Chapter Two
Chloe found her voice first. “Nash? You’re going to ask Nash to…to…”
“Facilitate my gang bang?” Bailey finished smoothly when Chloe stuttered to a stop. “Sure. Why not?”
Chloe looked at Gwen. “Is she kidding?”
Gwen picked up her champagne, drained it, and reached for the bottle. “I’m not nearly drunk enough for this.”
Chloe swiveled back to Bailey. “Are you kidding?”
“No. He’s the perfect choice,” Bailey said. “He knows me, knows what I want for this fantasy.”
Gwen stopped chugging champagne to stare at her. “It hasn’t changed in eight years?”
Bailey shrugged. “Not really. I mean, Nick Jonas is no longer on my list of possible celebrity participants, but other than that, it’s pretty much the same.”
Gwen blinked. “Nick Jonas? Really?”
“Yeah. Didn’t you think he was adorable in that Jumanji remake?”
“I guess, but…he just doesn’t really seem like the gang bang type.”
Bailey sent her a saucy wink. “Which just makes it hotter.”
Gwen sighed. “You’re so weird.”
“And delusional,” Chloe put in.
“Am not,” Bailey protested, only a little offended.
“You must be,” Chloe argued, “or you would know that asking your ex-boyfriend who broke your heart to help you fulfill a gang bang fantasy is the worst idea ever.”
“Okay, you have to stop speaking in italics before you give yourself a stroke,” Bailey told her.
“Here.” Gwen passed over the bottle of champagne. “Drink more, it helps.”
Chloe snatched the bottle, ignored the glass on the table, and brought it straight to her lips.
“Better?” Bailey asked when Chloe lowered the bottle.
“No.” Chloe dragged the sleeve of her robe across her mouth. “Why would you open this can of worms? Just hire Sawyer to do it.”
“Sawyer doesn’t know me, and it would take too long for him to get to know me well enough for me to feel safe.”
“And probably cost too much,” Gwen mused.
“Also a concern,” Bailey acknowledged.
“Okay, I get that,” Chloe conceded. “But, Bails, you were a wreck when Nash dumped you. You almost didn’t graduate.”
Bailey swallowed a spurt of irritation. “I know that, Chloe. I was there.”
“And I know you’re friends now, and it’s all bygones, but you’re talking about…”
“Group sex,” Bailey said firmly. “It’s not exactly intimate, Chloe.”
“It’s sex with someone you used to love,” Chloe corrected, her mouth set in a stubborn line.
“‘Used to’ being the key words,” Bailey countered. Chloe wasn’t the only one that could be stubborn.
“It makes sense,” Gwen said, and shrugged when Chloe turned to stare at her. “She does need someone she can trust for this.”
“Then one of us can do it,” Chloe said.
“No, you can’t,” Bailey scoffed, the words almost inaudible under Gwen’s squawk of protest. “Gwen would burst into literal flames if she had to watch me get fucked by four guys, and let’s be honest, you wouldn’t be that far behind.”
“No, I wouldn’t,” Chloe protested, her cheeks going pink.
“Four?” Gwen asked. Her cheeks were red. “Is that the magic number?”
“I think so. And yes, you would,” Bailey said, pointing at Chloe.
“Okay, maybe I wouldn’t be exactly comfortable,” Chloe allowed. “But I’d do it anyway.”
“And I love you for that.” Bailey softened enough to smile at her friend. “But no.”
“Why not?”
“Because I don’t want you at my gang bang. Or you,” she said to Gwen. “No offense.”
“None taken,” Gwen said with fervent relief.
“But if you want to send your boyfriends,” Bailey continued with a waggle of her eyebrows for Chloe.
“Forget it,” Chloe said, then sighed. “It has to be Nash?”
“Well, it doesn’t have to be. He might say no.”
Gwen snorted. “Yeah, right.”
“What if he does?” Chloe asked.
Bailey reached for the bottle to refill her champagne. “I’ll just have to remind him that he owes me.”
Chloe slid a foot across the cushion to nudge Bailey’s leg. “Seriously, Bails.”
“Seriously, if his answer is no, then I guess it’s on to plan B.”
“What’s plan B?”
Bailey sipped, then shrugged. “I’ll let you know when I come up with it.”
“Well, then.” Resigned, Chloe lifted her glass. “Here’s to plan A, I guess.”
Gwen mirrored the action. “As long as I don’t have to hear about the details, to plan A.”
“And a happy birthday gang bang for me,” Bailey declared and, with a wicked laugh that mingled with Chloe’s sigh and Gwen’s groan, clicked her glass against theirs.
* * * *
When she unlocked her front door the next day she felt well rested, well fed, and slightly drunk.
They’d arranged for a late checkout so they could sleep in, and had taken advantage of the extra time by indulging in room service one last time.
Since their brunch order had included mimosas—many, many mimosas—none of them had been fit to drive afterward, necessitating alternative transportation arrangements.
Thankfully, Chloe had two boyfriends who had been happy to ride to the rescue.
Jesse and Knox had been amused to arrive at the suite to find all three women giggly and tipsy, and it had been fascinating to watch how they handled Chloe—who apparently got horny when she was drunk these days.
Very horny, if her wandering hands and salacious suggestions—not offered subtly—were anything to go by.
Bailey thought Jesse might have taken her up on several of those suggestions if Knox hadn’t been there to keep them both in line.
He’d split them up, ordering Chloe and Gwen into Chloe’s car and directing Jesse to drive Bailey home in hers—which Jesse had done with his characteristic cheer and at nearly twice the posted speed limit.
Even Knox’s persistent honking as he followed behind barely slowed him down, his eagerness to get back to Chloe before her horny drunkenness wore off no match for the threat of a traffic citation or a lecture on safe driving.
Safely deposited at home, she waved from her front porch as Jesse climbed into the back seat of Chloe’s car.
Gwen rode in the front seat with Knox, her head tipped back against the headrest and her eyes closed, and Bailey figured she was either asleep or trying to block out the wild sexual energy coming from the back seat.
As Knox pulled away, Jesse’s head dipped below window level, and even with the windows closed against the June heat, Bailey heard Chloe’s squeal.
With a twinge of conflicting emotions—sympathy for Gwen, delight for Chloe, jealousy for herself—she turned and walked into the house.
The cool dimness of the house was immediately soothing, immediately welcoming.
She left the bag she’d taken to the hotel by the front door and, kicking off her sandals, padded quietly over the smooth, chilled hardwood of the living room.
The house was small, a Sears kit home from the 1920s that had been in a sad and neglected state in an even worse neighborhood when she’d found it five years ago.
She’d snagged it for a song—and had still needed her mom to co-sign.
Then Robin Bailey-Pachis had immediately gone to work, leveraging the connections built over the twenty years she’d spent working for the city council of Braxton, Ohio, to get the foundation shored up, the roof re-shingled, the mold remediated and the plumbing and electrical brought up to code.
Then she’d dragooned family and friends into refinishing floors and painting walls, cut a deal with a contractor to turn the dining room into a kitchen and the kitchen into a butler’s pantry/laundry room that Bailey still wasn’t sure hadn’t involved sexual favors, and, on the weekends while Bailey was working, had done most of the work herself to turn the nightmare main bedroom in the converted attic into a gorgeous and sensuous private retreat.
Every time Bailey walked into the house she was reminded that in the Mom Lottery, she’d hit the jackpot.
Feeling blissfully content, she walked into the converted dining room.
It was big, and though they’d added a sink to make it a functional kitchen, she hadn’t wanted it to feel cluttered.
She had the butler’s pantry for storage, and with the existing plumbing updated, they’d put the dishwasher there, so she’d been able to keep the kitchen cabinetry to a minimum.
Custom made to appear built in, with leaded-glass fronts that mimicked the wide triple window overlooking the backyard and salvaged hardware on the doors, a single run of lower cabinets sat against the back wall.
The countertop was soapstone, and she’d had them position the sink under the window.
Floating shelves on either side held the mismatched everyday cups, bowls and plates she’d sourced from second-hand stores and antique shops, and the walls were painted the bright green of fresh peas that made her feel like she was always stepping into spring.
Her grandmother’s table sat in the middle of the room, the honey-colored wood warm and aged, and a pretty glass bowl in the middle held bright red apples. Curious, as they hadn’t been there when she’d left for the salon yesterday, she picked one up.
“Those are mine,” a voice rumbled behind her.
“I figured,” she said, and turned to face Nash Kavanagh.
He hadn’t changed. She didn’t know why she’d expected him to, but somehow it was a jolt to see him looking much the same as he had when she’d seen him two weeks ago, just before he’d left for his vacation.
He was still tall, still had blond wavy hair and brown eyes and the double eyelashes she bitterly envied.
He still had a dimple in his left cheek that winked when he was trying not to smile, and dug deep when he let himself.
That the dimple was covered in a layer of beard—that was new.
“You have a beard,” she blurted out.
“Yeah.” He lifted a hand to scratch at the dark gold pelt, those puppy-dog eyes twinkling with amusement. “I haven’t gotten around to shaving yet.”
“It looks good on you.” She spun the apple in her hand lightly, casually. So casually. “You going to keep it?”
“Probably not.” He dropped his hand to shove it in the pocket of the cutoff jeans he wore with a faded Chicago Cubs T-shirt. “It’s too hot for this much hair on my face.”