Total pages in book: 136
Estimated words: 130673 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 653(@200wpm)___ 523(@250wpm)___ 436(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 130673 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 653(@200wpm)___ 523(@250wpm)___ 436(@300wpm)
I called the insurance company instead, my whole body breaking out in hives.
This was a mistake. I should never have come here. Seriously, what was I thinking? I couldn’t even manage my life while I lived with my mother in my hometown; New York City was twenty sizes too big for me.
I was pacing back and forth behind my trunk, waiting for a representative to answer my call, when Jimmy’s back door flew open. It took me a second to register what was happening. Grav had had enough after the eight-hour road trip, unbuckled her seat by herself, and was now sliding out, falling flat on her ass on the busy road and rolling into the next lane.
“Jesus!” I shrieked hysterically, dropping my phone to the ground.
My daughter rose up on wobbly knees, a frightened expression stamped on her face. She stumbled straight into the moving cars, looking for me through a haunted, terrorized gaze. Seeing my entire life flash before my eyes in the moments my legs carried me toward her, I desperately resisted the urge to pounce on her and scare her straight into the rush-hour traffic.
Suddenly—and seemingly out of nowhere—a tall, broad, thunder of a human scooped Gravity up with one hand, tucked her under their armpit like she was a football, and zipped to the sidewalk to safety.
I dropped to my knees and coughed out all the air trapped in my lungs.
She could have died. She almost did. Because of my stupid lack of attention.
Blinking away the tears, I stumbled toward the figure holding my child. More specifically, the man suspending her by the ankles, gently shaking her body as if she were a newly torn piñata. “Where’s the candy?” His deep, dark drawl rumbled. No baby talk for him. “I know you have some. Don’t play.”
“I don’t!” Gravity giggled, trying to kick the air, arms flailing. “I ate it all on the way here.”
Snitch.
“I suppose I’ll just have to eat you then.”
Another fit of giggles. “Nooo, Uncle Rhyrand. Mommy won’t let you! She woves me!”
My heart finally slowed. I wiped my clammy hands on my sweatshirt, feigning nonchalance as I joined them on the sidewalk.
Them being my daughter and Rhyland Coltridge.
Rhyland Coltridge being my brother’s best friend.
A man-whore.
A cocky bastard who knew he was God’s best creation to date.
A debauched, selfish piece of work clad in a Prada suit.
Too bad that piece of work was a masterpiece.
Rhyland put the “fun” in “dysfunctional.” He was a menace who got a free pass for all his faults through his striking exterior. His princely features included six feet and four inches of bronze, taut, flawlessly muscled body, gold-spun hair the color of an endless wheat field, and eyes as green and bright as the shiniest emeralds. Everything about him, from his cruelly sharp jawline, cartoonishly high cheekbones, and full lips to his straight nose, screamed perfection.
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—”