Page 133 of Wildest Dreams

Cal threw me an apologetic look. “I’m sure he has a good reason.”

“Yeah, I know.” I coughed around a lump in my throat. That good reason better be a stab wound or alien abduction, though. Anything else would not be sufficient.

“I’m fine,” I insisted.

I wasn’t fine.

I was far from fine.

Cal stood up and rushed over to hug me. My lips trembled as my arms encircled her body.

“Hey,” she whispered into the shell of my ear, running her fingers through my hair, squeezing me harder. “Go take a shower and get dressed. He’ll be here.”

“How do you know?” I moaned into her rich chestnut hair. The tips were turquoise blue.

“Because he is crazy about you,” she reassured me. “And because I’ll rip off one of his arms and beat him with it if he breaks your heart,” she added in her whimsical, sunshine voice.

I snorted.

She disconnected from me, patting my ass. “Now go put something slutty and wonderful on, and let’s get this show on the road. Taylor Swift, baby!”

After I’d had a shower, washed and dried my hair, and put on a red satin gown, I painted my lips burgundy, going for the man-killer look, even though it was totally the wrong vibe for the show. On my way out of my bathroom, I picked up my phone from my nightstand and checked it.

Nothing.

With a grunt, I perched my ass on the edge of the bed and logged in to my Instagram to see if he’d updated his stories. He hadn’t. Then I figured I’d check his tagged section, see what he’d been up to.

My heart flipped painfully in my chest.

No.

No, no, no, no, no.

But there it was. In full color, and through a blue checkmarked account of the one and only Claire Larsen: sex symbol, Hollywood starlet, and fashion icon. She’d captioned the picture of them,Gonna tell our kids we are Bonnie and Clyde.

The picture—of her gliding her finger along his chest while he stared down at her through his green, mysterious eyes—had 3.2 million likes, and it was only posted yesterday.

Pinkywinky commented: omfg your children are going to be gorggggg.

Annika9237 commented: excuse me? Is this a long-lost Hemsworth brother? either way I AM SAT.

*Jaystern* commented: Why am I so invested in this??? What’s his name? We need a ship name.

I ran to the bathroom and vomited straight into the toilet bowl, clutching it with my trembling fingers. Cal heard me and ran inside.

“What happened?” She was panting. “Oh God, food poisoning?”

Rather than answering her, I tossed my phone across the marble floor. She picked it up, frowning at the picture.

“There could very well be a good explanation for this.” She measured her words, which were empty of weight or conviction.

“Could there now?” I huffed.

Silence. She and I both knew the truth. Rhyland had a history of being a womanizer. And the fact of the matter was we were supposed to leave in a few hours, and he still wasn’t here.

Cal’s red-striped Superstar sneakers padded across the bedroom and into the bathroom. She put a comforting hand on the edge of my spine. It was that simple gesture that made me completely break. I plastered my forehead to the cool marble and heaved out as tears streamed down my cheeks freely. I wasn’t a crier, and I made it a point not to cry over a boy. Ever.

But Rhy wasn’t a boy—he was a man.

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