Page 52 of Wildest Dreams

“Look, I’m not gonna lie, it’s smart, sleek, and super freaking sophisticated.” I pushed the iPad across the surface back to him. “But I get why Bruce ‘Family Man’ Marshall is hesitant. You’re essentially promoting a lie.”

“Am I, though?” He grabbed the iPad, sliding it into his messenger bag. “Who knows how these relationships will turn out? If two people are hell-bent on driving their exes nuts and like each other enough, through talking online, to flaunt each other, wouldn’t you say they have a genuine chance of falling in love for real?”

“Um, no, because we’re in a fake relationship, and the only real thing I feel is the need to spoon your eyeballs out every time you provoke me.”

He snorted. “You wanna tell me, with a straight face, that you hate me the same way you did when we met on that curb a few days ago?”

“That doesn’t count. You’re literally helping me with Grav and money and—” The rest of my speech perished on my tongue. Huh. He had a point.

“And there you have it.” He winked. “I don’t think Bruce hates the idea of the app. If anything, it promotes informed consent around platonic relationships.” He visibly shuddered at the blasphemy. “His issue is with me. With who I am. My reputation. That’s why we need to ace this fake-lovers assignment, Casablancas.”

I bit down on the side of my lip, glancing at the app again. “Fine. It’s a good app. For what it’s worth, which is probably nothing at all, I think Bruce would be mad not to invest in it. There’s nothing sleazy or immoral about it. It would’ve been nice to have something like it when Tuck left me. In fact, you could monetize the shit out of this thing, because back then, I’d easily have spent a hundred bucks on signing up.”

“We’re looking at fifty bucks a year.” He flicked my nose like I was an adorable puppy, standing up and collecting his things. “Besides, I’d have been your fake boyfriend free of charge. You’d be my pro bono.”

Watching him move toward the door made my heart drop, and not in a good way. I didn’t want him to go, I realized. But I just sat there and stared. What else could I do? I’d already monopolized so much of his time since I got here. I didn’t want to overdo it.

When he got to the door, he slung his hand on the knob and swiveled his head to glance at me. “Dyl?”

“Yes, Rhy?”

Since when were we Dyl and Rhy? This change in dynamics symbolized the collapse of my self-defense mechanism.

“I found a really great daycare for the little stinker.” He tucked a hand into his front pocket. “It comes highly recommended. Montessori method, with teachers specializingin mental development and shit. The waiting list is three years deep, but Bruce’s wif—”

His words doused me like ice-cold water.

“How dare you?” I snarled.

Did he really hate spending time with Gravity that much? Did he think I was going to put her in care five times a week while I worked mostly night shifts and wouldn’t get to see her at all?

“No one asked you to help me find a daycare. I don’t want one.”

“Nannies are unreliable.” A muscle flexed in his jaw. He wasn’t cowering away from the subject. “And once this app takes off, I won’t have time to babysit her. Anyway, she is, like, fucking smart. Even I can tell, and she is legit the only three-year-old I know.” His gaze snagged on mine, gritty and unwavering. “She needs to hang out with other kids. Make friends. Think about her.”

“I am thinking about her.” I stood up. A rush of panic and agony funneled through me. “I’m thinking she doesn’t have a dad, so at least she can have a present mom.”

I hated that my anger, my heat, my desperation, wasn’t piercing through him. That he didn’t shy away from confrontation when I expressed big feelings. That he cared enough to engage in a battle instead of walking off like Tucker did.

“All the same, I’ve gotten to know your kid, and I think you could both benefit from enrolling her, at least part-time,” Rhyland maintained calmly. “You’re going to go to school at some point. This bar gig ain’t forever. And Gravity deserves more than a fake uncle who teaches her how to burp the alphabet and chuck pineapple pieces out the window to pass the time.”

“There will be no school for me,” I laughed. “New York is my one and only chance to escape living with my mother foreternity. I’m not gonna blow it by enrolling in college and risking financial demise. What do you think I’m going to do with your paychecks? I’m saving every penny.” I walked over to the door, shaking with rage.

Did he think I was doing a bad job with my own daughter? That she wasn’t being provided with enough stimulation?

“That’s not—” he started.

“Get out.”

He yanked on the handle, opening the door, those light, tranquil eyes still trained on me. But instead of getting out, he turned from the door sharply, taking one step and eating all the space between us. Suddenly, he was in my face. His heat radiated onto my body. His pulse drummed against my own. He leaned down so we were face-to-face. I felt like I was about to explode, and I didn’t know if it was from want, need, or anger.

“Tomorrow. Ten thirty a.m. I’m driving.” His breath skated along the column of my neck, his voice low and menacing. “I’m not Tucker, Dylan. You can’t steamroll me. You can’t make me run. You can’t exhaust me into agreeing with you. Don’t be late.”

“I told you—”

“Marshall set it up,” he snapped. “If this is a test, I wanna pass it. We’re going.”

“I hate you.” I was acting childishly, I knew, but maybe it was exactly what I needed. Someone I could show my worst to, knowing they still wouldn’t leave.

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