Wildest Dreams: Chapter 17

The next day, I had a call with Cal and Kieran on FaceTime while Grav went down for her midday nap. They were both sitting in a cute, eclectic coffee shop in Chelsea, sipping macchiatos from tiny hand-painted cups in the lush back garden to avoid the paparazzi.

“I’m going to murder you.” I pointed at Kieran. My actual rage was raging. Apparently, it was a thing. “Then I’m going to fertilize my ancestors’ soil with your blood.”

“I see you’ve spent a good amount of time giving it some thought.” Kieran held up his hands, appearing genuinely sorry. “Look, I promised him I’d try to warm you up to the idea of seeing him. He’s been dying to reconnect. Like, to a scary degree.”

“Rewind,” I whisper-shouted. “How did you even meet him? How did it get to a point where you guys were talking?”

“Last time I was in New York, I walked into the Alchemist, and there he was. At first, I gave him a piece of my mind, berated him and made a scene about what he’d done to you. But he never fought back. He kind of just…took it. Then he fell all over himself, begging me to talk to you about giving him another chance with his kid.”

“For real?” I gasped.

“Dude, he was a mess. When I say he begged, I mean he begged.” Kieran ran his hand over his trimmed stubble, frowning slightly. “I mean, he also asked me to sign his ball cap and then went on to sell it on eBay for four figures, but hey, that’s just money on the floor. Point is he seems genuine, Dyl.”

“What are we talking about?” Cal looked between us, her face a mask of confusion. She was wearing an adorable nineties getup of a white tee and a black spaghetti top. “Who wants a chance with who? And are you telling me I can make a thousand bucks for your signature? Shit. That’s a start-up right there.”

“Tucker.” Kieran brushed invisible lint from his tailored Montauk polo, looking like a trillion bucks and some change. I really could kill him right now. Quite happily too, for that cunning setup. “Tucker works at the Alchemist, where Dyl is temping for a while,” he provided.

Cal sucked in a breath, nails digging into Kieran’s arm. “You’re kidding me. You saw Tucker?” she squeaked at me. “Like, last night?”

“Thanks to our buddy over there.” I tossed a hand Kieran’s way, masking my dread and fear over this development. My wrist still hurt. “Yeah, there was a big reunion. Sorry, Dot, can you please punch Kieran for me? I’m not done being pissed at him.”

“Sure.” Cal drove a fist into Kieran’s bicep, putting all her strength into it.

He groaned, rubbing at his arm. “You’re lucky you didn’t aim for my legs. They’re insured for twenty million dollars.”

“I’ll aim for the balls when we meet,” I announced. “You overstepped in a big way.”

“I knew you’d never consider meeting him, and…well, it isn’t just about you, Dyl,” Kieran said defensively. “Though I agree the way I went about it was completely shit, and I take full responsibility for the messy outcome.”

“How was it?” Cal ignored our back-and-forth.

I calmed down a little. Cal didn’t know Kieran was gay. No one did other than me. And the fact that he trusted me with his most sensitive secret did make me feel instinctively closer to him.

I told her Tucker appeared extra douchey and aggressive, with a touch of sorry. That it was hard to get a vibe off him because of all the adrenaline rushing through my veins. I confessed I told him Rhyland and I were engaged. That drew a chuckle out of my BFF.

“What are you going to do if he really does end up being a part of Gravity’s life? He’s going to find out the truth sooner or later.”

I waved her off. “I’ll figure something out.” But the truth was, subconsciously, I didn’t believe Tucker would be present in Grav’s life. He’d always been incredibly selfish, to the point of narcissism. “Still mad at you, Kier.”

He folded his arms over his chest. “If I told you he was in New York and wanted to see his kid, what would you do?”

“Laugh and tell you to fuck off,” I offered naturally.

“I rest my case.” He opened his arms.

“Kieran, he cheated and abandoned me an—”

“I know.” Kieran cut me off. “I’m not discarding all that. He’s a ghoul who deserves every bad thing that’s ever happened to him, and I’m sure the worst is yet to come. This is not me defending his ass. All I’m saying is it’s not just you in the picture. You have to think about Gravity, on the off chance he might’ve changed. You owe it to her to at least try. She can’t advocate for herself.”

Cal was quiet beside him. I knew she agreed with him. And I hated that I did too. I would never forgive Tucker for what he’d done to me, but I couldn’t deny Gravity a healthy father if he wanted to be a part of her life. As long as he behaved like an adult and not a little bitch like last time, of course.

“May I remind you that he also owes you, like, a trillion dollars in child support?” Cal chimed in righteously. “You can maim him with some legal shit while he reconnects with Grav. It’ll be pretty satisfying, I’m sure.”

“I’m not interested in his money.” I flung myself over the couch, grabbing the remote. After being judged, talked about, and ridiculed in the small town of Staindrop for having a child out of wedlock with the asshole who had an affair behind my back, I wanted to prove to people—and to myself—that I could do it on my own. “And it doesn’t look like he has much anyway. I just want him to be a good dad or to disappear again.”

Not that I knew what a good dad might look like. Mine was a total waste of environmental resources.

I finished the call with Cal and Kieran and binge-watched a few more episodes of Grey’s Anatomy. Something about that show soothed my soul, and I had the suspicion it was nothing to do with the hot doctors and the never-ending drama.

When Grav woke up, I decided to do something fun with her ahead of my shift at the Alchemist. Tire her out so Rhyland wouldn’t have to drain her battery with walks, activities, and exercise. I took her to the playground across the road, and we made homemade pizza together. Grav wanted to experiment, so we tossed a ton of toppings on—pepperoni, bell peppers, onion, olives, and pineapple.

“Something smells good.” Rhyland swaggered into my apartment in the afternoon without knocking—again—using the spare key Row had given him. I couldn’t even be mad. Rhy was saving my ass on a daily basis and babysitting Grav even though I knew he didn’t like children and had much better things to do with his time.

“We making a pizza!” Grav announced adorably from her stool, her face decorated with tomato-sauce stains and flour. “I want to add a cookiecumber.”

“A what?” he asked, alarmed.

“A cucumber,” I corrected.

“Nah, baby doll. That pizza smells just fine the way it i—” He sauntered over to us, peering at the pizza I was now slicing. “What in the fuck is this?”

“Potty word!” Gravity announced.

“Dang it all to hell.” He fished for his wallet in his front pocket, tossing a five-dollar bill in her general direction. “This time, I brought cash. I knew I didn’t stand a chance.”

I stifled a laugh.

“Listen, little stinker, you can’t go around putting pineapple on pizza like that.” He crouched down to her eye level. “If you’re a psychopath, that’s fine, but you need to hide it.”

Gravity batted her lashes and grinned at him, clearly delighted to see him.

Ugh, girl, same.

My stomach dipped and churned when his shoulder brushed my own as he lodged himself between us, peering at our dish more closely. “Listen, kid, pineapple is only good for one thing. Wanna know what it is?”

My daughter peered at him, soft and curious and trusting, and I vowed to never ruin this in her—the ability to trust-fall into people and actually believe they’d catch you.

“To throw in the garbage,” Rhyland finished, plucking the hot slices of pineapple from the pizza and flinging them into the sink.

Eager to please, Grav did the same, twisting her nose and saying “yucky” every time she tossed a pineapple.

“Hey, children,” I chided. “Don’t yuck someone else’s yum.”

“That someone else needs to you-know-what, you-knowwhere.” He eyed me meaningfully. “I’d say all the words, but the potty-word police are nearby.” He jerked his head toward Gravity.

After they were done clearing all the pineapple from the pizza, Rhyland slid two huge slices onto plates and poured himself a cup of “grown-up juice” (read: beer) and apple juice for Grav.

“What does grown-up juice taste like?” Gravity piped up.

“Emotional numbness.”

“Will I like the taste of emonamiss?” she squeaked.

“We all do, honey.” He chewed thoughtfully. “When you’re around seventeen, ask Uncle Rhyland, and I’ll let you have a taste of your own beer.”

I watched, transfixed, as they both ignored me for ten minutes straight, making conversation and eating their pizza without offering me any. It was clear the man was making no effort to change himself or talk toddler language for my daughter. It was also clear she was head over heels smitten with him. Fuck. This was really bad.

Finally, Rhyland swung his gaze to me. “Any reason why you’re still here?”

Shit. I had a shift to go to, didn’t I? I’d gotten lost in watching a man being adorable with my kid. It was more arousing than a Magic Mike show.

“Uh, her bedtime is—”

“Seven forty-five p.m., I know.” He plucked a black olive from his pizza, tossing it into his mouth and chewing. “I read the manual. I know it better than the pope knows the Bible.”

Gravity tried to pull off the same olive-to-mouth toss, but it hit her eye, and she squawked.

“What’s with the attitude?” I tapered my eyes.

“Dunno. What’s with the outfit?” The heat oozing through his light, playful eyes threatened to burn down the entire building.

My gaze slid down in confusion. I was wearing a black leather skirt and boots, along with a floral top. “I’m fishing for tips.” I jutted a hip out, tossing my hair back defiantly.

“The NYPD might be fishing for bodies in the Hudson if the patrons don’t watch themselves tonight,” he murmured under his breath, ripping his eyes from me.

“That sounds possessive.” I arched an eyebrow.

“Not possessive—protective,” he corrected, standing up and sauntering over to me. He stopped when we were a breath away from each other, leaning down to whisper into my ear so only I could hear. “Trust me, Cosmos, if I wanted anything else, I’d be christening my best friend’s bed by nailing you into it. You’ve given me every inclination you’d be game, the willing victim that you are.”

Anger and shame flooded me. I sidestepped him, but not before stomping on his foot. “Try not to ruin her,” I said, my voice steely.

To his credit, he didn’t even flinch at my stomp.

“You tend to do that with everything you touch.”

“Don’t worry. I don’t touch little girls.” He winked me. “That’s why I spared you.”

God, he was infuriating. I wished I didn’t need him quite so much.

For babysitting.

I tried to shake off the weird reverie I found myself in on my way to the Alchemist. Did I really put together an outfit for tips, or was it for Rhy? Maybe a little bit of both. Watching Rhyland’s face as he took me in nearly undid me. It reminded me I was a woman—a conventionally pretty one—and that, in itself, brightened my mood.

I arrived five minutes before my shift was scheduled to start and was greeted by Max, who showed me the back end of the bar. The office was adjacent to the kitchen, home to a row of lockers, a desk with a computer on it, and a sole metal cabinet. The schedule for the week hung on a wall. I checked the timetable on a pinboard, relieved I didn’t have to work with Tucker today. He was just finishing a shift. Maybe I could avoid him altogeth—

“Oh, great.” His familiar voice slithered down my back like a cold, wet towel. “It’s you.”

Or maybe not.

I turned around. As soon as I saw his face, I choked on my saliva, coughing uncontrollably. “Oh my God.” My eyes roamed his face chaotically.

He had two black eyes, a fractured nose that appeared crooked and out of place, a split on his forehead, and a busted lip. He looked like he decided to wrestle a pack of bears.

“Did you get in a car accident? What the hell happened to you?”

“Your fiancé happened to me,” he sneered bitterly, yanking his locker open while pressing an ice pack to his upper cheek. “Don’t play innocent.”

“My wha—” Rhyland did this? But when? And why? And how come he hadn’t mentioned it?

He could have mentioned it.

Dark, toxic delight filled my veins, thick and sticky. It was wrong to take pleasure in what Rhyland had done, but that didn’t make me any less giddy. He’d hurt someone who had hurt me, tenfold. And I had a feeling Rhyland, despite his many shortcomings, was loyal to a fault.

Tucker shook his head, tugging out his backpack and his jacket and tossing the ice pack into the locker. I watched him, unsure of what to say. It wasn’t my place to apologize. I hadn’t messed up his face. Plus, he kind of deserved it.

“Already told you your wrist was a mistake. You didn’t have to be such a baby about it,” Tucker groused.

“He noticed my wrist by himself. I didn’t tell him.” Why was I explaining myself to this prick?

“Yeah, well, he made a whole stink about it.”

“The fact that you left me for dead three years ago didn’t help, I’m sure,” I pointed out smartly.

Tucker fought an eye roll, seemingly eager to change the subject. “I told Rhyland I moved around after I left Maine.” He returned his attention to his locker, speaking with his back to me. He slipped his bomber jacket on, and then his JanSport. “I had a horrible fucking time, okay? I couldn’t go back to Staindrop because of Allison and her damn mess. Everybody judged me. I had to take random labor jobs everywhere I went. Australia. New Zealand. Japan. Working without a permit. I slept in hostels. My parents had to move to escape people’s prejudice. It’s not like I had fun.”

“Wow, I’m so sorry running away from your family was an inconvenience for you.” I put a hand to my chest and widened my eyes.

“That was always your issue, Dylan. You only think about yourself. Don’t care about anyone else’s misery,” he accused, his eyes narrowing into slits—or trying to through the swollen skin around them.

“Holy gaslighting, Batman.” I barked out a laugh. “You did not just make your Great Escape story about my selfishness.”

“I forgot how sarcastic you are.” He flattened his lips into a scowl. “Very unattractive.”

“Good.” I smiled brightly. “Only shit attracts flies.”

“I’m ready to see my daughter now.”

“Oh, it’s about your schedule, is it?” I couldn’t help but snap back. Kieran was right. I wasn’t ready to contemplate the idea of Tucker and Gravity in the same room. “I’ll let Gravity know. I’m sure she’ll understand why you were absent her”—I checked an imaginary watch—”entire fucking life.”

“I want to see my kid, Dylan.” He screwed a ball cap over his head, ducking his head down. It sounded like a threat, which I didn’t appreciate, but nothing about the words themselves seemed intimidating. It was his tone that didn’t sit right with me.

He pointed at me. “And tell your future husband to keep his distance, unless he wants to sit behind bars.”

The shift was long and busy but surprisingly rewarding. It felt good, doing something that extended beyond being a mother. My outfit proved to be a success in the tips department, but there were so many eyes on my ass I was half tempted to check if it had made it to Page Six’s blockbuster list.

When the clock hit midnight and I slid out of the bar, I got a phone call. Rhyland’s name stared back at me. I gulped in a breath and answered.

“What happened? Is she okay?”

“Jesus, relax.” He sounded tired and annoyed and fed up with our arrangement. We were only a few days in. “Your kid is fast asleep.” He didn’t call her by her name—still refused to fully accept that she was human—but at least he’d stopped referring her as “the child.” “I just knew you got off at midnight and wanted you to have someone to talk to on your way home.”

I deflated now I knew my child was okay. “It is literally six minutes away,” I protested.

“New York is unsafe.”

“Thanks to people like you,” I spluttered, trying to ignore the distinct feeling my heart was melting down into gooey, warm butter, settling between my legs, making me wet. Attentive Rhyland was a total panty dropper. “I saw Tucker’s face.”

“My condolences,” he drawled.

“Seriously, Rhy, what were you thinking?”

Brief silence hung in the air before he answered. “I owed it to Row. This has nothing to do with you. He’s been wanting to rearrange that man’s face for four years now, almost five.”

My buttery heart turned back into stone. Of course it was about my brother. Everything was.

“You could’ve gotten yourself into a lot of trouble.”

“He wouldn’t have told anyone,” Rhyland maintained.

“How are you so sure?”

“He knew he deserved it.”

I wasn’t sure Rhyland was correct on that one. Instead, I guessed Tucker didn’t want to start a war with a man like Rhy, who was connected to spine-chillingly ruthless billionaires with herds of lawyers at their disposal. Rhyland was definitely the nicest guy out of his crew, along with Kieran, but he also gave strong “don’t fuck with me” vibes.

“Did she have a good evening?” I changed the subject.

“She did.”

“Did she—”

“You know, Cosmos, we can have a conversation about something that isn’t your daughter.”

“I’m sure we can, but that would be pointless, because I want nothing to do with your ass,” I said in a singsong voice.

“Are you still a big Swiftie?” He ignored my attitude.

“I am,” I admitted begrudgingly. “You don’t outgrow Taylor Swift—you grow with her. That’s what the eras are all about.”

It was one of the things I loved about her so much. No album was the same. She evolved right along with her music. Aside from med school, my dream was to go to the Eras Tour.

There had been plenty of almosts. Row purchased tickets for me once, a couple years ago, but Grav got a nasty ear infection and had to be nursed twenty-four seven.

A year ago, I decided to splurge and bought two tickets for me and a friend. But the friend’s mother was hospitalized the same day. I had no backup to go with, so we ended up selling them.

“Are you still a big jackass?” I retorted. At this point, I was being mean to him just to remind myself he was off-limits, because that red line? It was blurring with each minute he spent with us.

“Huge, like everything else about me.” Rhyland clucked his tongue. “Retiring from my fake-boyfriend business and quitting pot definitely gave me less room to misbehave, though. I still enjoy going out, drinking, a good fucking shopping spree. I’ve never really understood why men are so butt-hurt about going shopping—I love new shit. But I’m no longer unabashedly self-indulgent. I guess I’m in a phase where I’m trying to prove to myself and others that there’s more to my existence than being hot as shit and fucking like a rock star.”

“Don’t forget being humble,” I snorted, punching in the code to unlock the entrance door of our building. “By the way, I’ve always suspected rock stars are shit in bed, what with all the coke and alcohol pumping through their veins.”

“I once hooked up with an American Idol contestant. She was pretty good. Stole my anal beads, though,” Rhyland muttered bitterly.

“Hardly a rock star, Rhy.” I suppressed a smile, pushing the elevator door and walking inside.

I’d kind of come to terms with the fact that we’d never be able to have a full five-minute conversation without bringing up sex.

“Hey, do you wanna see a mock-up of App-date?” For the first time ever, he sounded boyish, unsure. “It’s pretty cool. You get to browse profiles of fictive AI users.”

“Isn’t AI super unethical?”

“Yeah, but, well…so am I.”

This time, I did laugh.

“Honestly.” He bristled. “Be thankful it’s AI and not a trafficking ring or some shit.”

“Sure. You can show me.” As much as I hated to admit it, I was enjoying our truce. It was exhausting trying to hate the man just for rejecting me eight years ago.

The elevator door slid open. He stood there waiting for me in the hallway on the other side, looking fifty shades of perfect. Gray, low-hanging sweatpants and a white muscle shirt hung loose over his V-taper frame and broad shoulders. And when his mouth broke into a smile, I knew it wasn’t the only thing that was going to break.

He was the sunset, burning bright on the cusp of something dark and forbidden. If he were a song, I thought wistfully, he’d be a ballad. Sweet and forlorn and full of hidden meanings. “Wildest Dreams,” maybe.

I’d trained myself not to dream for so long, not to dare hope for something better, that Rhyland posed a threat to my very existence. He reminded me there might be something more to this life. And hope was like crack. Risky but addictive.

“Hey,” he said breathlessly.

“Hi.” I tucked a tendril of hair behind my ear, scurrying out of the elevator and into the apartment.

He closed the door behind us. “Wanna see?” He raised his phone up in his palm.

“Um, can I pee first?”

He rolled his eyes, downplaying his excitement. “I mean, if you must.”

I went to the bathroom thinking he looked too thrilled to have me, an objectively ill-informed person when it came to mobile apps, view his work.

Had Row, Tate, and Kieran given him the time of the day—taken his idea seriously? I doubted it. Rhyland was always celebrated by his friends for being silver-tongued and handsome, but people naturally assumed all he had to offer was his charm. He wasn’t outwardly talented at anything, like Row was with food, Kieran with soccer, and Tate with pissing people off.

After I washed my hands, I snuck in to check on Grav. She was sound asleep. I joined Rhyland at the breakfast nook, sliding onto the stool next to him. The mock-up app was already splayed on the screen of an iPad he must’ve brought with him.

“I thought I was going to see this on your phone.” I grabbed the iPad from him.

“This’ll give you the full experience. I made some tweaks to it after little stinker’s bedtime story.”

“What did you read?”

“The Very Hungry Caterpillar, for the fourth time.” Pause. “In a row.” Pause. “That caterpillar has untreated binge-eating issues. The book is romanticizing eating disorders. Parents should make more of a stink about it.”

He was blabbering because he was nervous about the app. Which, at first glance, looked sleek as hell.

“Dude, are you, like, hardworking and shit?” I tilted my head, grinning.

He puffed up, his face twisting in abhorrence. “Please. I did this with Paint while dropping a deuce.”

He’d brought his iPad so he could work here after Gravity went to bed. I didn’t know why, but it made my heart squeeze. I scrolled through App-date. It looked like if X’s elegance and Instagram’s aesthetic had a baby, yet it was completely its own unique brand.

The logo was the app name in lowercase letters, along with an engagement ring, the diamond exploding into tiny, torn Polaroid pictures of loved-up couples. The slogan was “Your ex’s pain is our gain.”

“You went a little overboard with that slogan.” I cleared my throat.

“The world runs on feelings, Cosmos. Every good marketing executive knows that in order to tap into people’s emotions, you have to make them feel shitty about themselves first.”

“You’re literally so toxic I’m afraid to breathe in your direction,” I muttered.

“Shh.” He elbowed me. “Concentrate on the experience.”

The background was probably one of the coolest features of the app. You had to choose where you were from, and the background immediately turned to a backdrop of your location, be it the New York skyline, the London Eye, or an open cornfield. The search engine was surprisingly specific. Location, age, gender, occupation, income, and exact goals. The app focused on people finding dates they could flaunt or play pretend with, not actually on finding love. But there were also broader searches for people who wanted to travel with like-minded individuals, befriend people with certain traits they missed in their exes, et cetera.

“It’s different from Tinder and Bumble,” Rhyland explained, licking his lips. “The goal here isn’t to find a hookup or a partner. It’s to have a strictly professional, quid pro quo relationship with someone willing to help you pretend like you’ve moved on. Or—and this is even more interesting—to find someone with the same traits as you to do something you already planned to do with your ex before you broke up. Like go on a hiking trip, backpack, and so on.”

“Are there really that many people out there who want to pretend to have someone?” I turned to him, mesmerized.

He motioned with his hand between us. Fair point.

“Plus,” he mused. “It’s not just for fake dates and partners. It’s a fill-in app. A place where you find a replacement to fill the gaping hole the person you broke up with left behind.”

You could find anything on the app. A one-off date for an event. An entire fake relationship. A friendship between two heartbroken people. This app basically promised to be your best friend after a breakup. Which was ironic since Rhyland, its creator, had never had a girlfriend.

“Look, I’m not gonna lie, it’s smart, sleek, and super freaking sophisticated.” I pushed the iPad across the surface back to him. “But I get why Bruce ‘Family Man’ Marshall is hesitant. You’re essentially promoting a lie.”

“Am I, though?” He grabbed the iPad, sliding it into his messenger bag. “Who knows how these relationships will turn out? If two people are hell-bent on driving their exes nuts and like each other enough, through talking online, to flaunt each other, wouldn’t you say they have a genuine chance of falling in love for real?”

“Um, no, because we’re in a fake relationship, and the only real thing I feel is the need to spoon your eyeballs out every time you provoke me.”

He snorted. “You wanna tell me, with a straight face, that you hate me the same way you did when we met on that curb a few days ago?”

“That doesn’t count. You’re literally helping me with Grav and money and—” The rest of my speech perished on my tongue. Huh. He had a point.

“And there you have it.” He winked. “I don’t think Bruce hates the idea of the app. If anything, it promotes informed consent around platonic relationships.” He visibly shuddered at the blasphemy. “His issue is with me. With who I am. My reputation. That’s why we need to ace this fake-lovers assignment, Casablancas.”

I bit down on the side of my lip, glancing at the app again. “Fine. It’s a good app. For what it’s worth, which is probably nothing at all, I think Bruce would be mad not to invest in it. There’s nothing sleazy or immoral about it. It would’ve been nice to have something like it when Tuck left me. In fact, you could monetize the shit out of this thing, because back then, I’d easily have spent a hundred bucks on signing up.”

“We’re looking at fifty bucks a year.” He flicked my nose like I was an adorable puppy, standing up and collecting his things. “Besides, I’d have been your fake boyfriend free of charge. You’d be my pro bono.”

Watching him move toward the door made my heart drop, and not in a good way. I didn’t want him to go, I realized. But I just sat there and stared. What else could I do? I’d already monopolized so much of his time since I got here. I didn’t want to overdo it.

When he got to the door, he slung his hand on the knob and swiveled his head to glance at me. “Dyl?”

“Yes, Rhy?”

Since when were we Dyl and Rhy? This change in dynamics symbolized the collapse of my self-defense mechanism.

“I found a really great daycare for the little stinker.” He tucked a hand into his front pocket. “It comes highly recommended. Montessori method, with teachers specializing in mental development and shit. The waiting list is three years deep, but Bruce’s wif—”

His words doused me like ice-cold water.

“How dare you?” I snarled.

Did he really hate spending time with Gravity that much? Did he think I was going to put her in care five times a week while I worked mostly night shifts and wouldn’t get to see her at all?

“No one asked you to help me find a daycare. I don’t want one.”

“Nannies are unreliable.” A muscle flexed in his jaw. He wasn’t cowering away from the subject. “And once this app takes off, I won’t have time to babysit her. Anyway, she is, like, fucking smart. Even I can tell, and she is legit the only three-year-old I know.” His gaze snagged on mine, gritty and unwavering. “She needs to hang out with other kids. Make friends. Think about her.”

“I am thinking about her.” I stood up. A rush of panic and agony funneled through me. “I’m thinking she doesn’t have a dad, so at least she can have a present mom.”

I hated that my anger, my heat, my desperation, wasn’t piercing through him. That he didn’t shy away from confrontation when I expressed big feelings. That he cared enough to engage in a battle instead of walking off like Tucker did.

“All the same, I’ve gotten to know your kid, and I think you could both benefit from enrolling her, at least part-time,” Rhyland maintained calmly. “You’re going to go to school at some point. This bar gig ain’t forever. And Gravity deserves more than a fake uncle who teaches her how to burp the alphabet and chuck pineapple pieces out the window to pass the time.”

“There will be no school for me,” I laughed. “New York is my one and only chance to escape living with my mother for eternity. I’m not gonna blow it by enrolling in college and risking financial demise. What do you think I’m going to do with your paychecks? I’m saving every penny.” I walked over to the door, shaking with rage.

Did he think I was doing a bad job with my own daughter? That she wasn’t being provided with enough stimulation?

“That’s not—” he started.

“Get out.”

He yanked on the handle, opening the door, those light, tranquil eyes still trained on me. But instead of getting out, he turned from the door sharply, taking one step and eating all the space between us. Suddenly, he was in my face. His heat radiated onto my body. His pulse drummed against my own. He leaned down so we were face-to-face. I felt like I was about to explode, and I didn’t know if it was from want, need, or anger.

“Tomorrow. Ten thirty a.m. I’m driving.” His breath skated along the column of my neck, his voice low and menacing. “I’m not Tucker, Dylan. You can’t steamroll me. You can’t make me run. You can’t exhaust me into agreeing with you. Don’t be late.”

“I told you—”

“Marshall set it up,” he snapped. “If this is a test, I wanna pass it. We’re going.”

“I hate you.” I was acting childishly, I knew, but maybe it was exactly what I needed. Someone I could show my worst to, knowing they still wouldn’t leave.

To my horror, a lone tear escaped my right eye.

This was why I was being horrible to him. My instinct was to push men away just to watch them leave. Only Rhyland hadn’t left in the six days since we’d reconnected. Yet.

But I already knew he’d meet this challenge head-on. That was just who he was. He never shied away from hard work.

He used his thumb to brush my tear away. “Someone told me enemies-to-lovers tropes have the best sex.” He popped his thumb into his mouth, tasting my tear.

“That someone sounds smart,” I mumbled.

He nodded. “Hot too.”

With that, he slid past me, his arm brushing mine in an erotic whisper, and walked away, leaving me in a pool of desire and anger.

What the hell just happened?