Cash’s eyes widen as Wilder looks at me like I’ve grown a second head.
“You’re serious?” Wilder asks.
I nod. “Dead serious.”
He exhales heavily, his face flashing with a thousand different emotions—apprehension, stress, and maybe a little terror.
“So?” I raise an expectant eyebrow.
Wilder’s hazel eyes—green with tiny flecks of gold in them—find mine.
“Deal, Blondie.”
I smile triumphantly. Wilder is never going to win this bet. He can barely last three days as is. He’s almost on day three now.
He’s going to cave.
He’s going to cave so bad.
And when he does, we’ll get a cute little one-bedroom apartment on Main Street.
“Well,” I say, hitching a shoulder, “I have things to do. I’ll meet you in the room.”
But as I turn to leave, Wilder shifts uncomfortably, and he and Cash share a look. An awkward-staring-too-long-at-one-another look.
There’s something about it that makes my heart dip.
He’s worried about money. School. The future.
But that can’t be all of it.
I head back to the hotel room, resisting the urge to glance over my shoulder. The one telling me that Wilder is obviously hiding something.
Something he told Cash but won’t tell me.
My phone vibrates in my hand and I look at it, fully expecting a text from Wilder.
But it’s not from him.
It’s from Mom.
Dad has managed to keep Isla out of your room for now, but I don’t know how long it will last. Are you sure you can’t come home, Ingrid? It might make things easier.
I blow out a tired breath. This should be a non-issue. The room is mine. Jason and Jill need to grow backbones and lay down the law.
Then again, when I win this bet with Wilder, I’ll have my own place.
But as I zip up my suitcase, the hotel room door opens and Wilder saunters in, a delicious smirk on his face.
“Wh—”
I swallow the words as his mouth finds mine and he walks me back to the bed, his heart pounding against my hand on his chest.
He lowers me on the bed, his fingers slipping beneath the hem of my shirt.
He kisses me, his tongue sliding against mine, as he hovers above me.
I’mso lost in the moment, I don’t notice his fingertips trailing to the button on my jean shorts.
