“No,” I make clear. “And you better not tell her about this.”
“Or what?” Cash narrows his eyes.
“Or you can find somewhere new to crash,” I warn.
“Whatever.” Cash turns over. “Not my problem anymore.”
I miss the old Cash. He was selfish and spoiled, but he at least he cared.
A year ago, I thought Cash's friendship was the most important relationship in my life.
Now, it's Ingrid. Maybe it always was.
Either way, I can't go to NYU. I shouldn’t have applied. I can't leave her.
What would I do without you, Wilder?
You'll never have to find out.
And she won't.
Chapter Three
The Dinner Reservation
Ingrid
“Loretta's Laser Hair and Wax Removal,” I say, answering the phone. “How can we whack that bush for you today?”
“Blondie.” Wilder chuckles, the sound sending a spear of heat straight to my stomach, “Do youreallyhave to answer the phone that way?”
“If I want to get paid, I do.” I bite my lower lip.Ugh. Why is every sound he makes so...unfairly attractive?
“You should quit and spend the summer lounging by the creek with me,” he proposes.
Yeah, with himandCash. Hard pass.
“I would rather not piss off Cash any more than I already have.” I take a deep breath. “He gets grumpy when you ignore him.”
“Ignore him,” Wilder suggests. “I do.”
“Kind of hard to when you invite him everywhere with us.”
Wilder sighs. “You're feisty today. Feisty Ingrid is my favorite Ingrid.”
“Really?”
“Yes. I want to take you to dinner,” he changes the subject. “Afancydinner.”
“Really?” I repeat.
“And I want you to wear the white dress.” The one that makes my boobs look ah-mazing.
My heart beats faster in my chest. “We're not going to the country club, are we?”
“We're too hip for the country club,” Wilder says, nonchalantly. “I made a reservation.”
A reservation? Who am I talking to right now? Wilder Cox is not the type of guy who makes dinner reservations. He's the type of guy who lies about his date having a terminal illness to get into the country club—and into the hostess' pants. But reservations? This is a surprisingly new development for him.
