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Luke addresses Ryan without taking his eyes off of me. “Don't you have a favor to ask her?”
“Sweetheart,” Ryan says. “Do you remember when you came to that dinner with me last month and charmed my client?”
“The old guy who stared at my chest the whole time?” I ask.
Ryan sighs. “Did you enjoy the dinner?”
“You know me,” I say. “Always love a chance to act.” I stare laser beams at Ryan, but it's pointless. I'm only going to annoy him. He won't back down if he really believes a return to acting is bad for me.
“Why do we even want this client?” Luke asks. “His prenup is iron-clad
. Do you really think pimping out your fiancée is going to convince him it has wiggle room?”
“All she has to do is be her gorgeous self,” Ryan says. “She's used to it. And it's her choice, right, sweetheart?”
“Right,” I say. I am used to it. I've been the pretty girl on Ryan's arm since high school. School dances, graduation dinners, cocktail parties—it's always the same.
He scoops food onto ceramic plates and places them on the dining table. He beckons me, come here, pulling out my chair for me. I take my seat, next to Ryan. Luke follows suit.
The table is too small to allow much room between us. Luke is only a few inches away from me. Our knees nearly touch.
He pulls a bottle of tequila from his bag. Without asking, Luke pours two glasses, one for me, one for him. He offers the bottle to Ryan. Ryan declines, of course. He doesn’t drink. He doesn't do anything that lets his guard down.
“We're meeting this client tomorrow night,” Ryan says. “You don't have to come if you don't want to. If you can't handle it, you can stay home.”
So that's how he's going to play this.
“I'll wear my shortest dress, and I'll smile my biggest smile,” I say.
If I'm going to spend most of my life sitting in the apartment, I might as well make myself useful to Ryan, even if my breasts are the only reason why I am useful. The whole point of these pathetic dinners is to get some old pervert to leer at my breasts for so long he realizes how much he really, really needs that divorce from his not even middle aged wife. It's a cheap tactic, sure, but it's fun making Ryan jealous.
Luke's hand brushes against mine. I feel my heart race. My eyes find Luke's. God, those fucking eyes, so dark and intense. And they're only the tip of the iceberg. Everything about him is amazing. His thick hair is begging for my hands. His soft lips are begging for my lips. His hard body is begging for my… Fuck. I suck on an ice cube in a hopeless attempt to cool down. It only fills my head with even more ideas of what I want to do to Luke.
“I'm surprised you're so gung ho to put in a bunch of overtime for this asshole,” Luke says. “Wouldn't you rather spend your extra time at home with your adoring fiancée?”
“You're the last person I'd take relationship advice from,” Ryan says. Luke looks hurt, but he doesn't say anything. He just stabs his broccoli with his fork. What does it mean, that Ryan wouldn't take Luke's advice? Is Luke perpetually single? Did he get dumped? Did he scare off a woman by working too many hours for too long?
Ryan looks at me. “We're going to get into details. Why don't you grab your Kindle or watch TV?”
“It's okay,” I say. “I'm used to boring conversations.”
“I think that's a dig at you,” Luke says. I polish off my glass of tequila and Luke refills me, his hand brushing against mine again, for longer this time. His lips part into the tiniest of smiles. They look so soft. They look like they could do all sorts of things to me.
The boys talk shop, debating the figures on some piece of paper. Ryan wants to ask for more. Luke wants compromise. It's dreadfully boring, so dreadfully boring I wish I had grabbed my Kindle when I had the chance.
I finish my second glass. Luke refills me. He sits a little closer to me, a little further on the edge of his chair. His hand brushes against my thigh, just for a second, and my body floods with electricity. God, I want that hand on my body. But it was an accident. Just an accident. It's not like Luke would stroke my thigh in front of my fiancé.
Not when we haven't done as much as kiss.
I finish my third glass and Ryan cuts me off. But I don't care. I am light and free and everything is so, so funny. I laugh as I crash on the couch, my dress riding up my legs, exposing my underwear. As Ryan suggested, I turn on the TV and flip around the channels, unable to find anything interesting.
“Stop,” Luke says, moving next to me on the couch. “You just skipped past Law and Order.”
“We're not finished,” Ryan says.
“I'll rewrite the proposal tonight. We'll give his wife the vacation house. He won't even miss it,” Luke says. Instead of taking the remote, he holds his hand over mine, pressing my finger into the channel down button.
“Don't you have your own TV?” Ryan asks.
