Page 120 of Wildest Dreams

“Tuckwad.”

“Any chance I can borrow some clothes?” Tucker asked boldly, gesturing to himself. “Gravity had an accident.”

“Gravity doesn’t have accidents. She graces us with her sometimes unexplained art,” Rhyland corrected. “And sure, I’ll grab you something to wear from upstairs. But it’s not a borrow. Those clothes are contaminated once you touch them. I don’t want them back.”

Tucker’s throat bobbed with the nasty words he must’ve swallowed down.

I scooped up Grav and got rid of the jacket on her. “I’ll go give her a bath.”

“I’ll take one in your bedroom,” Tucker said, ignoring the fact that I’d clearly told him he couldn’t.

“You’ll stay right here until I come back with those clothes,” Rhyland corrected him.

We split to go our separate ways. Gravity was too tired to play with her duckies and her boats. I quickly got her into pajamas. She skipped the pho (said she wasn’t hungry), drank some water, and asked to go to bed. Since her fever was down, I decided to forgo the Tylenol and just check on her in an hour. Hopefully by then, she’d have sweated the rest of it out.

When I walked back to the living room, only Rhyland was there. He was scrubbing off the remainder of the vomit on the couch, but everything else was squeaky clean and back in order. For the millionth time, I thanked God for creating Rhyland Coltridge.

“Where’s Tucker?” I asked tiredly.

“Taking a shower in your bathroom,” Rhyland replied, sounding none too pleased about it. “How’s Grav?”

“Out cold,” I sighed, wiping my brow. I could use a warm bath myself. And maybe a small nervous breakdown.

“Poor thing.” Rhyland grabbed my ass cheeks, tugging me so I was flush against him, pressing against his erection.

“Me or Grav?”

“Both of you.” He leaned in to give me a tantalizing, sloppy kiss that made all my troubles disappear, even if for one moment. “Now, you can tell Tuckwad to fuck off, and we can salvage your day together.”

But just like always, we couldn’t keep our hands off each other, and soon, his hand was in my shirt, my palm rubbing his bulge between us. I desperately needed a distraction, because thinking about what had happened with Tucker was putting me at risk of doing something very, very stupid.

“Fuck, sweetheart. I can’t wait to bend you over the couch and fill your two holes with my dick and my fingers.” Rhy hoisted me up to wrap my legs around his waist, walking us forward until my back was pressed against the wall.

“Please,” I moaned into his mouth. “Fuck me, Rhyland.”

We heard a noisy and deliberate clearing of a throat over my left shoulder and both turned to see my ex staring at us, his cheeks stinging with fury. In the eyes I’d lost myself in countless times, I now found nothing but wickedness and malice. His nostrils flared, and his mouth barely moved as he spoke.

“Please don’t tell me you guys are fucking serious about this hookup.”

A shiver ran down my spine. Rhyland put me down carefully. It was in this moment everything clicked for me.

That time Tucker hurt me wasn’t accidental. He’d wanted to leave a mark. He’d wanted me scared and small and frightened. Tucker wasn’t a good guy, and there was no redemption arc for him. Whatever had made him warm to the idea of reconnecting with our daughter had nothing to do with altruism; she was just a pawn in his very twisted chess game.

“What we are and aren’t is none of your business,” I said coldly, walking over to him. He was wearing clothes of Rhyland’s I didn’t recognize. Pink Bermuda shorts and a long-sleeve yellow button-down with a llama print on it. He looked absolutely ridiculous, and I had no doubt Rhyland had put effort and care into ensuring the outfit was as disastrous as possible. “You really upset my daughter today.”

“Our daughter,” Tucker corrected.

“No,” I said calmly. “Mine. Being a sperm donor does not make you a dad. You are no father, Tucker. And if you want visitation rights, then I suggest you retain a lawyer, because I’m going to fight you on it every step of the way.”

“You can’t be serious.” He raised his voice, not paying heed to the fact that our child was asleep in the next room. “This is an insane overreaction. You can’t do that.”

“I can, and I am. Now get the fuck out of my apartment before I call the police and tell them about the bruise you left on my arm and the way you slammed our daughter’s head against the wall.”

Rhyland’s face swiveled my way, his expression astonished. “What did you just say?”

“When Gravity puked on him, he ‘reflexively’ pushed her. She bumped against the wall,” I explained.

“You’re making it sound so much worse than it really was,” Tucker exploded.

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