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This time Vicky did smack him, right in the gut. He let out a little grunt, but his amusement didn’t falter.
She turned to him. “Did you have to do that?”
“Do what, exactly?”
Well, it was true he hadn’t really done anything other than tell the truth. But he had enjoyed it a little too much.
“I don’t know. Find entertainment in others’ embarrassment, I guess.”
“Please, she’s fine. Unless you wanted me to tell her we were together?”
His voice was low and husky, his eyes locked on hers, twinkling with humor and mischief.
Vicky’s stomach dropped of its own accord, and she felt her cheeks heat. But she couldn’t seem to tear her eyes from him.
Chapter Four
Well, well, well. Now this was interesting. The mere suggestion of some sort of romantic entanglement with him and Vicky Ashby had turned the color of a ripe berry. He wouldn’t have thought she’d be susceptible. And he had forgotten how truly delicious she was to mess with. Or maybe it was just more fun now that his Boy Scout little brother wasn’t around.
He opened his mouth to tease her about the blush when a voice sang out behind her.
“Oh, Vicky, there you are! I wasn’t sure if you were here, y—”
He pasted on a placid smile. “Hello, Mother.”
“Ryder! I didn’t expect to see you here!”
“Didn’t you? You put my name on the invitation list.”
He liked to pester his mom, too, but there was nothing playful about it. Just the bitter taste in his mouth that was always there whenever his family was concerned.
“Well, of course, dear, but I do that every year. You know, ever hopeful. But you’ve never used the invitation.”
“Surprise.” He framed his face in jazz hands, underscoring their irony with his blank expression.
“Where’ve you gone to, Cheryl? I had to chase you halfway across the ballroom—oh. Hello, son.” His dad did little to hide his distaste, a grimace spreading across his jowls.
“Oh, good,” Ryder said, “the gang’s all here.”
His mother gave a noncommittal hum and smoothed a hand over her already-smooth silver bob.
Vic cleared her throat uncomfortably. “Are the two of you enjoying the evening? The musicians are truly wonderful this year, aren’t they?”
Good ol’ Warren let out a sort of a snort and downed the drink he had in his hand. Cheryl smiled benevolently at Vicky. He knew his mom loved Vicky like a daughter. Too bad she didn’t quite love him like a son. At least not the son she wanted.
“It is lovely, isn’t it, Vicky?” the older woman said.
Then a funny look crossed her face. She glanced back at Ryder. Then again at Vicky. Then Ryder. Then Vic.
“So—I’m sorry—did you two come here—”
Vic bubbled over with effusive laughter. “Oh, no, no, no, no, no, no, no! We didn’t . . . We’re not . . . What I mean is—”
“We’re not here together is what I think she’s trying to tell you.”
His mother laughed. She swatted the air. “Oh. No. Of course not. You wouldn’t be. What a ridiculous thought!”
Right. Of course. The idea of anyone like Victoria Ashby so much as agreeing to an evening with the likes of him was outrageous.
