The Wife of Reilly Read Online Free PDF Page A

turned his lenses to the crowd instead of the football field.
    I focused on my suspect and tried to decide whether it was him or not. Just the thought that it could be him sent a thrilling nausea through me. You’d think that love-at-first sight giddiness would lessen over so many years, but my reaction to just the possibility of seeing him showed me that my feelings for him had actually intensified.
    * * *
    I met Matt during spring break in Fort Lauderdale during our senior year in college. Cindy, Evie and I went with our other friends, Libby and Olivia. Olivia knew a group of guys we saw entering The Bahama, a hotel bar that we found on our first night of vacation. She motioned to the group of them and pointed to the extra seats at our table.
    The Miami Sound Machine was blasting The Conga as we sipped blended pink drinks with umbrellas. Teens in Hawaiian shirts and island beads overtook the town, shouting pearls of wisdom like “Spring Break!” and “Party!” at the top of their lungs. A few of them crushed beer cans on their heads and passed out in the gutter.
    Cindy and I both spotted Matt among the group at the same time.
    “I call the guy with the brown hair in the white shirt,” she informed our table. The policy was that the first person to call a guy was the only one allowed to pursue him. The rationale was that the girl who was most interested would naturally spot him first. A logical assumption that helped maintain harmony in our overcrowded hotel room. There was one exception to this rule.
    “Jump shot,” I said as the guys came closer.
    And that was the jump shot. This simply meant that the guy would be a fair toss-up between the two and no matter whom he chose, there would be no hard feelings.
    “Bitch,” joked Cindy.
    “No, my friend. You are the bitch if you stand between me and that magnificent specimen of masculinity. Bow out, I beg of you.”
    “I’ll do no such thing. The genetic possibilities are phenomenal with this man.”
    “I hate you,” I said through a cemented smile as the guys began to seat themselves at our table.
    “Olivia,” said their ambassador to ours. “These are some of my buddies from school. You’ve met Andy, Pete, Rich and Matt, right?”
    They go to our school. Our school! Sweet mother of God, thank you for this miracle!
    Matt sat next to me. “Hey,” he said.
    I love this man. “Hey,” I returned, hoping not to vomit on him.
    After an hour of drinking, everyone at our table was practically singing Auld Lang Syne together as if we’d known each other for a thousand lifetimes. Matt’s knee touched mine under the table and both of us declined to move them away. My hair follicles had a pulse beat. My pores opened so wide with terror, I swore you could stick a cork in each one.
    “So, I didn’t catch your name,” Matt said to me.
    Maybe not, but I just caught a jump shot.
    “Prudence,” I said, trying to match his coolness.
    “I’m Matt.”
    And I’m in loooovvve with you! I managed not to blurt.
    “So, you go to Michigan?” he asked.
    I nodded for fear of something ridiculous escaping from my lips.
    “I wonder why I’ve never seen you around.”
    Perhaps it was the other 40,000 students milling about.
    “Well, I’m around now,” I said, amazed at my own ability to flirt.
    “You want to go take a walk or something?” he asked.
    Definitely the “or something.”
    I remember reminding myself to drink in this moment where those gorgeous blue eyes were looking straight at me, and that utterly delicious mouth was forming words that were inviting me to walk — or something. Matt was without a doubt one of the best looking guys I’d ever laid eyes on, and hands-down the sexiest living creature I’d ever seen — underwear ads included.
    I would walk anywhere and do anything with you , I thought better of saying.
    Cindy watched us both get up from the table as her mental game buzzer sounded that it was all over for her.
    “Go get him,” she mouthed