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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.
“Is there a reason why the child is holding a penis?” He flicked his gaze to Gravity, who was hugging Mr. Mushroom on the suitcase while she watched her show intently.
“Wouldn’t you like to be temporarily engaged to a man in finance—who is six foot five, with blue eyes?” I coaxed.
“I said, sex is on the table.” Silence.
“Or anywhere else you’d like to have it, to be honest. I’m not picky.” My. Jaw. Was. On. The. Goddamn. Floor.
You will not blow our cover and won’t tell anyone about that time a balloon got stuck in my braces in eighth grade and everybody thought it was a condom.” She gave me a frustrated look. “Rhyland, it was a condom.” “It was a beige-colored balloon, Dylan.” It was a condom.
“Whoa. Do you always do it without a condom?” She looked grossed out. “Nope. Never.” “Why skip it with me?” “Because I want to. That should be reason enough.”
“I want you like I’ve never wanted anything in my fucking life.” His voice was thick and dark. “I know I’m a pig, but I can’t stop fantasizing about fucking you.”
The doorbell rang again. I didn’t remember ordering a stage-five clinger.
“Because I’ve spent half my fucking lifetime studying every curve and measurement of your body.”
The most beautiful girl in the world.
Wild but soft. Brave but lost. Imperfect but whole.
loosened my grip on her, careful not to hurt her with the might
of my love for her.
