Page 6 of Wildest Dreams

And we hated each other.

Actually, he couldn’t muster enough shits to have any kind of strong feelings about me or anyone else. It was one of the reasons I detested him. He was living, breathing proof that you could live with no heart inside your chest.

“Hello, Rhyland.” I strode toward him, putting my fake bravado on like it was a fancy hat.

“Hello, fuckup,” he parried tonelessly, hoisting my child onto his arm and leveling me with an acutely bored glance. He wore a coin pendant on a plain black chain on his neck. Still. He’d been carrying that shit around since we were practically teens. I would ask what it meant, but I’d never really cared.

“Watch your mouth in front of my child,” I warned him coolly.

“Mommy said ‘fuck’ in the car,” Gravity provided cheerfully, giggling.

Traitor.

“It’s called wishful thinking, kid.” Rhyland flashed a predatory canine smile that made my bones freeze a little.

He wasn’t pretty-boy sexy. He was half-Viking, half-Hozier sexy.

The honking intensified into one long blare that just kept on going. We both ignored it.

Rhyland gave me a withering look. “Pull yourself together, Casablancas. Your kid could’ve died.” He sneered. “While you’re at it, take her back. I’m not a babysitter.”

That was all it took for me to officially and finally lose it.

Not the eight-hour drive, punctuated by ten pee-pee stops, sponsored by Starbucks caffeine and suspiciously cold gas-station hot dogs.

Not the fact that Jimmy had died on me ten feet from the parking garage.

Not that I was broke, jobless, single, and raising a kid, even though half the time I felt like I was still one myself.

And not even the realization he was going to be my neighbor, because Row and Cal’s apartment was a floor below Rhyland’s place. They’d planned it that way so they could always be close.

That.

“It’ll be a cold day in hell when I start taking parenting tips from you.” I snatched Grav into my arms, feeling my vocal cords tearing with a scream. “She was strapped in. It’s not my fault she’s smart enough to figure out how to unbuckle. We had a terrible journey here. My car died. It’s blocking traffic. The insurance company didn’t answer. I haven’t slept in three days. I don’t even have the money to fix this car—”

“I take it you’re Row’s latest charity case and will be living in his apartment,” Rhyland interrupted brusquely, twisting hiswrist to glance at his watch. He looked eager to move on with his day. Like he had something better to do than grab a first-row seat to my breakdown.

God, I hated him. So much it hurt.

“I’m not anyone’s charity.”

“Don’t knock it before you try it. Becoming a stripper named Charity might be the answer to all your financial problems.”

“You’re a pig,” I snarled.

He winked. “Oink, oink.” And then, because apparently setting each other on fire was only on my agenda, not his, he added, “Come on. Let’s get that car out of people’s way.”

“I don’t want your help.”

“What a coincidence. I don’t want to help.” He flashed another devilish grin, rolling his dress shirt up to reveal veiny, muscular forearms. “Unfortunately, you’re my best friend’s baby sister, and I have some level of decorum not to leave you and your child to get stabbed by a cab driver.”

He yanked open the driver’s door and slipped inside, twisting the key in its hub. “Lights are working, so it’s not the battery. Probably the spark plugs. How old is this thing?”

“Not as old as you.” What was I, five? Who talked like this?

Pulling his phone out of his pocket, he frowned, ignoring me. “I have a meeting in a few minutes, but I’ll go into the auto shop later and get it fixed. Meanwhile, I’ll push it into the garage.”

“Uh, okay.”

---