Page 4 of Wicked

“Yes.”

It has to be. I can see it on her face.

“Fine. Helping me with food is . . . I can accept that. But no funny business. We are not friends. Nor will we ever be friends. I don’t have jerks for friends.”

“That’s fair. Now what’s this anything?”

“Wednesday nights roller skating and Thursday nights trampoline jumping and dodgeball. You do this with me for a month.”

My eyes must be wide. It’s not the kind of answer I’m used to. After I get over my surprise, I tell her I’m in.

“Are you sure? You’re huge, a giant.” She runs her gaze over my thick thighs, cords of muscles for arms, and wide shoulders. “You won’t look pretty out there on skates or bouncing in the jump rooms. Women and your teammates will question your manhood.”

My manhood? Again, what time period is this girl from?

I rise to my feet and cross my beefy arms. “When I say I’m in, I’m in.”

She looks my body up and down. Something gleams in her eyes, and it’s not interest. Ruthlessness? Does she know something I don’t know? I don’t give a flying care. What Harper says and does next threatens to derail my plan of nailing this bet and Missy.

“Commitment. I like that.”

She smiles, and her face transforms into this . . . I suck in a breath. When Harper smiles with her mouth and her eyes, she is, damn it, she is fuckingbeautiful.

I’m in deep shit.

3

Ryker

Scowling, I glare at the double doors of the skating rink. I shouldn’t be this put out with the idea of going round and round in skates, but I am. This is juvenile.

I stick out my mammoth palm and shove open the glass door. Harper’s words from two days ago come rushing at me like the opposing team’s defensive line.Commitment. I like that. She likes that about me, a quality a girl’s never noticed, and that lightens my mood.

It takes me a few seconds to adjust to what I’m seeing and hearing. Pop music blares from the speakers. A strobe light dangles from the middle of the rink. The carpet is a pinwheel of pink, purple, and blue lines intersecting.

Fucking-A. Shoving my hands inside the pockets of my jeans, I make my way to the girl dressed in—you guessed it—black. The T-shirt she’s wearing has the word “empowered” stretched across her chest.

With breasts that small, does she wear a bra? I shelf that douchebag thought and swing my attention to the girl next to Harper. It’s like looking at Harper’s mini-me. She’s skinny, with long, jet-ink black hair and big eyes set in a thin face. Except this mini-me has brown eyes rather than blue.

“April, meet Ryker. Ryker, April.”

The small girl rises from the bench they’re sitting on, and with her arms crossed and her hip jutting out, she asks, “Are you Harper’s boyfriend? If you are, you’ll have to get my dad’s okay if you want to see her again.”

This is what I have to deal with for my commitment? I better make it clear right off the bat who will be ruling over this skating roost. I bend at the waist until she and I are eye to eye. Man, this kid is short.

“First off, I don’t need your dad’spermission. Harper and I are adults. We’re adulting, kid. For the record, how old are you?”

I quirk a brow and pin her with my most intimidating stare-down. Her gaze doesn’t waver. Man, this girl’s got spunk.

“Twelve. But what if Harper’s mymommy? My dad will kick your butt.”

I straighten so fast I swear I get whiplash. April breaks out into laughter. Harper looks off to the side, but too late. I caught the smile on her face at my expense.

“Don’t mind her,” Harper says. “Her father and I are good friends.”

April smiles. A genuine full-mouth affair.

“My dad works a lot. Harper offered to spend time with me. She doesn’t ask for anything in return other than for my dad to fix things at her place. Her landlord can be a real jerk.”

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