Page 44 of Jilted

A few hours later, a CNN alert popped up on my phone. Most of the time, I ignored them, but this particular one snagged my attention.US Rugby League approves expansion team.

I swiped to open.Oh wow. How have I not googled this man for old photos yet?The article had two pictures of Wilder at the top. The first must’ve been from his playing days—his teammates had him on their shoulders as he held a gold trophy of some kind in the air. He had no shirt on, and his chest was so carved with muscles, it didn’t look real. I pinched the screen and zoomed in.Wow. Just wow.Ittook a solid minute of drooling before I panned up and studied his face. He didn’t look that much different than he did now—same smile, same sparkling eyes. It said something when those peepers weren’t thefirstthing to catch your attention.

The second photo was of him in a suit, looking handsome, but serious. Underneath, the article gave details about his ownership of the new team, along with two billionaire investors, and the stadium they were already in talks to secure. I hadn’t heard from Wilder since the night of the wedding, when he’d left the ball in my court to get together. I’d thought about him every day—even picked up my phone and debated texting him on more than one occasion. But in the end I always chickened out. Now, though, I had an excuse. In fact, it would be rude of me not to reach out. At least that’s what I told myself as I started to type.

Sloane:Congratulations! I just read the big news on CNN. You did it!

I’d thought he might be busy with press and stuff, but the circles on my phone began bouncing around immediately.

Wilder:Thank you. What are you doing tonight? Maybe myfriendcan help me celebrate…

I smiled, wishing I could, but I had Olivia tonight.

Sloane:Sorry, I can’t. My brother has a twenty-four-hour shift that started this morning so I’m making dinner for my niece at seven, followed by watching double episodes ofPretty Little Liars.

Wilder:I’m a good cook, if you need some help…

I smiled.

Sloane:I’m sure that’s how you want to celebrate getting your own professional rugby team—with a fourteen-year-oldwhose hobbies are rolling her eyes and giving monosyllabic responses.

Wilder:You’ll be there, right?

I felt my brows dip.

Sloane:Yes, of course.

Wilder:Then there’s nowhere I’d rather celebrate.

My heart went pitter patter. Before I could type back, another text came in.

Wilder:My brother is here, too. I think they might get along. His hobbies are rolling his eyes at me and busting my balls.

I nibbled my bottom lip, which was going to be swollen from all the gnawing the last few days. How could I say no when he’d achieved such a major accomplishment today? It was thefriendly thing to do, wasn’t it? And what could happen with two teenagers around? Nothing, of course. Not that anything would happen if we were alone, either, but…

Maybe I should bake a cake to celebrate?Cupcakes…yum.

And shoot, I needed to get my eyebrows done on the way home.

Is my apartment clean?

I looked at the time on my phone. If I left by five, I could stop at the grocery store and pick up ingredients, take the 1 train over to Libby to get my brows shaped, and still have time to clean and freshen up my makeup.

Freshen up my makeup. Yeah, it was thefriendly thing to do. I rolled my eyes at myself, but also picked up the pen from my desk and started writing a list of things I’d need. Then I added a few more quick stops I should probably make.Shoot. I better get out of here a little early.

A few minutes later, I was busy chewing on my pen, deciding if I needed anything besides under-eye concealer from Sephora—I hadn’t slept so well last night—when my phone buzzed.

Wilder:You still there?

Oh my God. I’d gotten so engrossed in planning all the crap I needed to do that I’d forgotten the most important thing: the invitation. I shook my head.

Sloane:Dinner at 7?

The little dots bounced around.

Wilder:We’ll be there. Thanks for the invite, even if I did have to invite myself, friend.

“Why is this guy coming over again?”

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