Page 50 of Wildest Dreams

“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.

---