Wildest Dreams: Chapter 2

“Shit, shit, fuck, shit.” I banged my forehead against the steering wheel, my ponytail falling apart to match the rest of my life.

In the rearview mirror, I watched as Grav’s mouth hung open, her eyes as big and wide as the moon. She was buckled into her car seat, hugging Mr. Mushroom, her chubby penis-looking pink stuffie. She was hopelessly attached to the thing. A gift from Cal to me that had somehow ended up being my toddler’s transition object.

“Mommy!” she chided with a gasp. “Grandma will be mad when she hears.”

“I’ll let you drink Mommy’s soda if you don’t tell her.” I bribed her with a can of Coke.

“Okay!”

Our fresh start in New York had started off with a broken-down vehicle that couldn’t even roll to Row’s Fifth Avenue building and a line of twenty cars honking and yelling at me.

I fumbled with my keys, trying to fire the engine. I was literally ten feet away from the gates of Row’s parking garage when Jimmy decided to plotz.

“Wake up, wake up, wake up.” I jacked the handbrake up, then down, then up again. Rage suffocated me. This damn car.

When I bought Jimmy two years ago, proud of myself for not accepting Row’s charity in the form of a superior secondhand Silverado, it already had a hundred thousand miles on it and corroded doors that tended to dance in the wind whenever I went over forty miles per hour. But it was five hundred dollars below book, and I couldn’t resist the bargain. It left me money for Grav’s swimming lessons as well as the monthly book subscription her preschool teacher had recommended. I was now seeing the error of my ways.

I tried to turn the ignition again. Nada. Jimmy was deader than Armie Hammer’s career.

Another loud blare of honks thundered between my ears. Road ragers shook their fists out their windows, roaring profanity and trying to cut through the other lane.

“Get this old piece of junk outta the road, asshole.”

“Learn how to drive stick, rice turd.”

“D’you see the ass on that lady? She could ride my stick any day of the week.”

My face flooded with heat. Why me? I wished life would send me fewer lessons and more money.

I slipped out of the car, craning my neck as I observed the line of pissed-off drivers behind me to try to gauge who looked the least psychopathic and could be persuaded to help me push my car toward the parking gate.

“Mommy, I wanna get out,” Gravity moaned, her pink Skechers kicking the passenger seat in front of her.

“In a minute, honey.”

“I’m boooored.”

More honking. More profanity. Fifth Avenue was a four-lane street, aggressively stacked with midrise buildings on one side and Central Park on the other. One lane was for buses, and one was jammed with trucks. That left two lanes, and I was currently blocking one of them.

“I need help getting my car to this gate.” I flailed my arms in the building’s general direction. I was sweating and itching under my navy-blue sweatshirt and my baggy mom jeans. My hair was a mess. If I were a crier, I’d cry.

“Sounds like a you problem.” The driver right behind me spat phlegm through his window.

Welp, I’m not in Maine anymore, that’s for sure.

“Unless you wanna pay for it.” The driver gave me an appreciative once-over.

“Sure.” I jutted out a hip, smiling at him sweetly. “Do you accept knees to the nuts and sucker punches?”

“Bitch,” he muttered, rolling his window up on me.

“Mommy!” Gravity shrieked louder. “I wanna get out. Out. Out.Out.”

“Just a sec, sweetie.”

“I want soda!”

Shakily, I pulled my phone out of my back pocket. I couldn’t call Mama or Row—I was desperate to do this on my own. Desperate not to be this needy, flailing, train wreck of a woman who failed at everything she touched.

I called the insurance company instead, my whole body breaking out in hives.

This was a mistake. I should never have come here. Seriously, what was I thinking? I couldn’t even manage my life while I lived with my mother in my hometown; New York City was twenty sizes too big for me.

I was pacing back and forth behind my trunk, waiting for a representative to answer my call, when Jimmy’s back door flew open. It took me a second to register what was happening. Grav had had enough after the eight-hour road trip, unbuckled her seat by herself, and was now sliding out, falling flat on her ass on the busy road and rolling into the next lane.

“Jesus!” I shrieked hysterically, dropping my phone to the ground.

My daughter rose up on wobbly knees, a frightened expression stamped on her face. She stumbled straight into the moving cars, looking for me through a haunted, terrorized gaze. Seeing my entire life flash before my eyes in the moments my legs carried me toward her, I desperately resisted the urge to pounce on her and scare her straight into the rush-hour traffic.

Suddenly—and seemingly out of nowhere—a tall, broad, thunder of a human scooped Gravity up with one hand, tucked her under their armpit like she was a football, and zipped to the sidewalk to safety.

I dropped to my knees and coughed out all the air trapped in my lungs.

She could have died. She almost did. Because of my stupid lack of attention.

Blinking away the tears, I stumbled toward the figure holding my child. More specifically, the man suspending her by the ankles, gently shaking her body as if she were a newly torn piñata. “Where’s the candy?” His deep, dark drawl rumbled. No baby talk for him. “I know you have some. Don’t play.”

“I don’t!” Gravity giggled, trying to kick the air, arms flailing. “I ate it all on the way here.”

Snitch.

“I suppose I’ll just have to eat you then.”

Another fit of giggles. “Nooo, Uncle Rhyrand. Mommy won’t let you! She woves me!”

My heart finally slowed. I wiped my clammy hands on my sweatshirt, feigning nonchalance as I joined them on the sidewalk.

Them being my daughter and Rhyland Coltridge.

Rhyland Coltridge being my brother’s best friend.

A man-whore.

A cocky bastard who knew he was God’s best creation to date.

A debauched, selfish piece of work clad in a Prada suit.

Too bad that piece of work was a masterpiece.

Rhyland put the “fun” in “dysfunctional.” He was a menace who got a free pass for all his faults through his striking exterior. His princely features included six feet and four inches of bronze, taut, flawlessly muscled body, gold-spun hair the color of an endless wheat field, and eyes as green and bright as the shiniest emeralds. Everything about him, from his cruelly sharp jawline, cartoonishly high cheekbones, and full lips to his straight nose, screamed perfection.

And we hated each other.

Actually, he couldn’t muster enough shits to have any kind of strong feelings about me or anyone else. It was one of the reasons I detested him. He was living, breathing proof that you could live with no heart inside your chest.

“Hello, Rhyland.” I strode toward him, putting my fake bravado on like it was a fancy hat.

“Hello, fuckup,” he parried tonelessly, hoisting my child onto his arm and leveling me with an acutely bored glance. He wore a coin pendant on a plain black chain on his neck. Still. He’d been carrying that shit around since we were practically teens. I would ask what it meant, but I’d never really cared.

“Watch your mouth in front of my child,” I warned him coolly.

“Mommy said ‘fuck’ in the car,” Gravity provided cheerfully, giggling.

Traitor.

“It’s called wishful thinking, kid.” Rhyland flashed a predatory canine smile that made my bones freeze a little.

He wasn’t pretty-boy sexy. He was half-Viking, half-Hozier sexy.

The honking intensified into one long blare that just kept on going. We both ignored it.

Rhyland gave me a withering look. “Pull yourself together, Casablancas. Your kid could’ve died.” He sneered. “While you’re at it, take her back. I’m not a babysitter.”

That was all it took for me to officially and finally lose it.

Not the eight-hour drive, punctuated by ten pee-pee stops, sponsored by Starbucks caffeine and suspiciously cold gas-station hot dogs.

Not the fact that Jimmy had died on me ten feet from the parking garage.

Not that I was broke, jobless, single, and raising a kid, even though half the time I felt like I was still one myself.

And not even the realization he was going to be my neighbor, because Row and Cal’s apartment was a floor below Rhyland’s place. They’d planned it that way so they could always be close.

That.

“It’ll be a cold day in hell when I start taking parenting tips from you.” I snatched Grav into my arms, feeling my vocal cords tearing with a scream. “She was strapped in. It’s not my fault she’s smart enough to figure out how to unbuckle. We had a terrible journey here. My car died. It’s blocking traffic. The insurance company didn’t answer. I haven’t slept in three days. I don’t even have the money to fix this car—”

“I take it you’re Row’s latest charity case and will be living in his apartment,” Rhyland interrupted brusquely, twisting his wrist to glance at his watch. He looked eager to move on with his day. Like he had something better to do than grab a first-row seat to my breakdown.

God, I hated him. So much it hurt.

“I’m not anyone’s charity.”

“Don’t knock it before you try it. Becoming a stripper named Charity might be the answer to all your financial problems.”

“You’re a pig,” I snarled.

He winked. “Oink, oink.” And then, because apparently setting each other on fire was only on my agenda, not his, he added, “Come on. Let’s get that car out of people’s way.”

“I don’t want your help.”

“What a coincidence. I don’t want to help.” He flashed another devilish grin, rolling his dress shirt up to reveal veiny, muscular forearms. “Unfortunately, you’re my best friend’s baby sister, and I have some level of decorum not to leave you and your child to get stabbed by a cab driver.”

He yanked open the driver’s door and slipped inside, twisting the key in its hub. “Lights are working, so it’s not the battery. Probably the spark plugs. How old is this thing?”

“Not as old as you.” What was I, five? Who talked like this?

Pulling his phone out of his pocket, he frowned, ignoring me. “I have a meeting in a few minutes, but I’ll go into the auto shop later and get it fixed. Meanwhile, I’ll push it into the garage.”

“Uh, okay.”

“Better take your suitcases out first. The garage elevator is small and takes forever.”

I hated that he was helping me. Hated that I was frazzled enough to accept said help. And I hated that I looked like a mess when all this was unfolding.

Rhyland got out, hurled all six of my suitcases and duffel bags onto the sidewalk, and stopped a well-built Amazon delivery guy, convincing him to clear out the lane so he could push my car into the building’s parking lot. They both pushed the trunk, rolling it into the underground garage. I perched Gravity on top of a suitcase, her legs straddling the handle, and deposited her iPad, clad in a butterfly-shaped case, into her hands. I put her kitty-eared headphones on her ears. Her face lit up at the sight of Caitie’s Classroom. Then I went and retrieved my broken phone from the road.

With a mixture of humiliation and mortification, I watched Rhyland and the delivery man work. When the car was safely tucked inside the garage, Rhyland reappeared through the lobby. He looked significantly less put-together, one silky strand of his sandy hair loosening from his man bun and falling across his eye. His cheekbones were marred pink. I almost felt bad as he approached us. I opened my mouth to thank him.

“Is there a reason why the child is holding a penis?” He flicked his gaze to Gravity, who was hugging Mr. Mushroom on the suitcase while she watched her show intently.

The child. He talked about her as if she were a problem in need of fixing.

“It’s not a penis. It’s Mr. Mushroom,” I corrected haughtily.

He gave me a flat look punctuated with a half-moon smirk that threatened to light my panties aflame.

Despite my aversion to him now, I’d always had a thing for Rhyland Coltridge.

A happy-to-get-on-all-fours-for-you-at-a-moment’s-notice kind of thing.

Which obviously didn’t help matters.

“It’s a long story, okay?” I picked my daughter up again, cradling her head in the crook of my neck. “Anyway, thanks for the help. You can go back to being New York’s favorite fuckboy.” I mouthed the last word voicelessly so Grav wouldn’t hear, shooing him away with my hand.

“Are you shaming me for being a sex worker?” He arched a thick eyebrow, one shade darker than his hair.

“No. I’m shaming you for being a douchebag.”

“Why? History dictates it’s your favorite taste in men.” He chuckled brusquely.

1–10 to the home team.

My ex, Tucker, was definitely a walking, talking condom advertisement.

“You know, Rhyland.” I parked my hip over a tall suitcase, mustering every acting skill in my body to appear self-composed and nonchalant. “There aren’t enough synonyms in the English language to describe how much I hate you.”

This didn’t contradict my desire for him. I also desired three Valiums and an entire mango key lime cheesecake and still knew they had the power to destroy me.

“Flattered.” He put a hand to his chest, bowing down with flourish. “I don’t think there’s a word for how I feel for you, but it’s somewhere between disdain and total boredom.”

“Indifferent,” I offered charitably.

He snapped his fingers and pointed at me. “See? And everyone thinks you’re just a pretty face. Dylan Casablancas, a walking dictionary, ladies and gents.”

“All I took from this is that you think I’m pretty, and while I agree, you don’t stand a chance. I’m done dating losers.”

“That’s a bit of a pickle, sweetheart.”

“Why?”

“I doubt anyone who isn’t a loser would have you.”

Just when I thought I was going to assault my brother’s best friend in my first hour in Manhattan, we were interrupted by a real-life cowboy. He was ambling toward us, accompanied by another suited man, waving a hand at us.

“Howdy, Coltridge.”

The man looked as out of place in New York as a Disney princess in a BDSM club, with his Western hat and embellished shirt, cowboy boots, and worn-out denim. He gulped in the scene of us—the suitcases, Gravity, me, and Rhyland—his wide-set mouth breaking into a delighted grin. He looked to be in his early sixties and in excellent shape. A thick gold ring sparkled on his wedding finger.

“Marshall,” Rhyland greeted back with an easy smile, but I noticed he cleared his throat. “You’re early.”

“The early bird catches the worm.” The man winked, stopping a few feet from us and thumbing his longhorn buckle. “Well, ain’t that a sight? Rhyland Coltridge, I had no idea you were a taken man. With a kid, no less. That definitely gives you brownie points in my book.”

What?

I opened my mouth to clarify that he wouldn’t find any love lost between Rhyland and me, not even if he used a microscope, when I heard the latter chuckle good-naturedly.

“Never judge a book by its cover, Bruce.”

To my horror, what followed was Rhyland’s arm wrapping around my shoulder. I froze into a statue, my eyes taking over my entire face. What in the name of Taylor Swift was going on here?

“And who do we have here?” Bruce fussed over Gravity, who dangled her feet from the suitcase, hugging Mr. Mushroom. Thankfully, she was squeezing the stuffie hard enough that it was indistinguishable.

“That’s Gravity.” Rhyland ignored the way I slapped his touch away, smoothly removing his arm from my shoulder and picking my daughter up, holding her close to his chest. He grinned down at her. Gravity’s eyes were still obliviously glued to the screen. “A.k.a. the light of my life.”

“You must be living in the Dark Ages then,” I muttered under my breath, folding my arms over my chest.

Rhyland shot me a murderous look.

“Bruce Marshall.” The man offered me his hand with a warm smile. “Pleasure to meet you, ma’am. And you are?”

“Not a ma’am.” I untangled my arms to take his hand in mine. “And also not Mrs. Coltridge, thank God.”

Bruce Marshall’s smile evaporated, and Rhyland inserted himself between us, barking out a laugh. “She means not yet,” he clarified. “But as you can tell, we can’t wait to get married.”

Bruce’s gaze dropped to my bare fingers. “I ain’t seeing no ring.”

What was Rhyland doing? More importantly, why was he doing it?

Rhyland gave him a leisurely clap on the back. “Don’t spoil all my surprises, Brucey boy. She asked for something different than I gave her. She’s a hard woman to please.”

“No,” I drawled. “You just suck in bed.”

Bruce’s eyes ping-ponged from my daughter back to me. I saw his judgment there and then. Even though I knew there was nothing wrong with having a child out of wedlock—especially as I was the one to be dumped—I still found myself feeling naked and vulnerable.

“Gravity’s not mine,” Rhyland hurried to explain, grabbing her from me. “Although she feels like mine in every way that matters.”

What a load of baloney. Rhyland couldn’t stand children and, in fact, always tried to be on the other side of the room when Gravity and Serafina were around. Even Gravity gave him a “do I know you, sir?” glare.

Bruce turned to cast his warm, approving glance on Rhyland, nodding slowly. “Didn’t peg you for the kind of man who’d take on extra responsibilities if he doesn’t have to.”

“Well, there’s a lot you still don’t know about me and my character,” Rhyland responded enigmatically. Asshole had not only thrown me under the bus, but he was also making sure to drive back and forth a few times, leaving skid marks on my body. Why was he lying through his teeth?

“You’re doing the right thing, son.” Bruce clapped Rhyland’s shoulder. “I respect a good family man. Am one myself. Don’t know if you’ve read the Forbes article about me, but seventy-three percent of my staff attend the same Sunday service as I do. Birds of a feather flock together, hey?”

Rhyland smiled brightly, and just like that, I understood his game.

I bit down my lower lip to stop myself from laughing. Rhyland put the “heat” in “heathen.” The man was such a sinner I was pretty sure he’d burst into flames if he ever got less than three miles away from a church. His day job was literally dating and screwing women for money. And he did that with gusto. I’d estimate he’d slept with more women than were registered to vote in this district. And as exhibited right here and right now, he had no qualms about lying, deceiving, and cheating his way into achieving his goals.

“Absolutely right, sir. There is no bigger fan of monogamy and children than me,” Rhyland clucked, his voice honeyed menace.

“All righty.” Bruce rubbed his hands together. “I’ll go get myself comfortable in that fancy coffee shop you recommended and have me one of them uppity pastry thingies, and you help your lil miss get her suitcases upstairs and join me. No rush, yeah? Family first.”

“I’ll try to rip myself away from them.” Rhyland sighed exaggeratedly. “But it’ll be hard.”

“I can always throw you out the window to speed things up,” I suggested cheerfully.

Rhyland elbowed me.

Bruce and his aide wobbled their way down the road to a trendy coffee shop. As soon as they’d disappeared behind the door, Rhyland shoved Gravity back into my hands as if she were made out of radioactive explosives.

“We need to talk.” He hoisted the duffel bags onto his shoulders, herding the rest of my suitcases toward the main entrance of the building.

It was a prewar mid-rise with stunning white arches and columns. The lobby had gray-veined checkered black-and-white limestone, and the unmanned front desk and mailboxes were made of sleek, black-painted wood. The elevators were old-school, a black wrought iron cage surrounding the wooden doors. The place had a European quality to it, and for the first time since I’d started this journey, I got giddy.

“Please.” I massaged my temples. “No more talking.”

“Mommy has a headache,” Gravity murmured sweetly, adjusting her iPad so it perched on my chest.

Mommy also really needed to pee. And eat. And savor three mimosas.

“Mommy needs to do Uncle Rhyland a big, big favor.” Rhyland’s wolfish glare pinned me with deliberate foul intent, his raspy voice running down my spine like sweet summer rain. Our eyes met, and like a lit match, they sparked the entire lobby on fire. “And she’d better make the right choice for a change.”