I narrow my eyes as I slowly lean forward, letting the amusement drain from my expression.
“Careful now, Riley. You don’t want to make me jealous.”
“If I wanted to make you jealous, I would bring up Ronan,” she teases, but her words instantly kill my good mood.
It seems no matter what I’m talking about, somehow Ronan always seems to come up and one-up me, and I’m so sick and tired of it.
It seems Riley can sense my annoyance as she reaches across the table to take my hand. “I’m sorry.”
“For what?”
“Bringing up Ronan.”
“Don’t be. I’ve had three decades to get used to the fact that I will never be anything more than the spare.”
There’s silence for a beat until Riley breaks it. “I’m sorry.”
I squeeze her hand. “It is what it is.”
I force a smile even though the sting never seems to lessen when I think of how much of my life I’ve spent standing in Ronan’s shadow. No matter how hard I fought, no matter howmuch I bled, it was never quite enough for my father to see me as anything other than second best.
That’s where the resentment toward Ronan started and why I’m so damn reckless now. After all, he’s the one with everything to lose.
We keep the conversation more neutral until after the desserts have been cleared away and I’ve settled the bill.
I make sure to get to my feet first and walk around the table to pull out Riley’s chair and offer her my arm to take to try to prove that I’m doing better.
She scoffs. “I’m not that drunk.”
I roll my eyes at how stubborn she’s being. “Just take my arm, Riley.”
“Fine,” she mutters before linking her arm through mine.
The night is warm, and my sleeves are rolled up to the elbows, which means Riley’s hand rests on my bare forearm.
The touch sends a shiver straight down my spine to my cock, and I subtly reach down to adjust myself as we walk back toward the main strip.
“You know, I’m actually having fun,” Riley admits.
I can’t help but smirk. “You weren’t expecting to enjoy yourself?”
“Were you?”
“Fair point.” I laugh.
We fall into an easy silence as we walk back toward the hotel.
She mentioned to me over dinner that she’s never been to Vegas, so we take our time walking back so she can see the sights.
I’ve been to Vegas countless times, so I choose to watch Riley instead, finding her expressions much more entertaining than anything else around me.
She clings to my arm, her small body pressed up against my side as we walk. Having her so close is torture, but I also don’t want her to stop.
Every so often, there’s a slight breeze, and I catch a whiff of her perfume in the air and bite back a groan as I fight the urge to put her over my shoulder and march her back to our hotel room.
I wonder if she feels it too, the tension that’s been simmering between us ever since we kissed. Part of me hopes she doesn’t because I’m running out of reasons not to kiss her.
I guess there’s only one way to find out.
