Page 19 of Wilder Puck
Ryan dumps his bag with a heavy sigh, dragging a hand down his face. When he looks at me, the barest hint of a smile tugs at his mouth. “Is it going to kill me?”
I gasp. “Ryan Wilder. I am not your friend at the moment–” He smiles. “But I’m a professional mixologist now, I'll have you know. I would never poison you.”
His smile grows, a real one this time. He reaches out to take the cup from me. “Well, in that case, let me be your guinea pig.”
Something in my chest goes soft and melty when his fingers touch mine. The look in his eyes is exactly what I needed to see after missing his game. This is how I’m going to make up for it. A quick martini to help him relax, and hopefully, he’ll forget all about the fact I wasn’t there in person.
I watch as he takes a sip, holding my breath. His eyes widen fractionally. “Damn, Baddie. That's actually really good.”
“Yeah?” I smile brightly. “You like it?”
“I more than like it.” He takes a longer pull, his Adam's apple bobbing as he swallows. “This might be dangerous. I could get used to coming home to one of these.”
My cheeks hurt now. “I think that can be arranged.”
Ryan polishes off the rest of the martini in a few gulps. When he lowers the cup, he's looking at me intently, something unfathomable in his gaze. “Yeah? You would do that for me, even though we’re not friends at the moment.”
I tap on the kitchen counter and hum. “So, guess what?”
His eyes flick to mine. “What?”
“My landlord emailed me and told me there’s no rent increase anymore. We’re keeping our old contract.”
His face softens. “What? That’s great.”
I pull it up on my phone and show him the email.
“Sick, Ads. So, you don’t need the bartending job anymore?”
I smile, taking my phone back. “What?”
“Yeah, you can make it to all my games now. Your nights are free again.”
I laugh. “Ry, the bar was filled with people watching the game. You wouldn’t believe it. I was training today, and I took home two hundred bucks in tips. Can you imagine that?”
“Two hundred?” he scoffs.
“Yeah, only because it was a game day. But I’m keeping the job as my cushion now. Plus, it comes with benefits. If I impress Mr. Taylor enough, we might go in on a bar together. At least, I hope.”
Ryan sits on the couch. “Shit. Wow.”
“What’s with the tone?” I ask because he’s clearly annoyed. He’s not even looking at me now, and he’s wearing a face I don’t like.
His brows flick. “Just a long night, and I thought you wouldn’t work the job because of the… never mind. I told you I needed you at the game because you’re my good luck charm, and we lost. Just forget it. I need to decompress.”
Silence falls over us, and I feel bad. So, I ask, “Do you want to talk about it?”
He releases a slow breath. “Not really. It was just a shitty game and Dad was on the warpath after. You know how he gets.”
I do know. I've seen firsthand the impossible standards his dad holds Ryan to, the scathing criticisms and constant pushing. It makes my insides itch with the urge to give the man a piece of my mind.
But I bite my tongue. Instead, I bump Ryan with my elbow and joke in a deep mocking voice, “The China Wall’s bricks are looking a little loose out there, son.”
Ryan smiles, leaning on the counter.
“What can I do for you, Ry?” I ask because he’s not looking so good right now. If I had all the opportunity to do whatI wanted with him, I would wrap him in my arms, massage him, feed him some cookies, and wash his body in the shower.
God.
