all
week. “Although from what I hear,” she says, “he
may have seen them up close already?”
I take a long blink and shake my head. “No secrets in this
place, are there?”
“Not for very long anyway,” Shelby says. “So,
what’s going on with you two?”
I exhale. “Nothing anymore. Or ever, really,” I say. “I
guess there were a couple encounters. But the most recent one ended
with an indecent proposal and a slap across the face, so I’m
pretty sure that’s the last one for a while.”
Shelby smiles. “You smacked Ryder?”
I squinch my eyes shut. “He was just being so…” I
fumble for the right word. “Arrogant.”
“That sounds about right.”
“I don’t know,” I say. “I shouldn’t
have hit him. And he said he was joking.”
“He might have been, but still, I know how these guys joke.
It’s annoying sometimes. And especially when you’re
vulnerable. I mean, there you are, he’s your boss, he’s
got his hands up your shirt.”
“Dress,” I say, clapping a hand over my face.
“Ooh, the truth is even better than the gossip,” Shelby
says, her eyes wide with anticipation for more juicy details.
From my other side, a plate appears in front of me, a burger with all
the fixins, cut in half to show its center, cooked perfectly pink. I
look up to see Ryder setting it down. “I didn’t order a
burger,” I say.
“I know. I made it for you,” he says. “Didn’t
think you’d taken a lunch break yet.”
“No thanks,” I say. “I’m not hungry.”
“Cassie,” he says, sitting at the barstool next to me.
“I’m sorry about what happened this week. I didn’t
mean to offend you.”
“Great,” I say. “Thanks.”
Ryder sighs. He combs his fingers through his thick hair, the sleeves
of his button-up shirt rolled at his elbows to reveal his tats—a
detailed bird, orange and red flowers that form a labyrinth all the
way around his forearm. I turn my head away, so as not to breathe in
how good he smells.
“You want this?” he says, gesturing to the burger. But it
feels like that this could mean a thousand things: this job,
this deal to pay back the debt, this apology. Ryder himself.
“I don’t care,” I say, still engrossed in the
spreadsheet in front of me on the laptop. Or trying to seem like I am
anyway.
“Ryde, I know you don’t hear it a lot,” Shelby
says, “but learn to take no for an answer.”
“She didn’t say no,” he says.
“What do you think ‘I don’t care’ means?”
she says.
Ryder takes the plate and leaves. I turn my head to watch him go back
to the kitchen.
An especially annoying part of the week: the way Ryder’s ass
looks in his jeans. Small and firm and round. Also, his shirts—fitted
enough to let an observer appreciate his muscular back, but not
tight. And the way he walks, his long legs stretching with an
athlete’s stride, strong and sure of his body, every step
purposeful, confident, sexy.
Relentlessly irritating.
“Other than moving Ryder down on the masturbation priority
list,” Shelby says, “what are you doing tomorrow?”
I chuckle. “Oh, things that are even lower masturbation
priority. Laundry.
The
grocery store. And I think I’m out of bathtub cleaner.”
“Well, if you can tear yourself away from that very promising
agenda of excitement, Avery and Ruby and I are doing a little girls’
day shopping excursion, if you’d want to join?”
The
idea of crisscrossing Lenox Square with Shelby and Avery and Ruby
makes me immediately regretful I didn’t just take the cash from
Ryder the other day. But I still have a little bit in the bank
account I set up before I left England, and what goes better with a
new haircut than new clothes? “I would love to.”
“Good.
Here’s my card. My cell’s on there. Text me so I’ll
have your number and then I’ll call you in the morning to meet
up.” She slides off the stool, putting her bag over her
shoulder. “But don’t worry, it won’t be too early.
I
week. “Although from what I hear,” she says, “he
may have seen them up close already?”
I take a long blink and shake my head. “No secrets in this
place, are there?”
“Not for very long anyway,” Shelby says. “So,
what’s going on with you two?”
I exhale. “Nothing anymore. Or ever, really,” I say. “I
guess there were a couple encounters. But the most recent one ended
with an indecent proposal and a slap across the face, so I’m
pretty sure that’s the last one for a while.”
Shelby smiles. “You smacked Ryder?”
I squinch my eyes shut. “He was just being so…” I
fumble for the right word. “Arrogant.”
“That sounds about right.”
“I don’t know,” I say. “I shouldn’t
have hit him. And he said he was joking.”
“He might have been, but still, I know how these guys joke.
It’s annoying sometimes. And especially when you’re
vulnerable. I mean, there you are, he’s your boss, he’s
got his hands up your shirt.”
“Dress,” I say, clapping a hand over my face.
“Ooh, the truth is even better than the gossip,” Shelby
says, her eyes wide with anticipation for more juicy details.
From my other side, a plate appears in front of me, a burger with all
the fixins, cut in half to show its center, cooked perfectly pink. I
look up to see Ryder setting it down. “I didn’t order a
burger,” I say.
“I know. I made it for you,” he says. “Didn’t
think you’d taken a lunch break yet.”
“No thanks,” I say. “I’m not hungry.”
“Cassie,” he says, sitting at the barstool next to me.
“I’m sorry about what happened this week. I didn’t
mean to offend you.”
“Great,” I say. “Thanks.”
Ryder sighs. He combs his fingers through his thick hair, the sleeves
of his button-up shirt rolled at his elbows to reveal his tats—a
detailed bird, orange and red flowers that form a labyrinth all the
way around his forearm. I turn my head away, so as not to breathe in
how good he smells.
“You want this?” he says, gesturing to the burger. But it
feels like that this could mean a thousand things: this job,
this deal to pay back the debt, this apology. Ryder himself.
“I don’t care,” I say, still engrossed in the
spreadsheet in front of me on the laptop. Or trying to seem like I am
anyway.
“Ryde, I know you don’t hear it a lot,” Shelby
says, “but learn to take no for an answer.”
“She didn’t say no,” he says.
“What do you think ‘I don’t care’ means?”
she says.
Ryder takes the plate and leaves. I turn my head to watch him go back
to the kitchen.
An especially annoying part of the week: the way Ryder’s ass
looks in his jeans. Small and firm and round. Also, his shirts—fitted
enough to let an observer appreciate his muscular back, but not
tight. And the way he walks, his long legs stretching with an
athlete’s stride, strong and sure of his body, every step
purposeful, confident, sexy.
Relentlessly irritating.
“Other than moving Ryder down on the masturbation priority
list,” Shelby says, “what are you doing tomorrow?”
I chuckle. “Oh, things that are even lower masturbation
priority. Laundry.
The
grocery store. And I think I’m out of bathtub cleaner.”
“Well, if you can tear yourself away from that very promising
agenda of excitement, Avery and Ruby and I are doing a little girls’
day shopping excursion, if you’d want to join?”
The
idea of crisscrossing Lenox Square with Shelby and Avery and Ruby
makes me immediately regretful I didn’t just take the cash from
Ryder the other day. But I still have a little bit in the bank
account I set up before I left England, and what goes better with a
new haircut than new clothes? “I would love to.”
“Good.
Here’s my card. My cell’s on there. Text me so I’ll
have your number and then I’ll call you in the morning to meet
up.” She slides off the stool, putting her bag over her
shoulder. “But don’t worry, it won’t be too early.
I
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