Page 39 of Wildest Dreams

“I like that you are potty-trained,” I offered. “I’d hate to change your diaper.”

She curled her lips inward. “Mommy’s better at this.”

I sighed, searching my brain for something, anything, that was genuine and positive about her.

“You’re funny,” I sighed. “You make me laugh. You outran that greyhound, which was fuc—fully impressive. If I weren’t so exhausted from today, I’d say it wasn’t terrible.”

She grinned, small white canine teeth flashing in the dark. “You wanted to say a bad word.”

“No, I didn’t. Now you’re just projecting.” Was I gaslighting a three-year-old?

“What?” She cocked her head on her pillow. The room still smelled of freshly shaved wood and crayons.

“Nothing. Good night, rascal.” I tousled her hair.

When I turned around, Dylan was there at the door, staring at us, transfixed. I strode past her, ignoring whatever was stuck in my throat. Maybe I was allergic to children. I needed a Zyrtec if I was gonna babysit this kid on a weekly basis.

“Rhyland…” Dylan followed me, and I stopped at the dining table, ripping open the brown bag containing our DoorDash: triple burgers with crinkle-cut fries and two strawberry Oreo milkshakes. “Thank you for today.”

“Don’t mention it.” I shoved four fries into my mouth, taking a pull of my milkshake. “Seriously. Don’t. I’m fucking traumatized here. This is how people live with toddlers? Day in and day out? How are we not, like, extinct?”

She snorted out a quiet laugh, grabbing us plates and utensils from the kitchen. When she opened the drawer to grab a knife to poke through the sealed sauces, it pricked the tip of her finger. “Ugh. Fuck me,” she hissed, sucking the blood off her finger.

“Sure. Your kid’ll probably hear us, but I’m more than happy to foot the therapy bill.” I popped a fry into my mouth. “I’m chivalrous, which you’ll learn to appreciate as our fake engagement progresses.”

“Don’t let your mouth write checks your ass can’t pay,” she sighed tiredly.

If you knew what my mouth was capable of, I’d be eating more than just a burger.

But she was right. We needed to be good and boring so as not to upset her grizzly bear of a brother. Or blow my impending deal. Couldn’t risk a runaway bride.

We alternated between whiskey, milkshake, and food as she told me about Tara and Stassia and the way they’d degraded her for thirty minutes before sending her on her way. My blood boiled, then chilled to ice when she talked about how she’d saved the life of a bartender who’d had a heart attack and somehow ended up replacing her for the remainder of her shift.

The crux of the biscuit was the news Tucker was in town and working at the Alchemist.

“Did you know he worked there?” Dylan eyed me with suspicion, dunking two fries into her milkshake and tossing them into her mouth—which, I’m sorry, was the height of vulgarity. No one was perfect, I guess. Though Dylan came close, with those long legs and that peach-shaped ass. One couldn’t expect her not to have such culinary quirks.

“No.” I sipped my whiskey. “Whenever Row’s in town, we go to the gastropub down the road.”

“How come Kieran knew he’d be there? This wasn’t a coincidence.” Dylan frowned.

“He must’ve seen him the last time he swung by.” I swallowed half my burger in one bite. “Kieran stays at the Plaza, not too far from here. Asshole probably thought he was doing you a favor by bringing Gravity’s dad back into your life.”

“He knows how much I detest him.” Dylan sniffed.

“Kieran thinks he’s smarter than God himself,” I reminded her. “Just pretend that shit didn’t happen, and move on with your life. Nothing good ever came out of Tucker.”

“Other than Gravity,” Dylan corrected, dipping more fries into her milkshake.

I visibly shuddered.

“Everything okay?” She frowned.

“You tell me. You dip your fries into your milkshake.”

She shot me a steadfast look. “What’s the problem? Weren’t you the one who taught my daughter it all ends up in the same place anyway?”

“I said what needed to be said to make the little stinker eat. I don’t know where she gets all that energy from. She runs on pissing me off and applesauce,” I pointed out. “By that logic, it’s okay to eat turd, because that’s what your food turns into.”

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