Page 83 of Stay Wild Darlin’

“Better than regrets and rope burn,” Fable said, pointing to my wrists and raising her cup in a toast.

I glanced down at the marks and smiled into my coffee. “Rope burn, sure. But no regrets.”

That sent the three of us collapsing onto the couch in a tangle of laughter, crumbs, and caffeine, Cora happily gnawing on a teething ring while we passed around stories and questions like we had all the time in the world.

Eventually, Harleigh and Fable took pity on me and packed up their judgment and crumbs to get ready for the event.

Harleigh kissed Cora’s cheek on the way out and winked. “Hydrate. Stretch. You’re glowing.”

“Goodbye,” I groaned, shooing them out with a laugh.

Once the room quieted, I put Cora down in her travel bassinet, stroking her tiny forehead as she blinked up at me with sleepy eyes. Within minutes, she was out cold for her first nap of the day.

I exhaled slowly and padded over to my suitcase, digging through dresses and toiletries. Half dressed, I grabbed my phone from the nightstand and flopped onto the bed, unlocking the screen like my fingers moved on instinct.

I opened my group where nothing was sacred and everything was overshared.

I slept with my boss. Like, really slept with him. Rope kink, no condom, hotel-shower-bar-tied-to-my-ankles kind of slept with him. On a work trip. Please tell me how much I’m going to regret this.

I hit Post and immediately regretted it.

Replies started rolling in almost instantly:

@HotSauceAndBadDecisions: Sis. That’s not regret, that’s core memory. Write it down. Frame it.

@IMakeWorseChoices: Wait. No condom?? You’re not regretting—you’re nesting.

@PutItInReverseTerry: He tied you to the shower bar? I stubbed my toe on one once and cried for three hours. Marry him.

@StepOnMyNeck420: You don’t need advice, you need electrolytes.

I snorted, covering my face. Okay. This was chaotic, but it helped. Made me feel a little less unhinged.

Until another reply popped up—one that made my blood freeze and my face go nuclear red.

@DefinitelyNotDalton69: Bet he’d do it again. Rope and all.

I stared at it.

The username.

I blinked, reread it, and whispered, “What the fuck?”

I clicked on the profile. There was no bio or profile picture.

My mouth dropped open.

There’s no way he saw the post.

. . . Right?

“Oh my god,” I muttered. “Oh my god.”

I stared at the screen, caught between laughing, panicking, and somehow getting turned on all over again.

Because if that was Dalton?

He didn’t just see my confession.