Page 87 of Make The Cut

Ryder sighs. “I’m—I’mnotsorry. But I misjudged him. And you don’t just get over that, seeing someone a certain way, for so many years, and suddenly realizing they aren’t who you thought they were. Even if who they are now is far better than you previously thought.Especiallyif that’s the case.”

“Yeah, well, no one likes to be wrong.” I push my bowl of fruity flakes away from me and get up to dump it into the sink. “I’m going to make pancakes. Do you want any?”

Buttermilk pancakes are Ryder’s favourite. If he accepts, maybe we can finally put all of this behind us.

“Yeah. I’d love some pancakes.” He quirks a smile. “Just don’t add chocolate chips in a smiley face this time. Last time you did that, they ended up looking like the puppet fromSaw.”

I roll my eyes. “But they tasted delicious.”

“Yeah, until they gave me nightmares for a week.”

“You’re just a chicken.” That kind of egging only works on Ryder if it comes from River, but I still find it fun to tease him.

“Am not,” he says as he fishes around in Naoya’s pantry (he has a walk-in pantry as big as his closet) and pulls out some ingredients. A cloud of flour puffs out as he slams a bag of it on the counter top, coating his face in white powder.

I can’t suppress a laugh at that. “I need to take a picture of this and use it as blackmail material.”

The room goes dead silent. I remember that to him, everything I did onMuse Unmaskedwas essentially taking his blackmail material and publishing it online.

“Sorry,” I mumble.

Ryder dusts the stuff off his face and runs a hand through his hair, inadvertently streaking it with white. “Stop saying that word. I’m banning it.”

I measure flour into a bowl and start hunting for the eggs. “You can’t justbanwords because you don’t like them. This isn’t even your house.”

As if summoned by my declaration that the house, in fact, does not belong to Ryder, Naoya appears in the entryway. “Ryder, did you get into my cocaine stash?”

“I had to, just to deal with the revelation that you’re dating my sister,” he deadpans, cringing at the statement.

“We’re making pancakes,” I say, trying to keep them from getting into another fight in front of Naoya’s impressive collection of kitchen knives. “Want to help?”

“Yes. I’ll have you know I’m very handy with a spatula,” Naoya says, taking out a cast iron pan and making it very hard for me not to admire the way his biceps flex in his cut-off muscle shirt. What can I say? I’m a sucker for a man with nice arms.

“Stop ogling your boyfriend. You two are making me want to throw up,” Ryder mutters.

“I’m notoglinghim,” I protest at the same time that Naoya speaks.

“Just don’t vomit in the pancake batter.” He winks at me.

I sigh, and finish stirring the batter into a gooey mess, before passing the bowl to Naoya. He spoons it onto the hot pan, and I go looking for pancake toppings.

“You’re one to talk aboutogling,” I say, pulling a container of blueberries out of the fridge. “I heard you were dating someone named… Isla Romero?”

“I didn’t realize that was any of your business.”

I shrug. “You seem to thinkmylove life isyourbusiness, since you punched my boyfriend.”

“That was mostly out of my protective older brother instinct, mixed with shock.”

“Just tell me about her. Didn’t I see her at the Grammys last night?”

Ryder just clams up, his face going pale around the bruise on his cheek as he checks his phone. “Crap.”

“What?” I drop the blueberries on the counter and they roll everywhere. Wincing, I bend down to pick them up before we squish them underfoot.

“She’s coming over in twenty minutes. And so are our parents.”

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