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“I’m a what?”
“The golden boy,” I repeat. “You know. The one everybody loves. Can do no wrong. Perfect without even really trying.”
His features get sharper somehow. I get the feeling he’s not impressed.
“And here I thought you knew me better than that.”
His tone is light. His words are cutting.
I narrow my eyes at him. “I’d venture a guess I know you better than most people.”
He leans his hip against the pool table and cocks his head to the side. “How do you figure that?”
“I’m not blinded by your shine,” I say.
“Aren’t you, though?”
His eyes are locked on mine, full of challenge. I roll mine in return.
“Stop deflecting. Just tell me. Tell me, tell me, tell me. Why the fuck did you need the cash?!”
All I get in return is an enigmatic smile. Fucker.
“Gambling debt?” I guess.
Ryker laughs and takes another sip of whiskey before he hands the bottle back to me.
“You want to buy something ridiculous. A helicopter? No. A yacht?” I say.
“You overestimate the size of the trust.”
“Poor little rich boy. Can’t even afford a proper yacht.”
He grins and flips me off.
“Surgery?” I take another guess.
“I have health insurance.”
“For something health insurance doesn’t cover. Cosmetic surgery?”
“I’m happy with the way I look,” he says, which… fair. Who wouldn’t be if they had Ryker’s face?
I squint at him. “Penis enlargement?”
He raises his brows. “Is that a thing?”
I shrug. “Where there’s demand.”
“I don’t think I need to be worried about the size,” he says. “I’ve never had any complaints.”
“Well, whip it out. Let’s check.”
He laughs and leans the back of his head against the wall. “You wish.”
“I’d give you a professional opinion,” I say. “As an aspiring medical professional.”
“Are you specializing in dicks?”
