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I’ve never seen Ryder move so fast in getting a car. It’s not smooth. But it’s flattering. And there’s that stupid part of me that wants to sink into the flattery. I won’t let it, because this isn’t real.
Me doing this isn’t real, either. Ryder didn’t see what I saw right at the end of our exchange, someone come up with their phone. So…a little show.
I’m not really into these shows, especially when I’m involved, but needs and all that. And it makes sense if we’re supposedly together, then after that we’d head home.
The car’s here in record time and we head to his place.
Ryder’s staring at me. “You were joking.”
“Was I?” Okay, I might be enjoying this a little. Having the great Ryder Sinclair off-kilter is fun. “We can just pretend I’m a woman you like, so try hard, and then you can rebuff me.”
“At my place. With no one around.”
“Yes.”
He starts to smile. “Okay.”
“There was some guy with a phone right at the end. I wanted to make it believable.”
He nods, but the smile’s still there. “Is that why you said we should go to my place?”
“Yes, Ryder.” I breathe out heavily. “And there’s a problem.”
“My scandalous ways?”
“This,” I say, “isn’t a joke.”
“Fine.”
I point at him. “We need to deal with the problem at hand. How you handle yourself in public. You need a strategy.”
“To repel women?”
With a nod, I say, “That’s the gist.”
“A strategy?” His gaze moves over me. “You’re gonna help? Role play? You’ll hit on me and then I’ll rebuff you?”
“If I have to. And unfortunately, you need the practice at rebuffing women.”
“Oh,” he says, leaning back in his seat, “I do.”
The car pulls up right then because let’s face it, Ryder doesn’t live too far from me. I know the car’s overkill, but it seemed a Ryder thing to do. And it’s all about the micro advancement of so-called change.
“Come on, my red-haired queen,” he says, taking my hand and sweeping us out of the car and up to his door. “I’m suddenly really into homework.”
I shoot him an uneasy look. He likes this a little too much.
Inside his place, we head up to the second floor and he leads me into a room I haven’t been in—admittedly, the brief periods of time have been in a guest room located the floor up, and the wide living area there.
This room is different. It’s industrial, but it breathes an unexpected side of Ryder I haven’t seen. There is a collection of paintings on the walls. A mishmash of huge modern pieces and portraits and cityscapes, and smaller pieces. The sofas are fat and brass and black leather. There’s a rug over the dark stained floor boards I know cost a fortune.
A big fireplace with neat stacks of logs lies in the center and there are guitars. Even a piano.
“The logs are for show in case you’re wondering. It’s an eco-fireplace.”
“A fancy heater?”
“Yes.” He strips off his jacket and waistcoat, down to his shirt, and rolls up the sleeves, the tattoo winding down one strong forearm. Then he unbuttons the top three and I almost salivate at the sight of smooth, golden flesh. He goes to the wet bar and pours two drinks, then holds one out to me.
