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She stared at the phone screen, her laughter slowing and then dying away.
She blinked.
A hot tub. A hot tub?!
What was she doing? She couldn’t text Ryder about a hot tub!
She didn’t want to text Ryder about a hot tub.
She didn’t want to text Ryder at all!
She—
Davis! She wanted to text Davis!
What was wrong with her? How did she keep letting this happen?
Of course, she wanted to text Davis. She was craving contact with Davis. In fact, pretending to be with someone else when she wanted to be with him was just amplifying those feelings.
And that’s what texting Ryder—thinking about Ryder—was all about. That’s all it was.
She was missing her boyfriend (well, nearly boyfriend), and there was Ryder playing the part, so naturally her mind would confuse and conflate the two. But what she really needed was to talk to her (nearly) boyfriend. Davis. Right now!
She quickly checked her locator app, not wanting to disturb Davis if he was still at the office (or wake him if he was on the other side of the world again). She smiled when she saw he was home.
Hey, you, she typed, adding a blushing emoji she hoped conveyed the right amount of warmth and flirtation.
Hi, sorry, can’t text tonight. Huge meeting with Korean partners tomorrow. Plowing through on presentation now.
Oh. Right, of course, he was working from home. Any other man and she might suspect he was two-timing her, considering how frequently he put her off by telling her he was working. Except for two things. One, they’d have to have gotten to the stage of actually dating for it to be possible to two-time her. And two—
While I’ve got you, what do you think of these?
A series of images came through. Graphics charting profitability and workforce requirements.
—he wasn’t any other man. And if she needed to worry about competition for his attention, other women weren’t the problem.
She sighed.
They look nice. Maybe try a blue for the profit line. Make it pop more.
Yes! Fantastic, thank you! Sorry, but must get back to it. Talk soon?
Talk soon.
She set the phone down. On the television, Liam Neeson was giving terrible relationship advice to his adorable stepson. She clicked it off with a sigh and sat alone in her quiet apartment, trying not to think about the way Ryder had looked at her at the fountain. And failing miserably.
* * *
Ryder poured himself another Scotch and gazed out his apartment window at the city lit up below. He had to hand it to his little brother. Half the world might think he was perfect, but there was no denying he had royally screwed up letting Vicky go.
No way he would have made that mistake. Of course, he would never have had the chance, steamy fake kisses in his parents’ bathroom and strangely longing looks at Lincoln Center aside.
Nope, opportunities like being with a woman like Vic were for golden boys like Noah to piss away as they pleased. Jerks like Ryder would never be so lucky.
His phone buzzed, and for a second, he thought it might be Vic texting him, but when he looked, he saw it was from Francesca, an aerial artist and social media influencer he saw from time to time when he was in the city.
Hey, I heard u were in town! How come u didn’t call?
