

“Well, I was mad,” Bailey said, annoyed. This was not how she’d expected this conversation to go.

“And you had every right to be,” Chloe declared.

The solidarity went a long way toward smoothing the ruffled feathers of Bailey’s ego. “Damn right, I did. I did Nash’s fantasy, then before we could do mine he dumps me? I should’ve peeled the skin off his balls with a rusty knife.”

Gwen stopped nibbling her sandwich. “Ew.”

“I don’t think he broke up with you so he wouldn’t have to do the gang bang,” Chloe offered.

Bailey thought about arguing the point just for fun, then shrugged. “No, he didn’t. It was just bad timing. But I was still mad.”

“What was Nash’s fantasy again?” Gwen asked. “I forget.”

“Two girls,” Chloe reminded her.

Gwen snorted. “Typical.”

“I didn’t mind. It was fun.” Bailey smiled a little at the memory. “And he was working on setting up my fantasy gang bang. Then we had some random fight, and he went to a bar with his buddies to cool off, and Kyle Volley told him I cheated on him by going down on Graham Isaac behind the student union and he dumped me.”

“You’re getting mad again,” Gwen warned.

“I’m not getting mad,” Bailey insisted, keeping her voice cool to prove it. “It was eight years ago. Why would I get mad?”

“Uh, because you loved him and he believed that oozing ball of pus Kyle over you?”

“He believed her eventually,” Gwen offered.

“Not until Graham told him the BJ happened freshman year,” Chloe reminded her. “A fact Kyle conveniently forgot to mention.”

“God, he was an ass,” Bailey commented.

“Kyle or Nash?” Gwen wanted to know.

“I meant Kyle, but Nash was an ass, too.”

“The king of the asses,” Chloe muttered darkly. “He broke your heart.” 

“He did,” Bailey agreed. Broke it, shattered it, sliced it to ribbons. Then she shrugged. “But I got over it.”

“Did you?” Chloe murmured.

Bailey resisted the urge to roll her eyes. Chloe thought she was harboring some deep, secret longing for Nash, that what had happened back in college had left unfinished business between them. Bailey had never been able to convince her otherwise. “Yes. We’re friends now, that’s all.”

“And roommates,” Gwen added. “How’s that going?”

“Too soon to tell,” Bailey said, ignoring Chloe’s skeptical gaze. When her last roommate had moved out—and good riddance to bad rubbish—she’d decided to offer the spare room to Nash. He’d been facing a rent hike at his apartment, and she hated living alone, so it felt like a win-win to her. 

Chloe thought it was the dumbest idea since Napoleon had invaded Russia.

“He moved all his stuff in at the beginning of the month,” Bailey continued, “but then he went on vacation for two weeks. He got back today, but I haven’t seen him. I came straight here from the salon.”

Gwen, who loved to travel, perked up. “Where’d he go on vacation?”

“The UK, to walk Hadrian’s Wall and the Antonine Wall.”

“What are those?”

“They’re both walls built during the Roman occupation of Britain,” Bailey explained. “Fortifications, basically. Hadrian’s Wall is in England, Antonine Wall is in Scotland.”

Gwen looked fascinated. “What does ‘walk them’ mean?”

“I think it means they just follow them, walk alongside them?” Bailey shrugged. “He didn’t give me a lot of details. I know they’re both world heritage sites, and Nash digs on that stuff. He’s got a cousin who’s into it, too, so they went together.”

“Cool,” Gwen decided.

“So, let me get this straight,” Chloe said. “You’re starting your thirties living with your ex-boyfriend, you might start dating the hot masseuse, and your birthday wish is a gang bang.”

Bailey grinned, the mask crinkling around her mouth. “Go big or go home, right?”

“And I thought I started my year with chaos.”

“She did say she was following your lead,” Gwen put in.

“There is one more thing,” Bailey said and reached up to tap her face. “Gwen, can I take this off yet?”

“Huh? Oh, yeah.” Gwen slid her glasses off. “We all should.”

Chloe began gingerly plucking at the edges of the plastic by her hairline. “What one more thing?” 

Bailey worked her fingers under the sheet at her chin and began carefully peeling it up. “I need someone to coordinate the gang bang for me.”

“What, like a party planner?” Gwen asked.

Bailey laughed. “Sure. A naked party planner who has sex with me.”

“Nice work if you can get it,” Chloe commented, her face emerging as the mask inched down.

“Where do you find a naked party planner?” Gwen asked.

Chloe stopped peeling to point at Bailey. “No dating apps.”

“God, no. I’m reckless, not foolish.”

Gwen pulled the last bit of her mask off. “Those words mean the same thing.”

“Do not.”

“You should hire Sawyer,” Chloe suggested, wiggling her nose as she freed it from the mask. “He’d be perfect.”

“He’s an option,” Bailey agreed. The sex worker Chloe had almost used for her threesome fantasy was sexy, handsome, and no doubt very good at his job. “I’m keeping him as a backup if my first choice falls through.” 

Chloe finished peeling off the mask and reached for her champagne. “Who’s your first choice?”

Bailey set her mask aside and stroked her dewy, baby-soft face. “Nash, of course.”

Chloe choked on her wine, sputtering and coughing, while Gwen just stared, her eyes wide and her mouth open in a look of blank-faced shock.

Well now, Bailey thought with a pleased smile. That’s more like it.

Since Wish I Might is a gang bang romance, there is sex on the page with multiple partners, both male and female, and just FYI, some of those partners are sex workers. This is undertaken with the knowledge and consent of all parties.

In addition, a secondary character experiences an unintended pregnancy, which she chooses to terminate. Further discussion of abortion takes place between the main characters, regarding the unintended pregnancy they experienced when they were together in college, and the subsequent abortion she chose to have. These abortions do not appear on page, and while discussed in the context of their impact on the lives of those involved, are not done so in graphic or medical detail. There is also discussion regarding current laws around access to reproductive care in Ohio, the state in which this story takes place.

One more thing-the heroine of Wish I Might has chosen to be permenantly sterilized, and that is also discussed on page.

Wish I Might is a second chance, gang bang romance, and the second book in the  Three Wishes Trilogy. It has a straight forward heroine, a hero who wants to give her everything - and everyone - she wants, three sex workers, a whole lot of dirty, filthy, orgasms, and a happily-ever-after.