“Exactly,” Hailey says smugly.
I roll my eyes. “Hailey, I’m not doing it with the two doctors. Who knows what I could catch?”
“It doesn’t have to be dick action,” she says encouragingly. “They could pet the kitty, couldn’t they?”
“Pet the kitty?” My lips twitch. “Is that what the cool kids call a handjob nowadays?” Before she answers, I cut her off. “Not. Doing. It.”
“Spoilsport.” She rolls her eyes and writes in her notebook.
1. Say Yes instead of No.
“Really? We’re doing this, are we?”
Her lips curl up in a grin. “Of course we are. You’re going to Goat. Live it up.” She adds a couple of items to her version of my sex bucket list.
2. Have a vacation fling.
3. And a threesome.
I snort. I’m definitely not brave enough for a threesome. Hailey, on the other hand, seems to act like it’s no big deal. “Have you been in one?” I ask her curiously. “A ménage, I mean?”
She’s unfazed by my question. “Twice,” she replies. “It was five years ago.”
Before we knew each other. That explains why I’ve never heard about her threesome experiences. I rarely talk about my sex life, mostly because I don’t have much of one, but Hailey’s seldom shy about sharing details.
“I even wrote an article about it in our magazine,” she continues. “I got a ton of complaint letters for it.”
“Your readers didn’t like the raunch?”
“No,” she says, with a roll of her eyes. “There was some dick-sucking going on, and readers wrote to me and told me that when I went down on a guy, I was supporting the patriarchy.”
It’s my turn to laugh. “Some people take the fun out of everything.”
“Indeed. But we’re not talking about me. We’re talking about you and your quest to get laid.” Her pen is poised over the list. “What else?”
Flagging down our terrified waiter, I order a pitcher. If we’re going to do this, I need beer-induced courage. “Fine. I’ve never been picked up at a bar.”
“Really?” She shakes her head at me disapprovingly. “Lana, you work too hard.”
4. Kiss a stranger at a bar.
We drink our pitcher, our voices growing louder as the beer takes effect. I can’t stop giggling as we make my sex bucket list. At the end of the night, Hailey tears the sheet of paper and hands it to me. “Cross off every item, kiddo. Make me proud.”
I run my eyes down the list we’ve made.
Lana’s Sex Bucket List.
Say Yes instead of No.
Have a vacation fling.
And a threesome.
Kiss a stranger at a bar.
Get really good oral sex.
Have sex outside.
Have sex with someone who speaks a different language.
Anal.
Sex while blindfolded.
Threesome!!!!!
Even though I’ve had a ton to drink, I can see that a threesome appears twice on my list. When I point it out to Hailey, she grins wickedly. “Do it,” she says. “When you get back from Goat, I want to hear everything. And Lana? You better not chicken out, okay? You don’t know anyone in this town. It’s the perfect place to go a little crazy.”
Hailey’s right. I’ll do John’s stupid story, but I intend to get something out of the assignment that’s been forced on me.
Watch out, Goat. Ready or not, here I come.
CHAPTER TWO
Declan:
“Declan, you look like hell. What’s going on?”
Blake Thorpe was my roommate in medical school and is one of the few people I can count on to be brutally honest.
I pour myself a pint of beer from the pitcher on the table. If it were anyone else asking me the question, I’d lie and tell them nothing’s wrong, but Blake and I go back a long way, and even though we’re polar opposites, I value his judgment. “I’ve been having nightmares ever since I got back from the Congo,” I admit. “I’ve done rough stints before, but this time…” My voice trails off. “So many children.” I swallow hard. “No matter what I did, it wasn’t enough.”
That’s the problem. It’s never enough. There’s always a war going on somewhere. People always die in pain and agony, and sometimes, they’re just kids. Though I’ve been Stateside for two weeks, I can’t forget my patients.
Blake downs half his pint in one gulp, his expression concerned. “Declan, I love you as a brother, man, but you’ve got to stop. You’ve been going from epidemic to war zone. You’ve done six missions in the last three years. You were in the Congo, in Sierra Leone, Haiti, where else?”
“Everywhere.” I take a deep breath. “I can’t stop. I’ve applied for a job at the United Nations.” Blake starts shaking his head disapprovingly, but before he can say anything, I cut him off. “Lecture me later. Tell me what’s been going on with you.”
“Same old,” he replies with a shrug. “While you’re making the world a better place, I’m injecting Botox into Hollywood wannabes.”
I chuckle, my dark mood lifting somewhat. Hearing about Blake’s misadventures always has that effect. My buddy is a locum—the doctor that works in the place of the regular doctor when that doctor is on vacation. “You filled in for a plastic surgeon? Really? Why on earth?”
“I wanted somewhere warm to spend the winter,” he replies.
My lips lift up in an unwilling grin. That’s typical of Blake. He’s a brilliant physician, but he hates being tied down. He’s been bouncing from one temporary stint to another ever since residency, refusing to settle down in one place.
“Where’s next on the list?”
“For the moment, vacation,” he replies. “Thank heavens. I thought I’d enjoy the Hollywood job, but for six months, I didn’t see a pair of real tits. Not a single one.” His expression is disgruntled. “Fake tits only look good in porn.” He refills his pint and takes a sip before he continues. “I’m flying out tomorrow to Oregon to visit Aunt Elvira.”
Blake’s great-aunt is quite a character. She rarely talks about her youth, but I’ve pieced together enough to know it wasn’t entirely pleasant. It hasn’t affected her disposition though. She’s funny and endlessly entertaining, and she dotes on Blake. “How’s she doing?”
“She’s getting older.” Blake has an uncharacteristically serious expression on his face. “I’m staying for a month.”
The waitress comes up to us. She’s got dark hair, a great body, and a killer smile. “Can I get you another pitcher?” she asks.
Blake perks up. “You read my mind, Janie,” he says with a wink. “Have you met my friend Declan? He’s a doctor too.” He pats the seat next to him. “Sit down, honey. Let the two of us buy you a drink.”
Janie giggles. “I can’t,” she says reluctantly, “I just started my shift. If you guys stick around until I’m done though…” Her voice trails off suggestively, and she bends over to reach the pitcher, giving us a look at her ample cleavage. “I’m sure we could find something fun to do.”
Blake says something to her with a flirtatious smile. I watch him, feeling a little envious. Once upon a time, the two of us worked hard and partied harder. Now, my life has narrowed to the next mission. I can’t remember the last time I did something fun and impulsive.
When she’s gone, Blake turns to me. “Here’s an idea,” he says. “Why don’t you come with me to Goat?” Before I can reply, he continues in a rush. “I know it isn’t the most exciting destination, but you need a vacation badly, and I need someone to hang out with so I don’t go out of my mind with boredom.”
My first response is to decline. I can’t go to the middle-of-nowhere Oregon for a month. What if the UN calls? What if Doctors Without Borders needs volunteers for a mission?
Then I reconsider. Once I take the UN job, if they even offer it to me, it’ll be a long time before I can take any time off. This might be my last hurrah.
“Okay.” My lips lift up in a grin. “I’m in.”
CHAPTER THREE
Lana:
It’s well after noon by the time I get on the road. Goat, Oregon is just a four-hour drive from Portland, but it feels like it’s in the middle of nowhere. The last two hours of my journey, I pass only a handful of cars. There are no gas stations or restaurants, just pine forests and fresh mountain air.
By the time I reach the outskirts of town and spot the ‘Welcome to Goat’ sign, I desperately need to pee.
The town slogan of Goat, Oregon is ‘Embrace your weird.’ How do I know this? It’s carved into the sign, of course.
This is going to be one hell of a place to spend the next two months.
Grinning, I continue my drive into the center of town. It doesn’t take me long to find the Nanny Goat. It’s a large Victorian mansion, yellow in color, on a corner lot. I pull up in front of it and get out of my car, ready to get into character. Remember, I tell myself. You’re not a journalist. You write novels.
I’ve worked out quite the cover story if anyone asks. I write cozy mysteries that feature a clever cat solving crimes. My first book did really well, and I’m writing the second while struggling against writer’s block.