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He smiles, and I swear it’s the kind that memories are made of. It’s not just friendly, it’s not just sexy—it’s something else altogether. “I’ll remember that.”
I gulp, the proximity of our bodies and the rush of feelings that accompanies it suddenly seeming like way too much, and I back up on a stutter step, stooping low to pick up my towel and wrap it back around myself.
Ryan’s hands drop back to his sides, and I shake my head to clear it. “I’m assuming you brought sustenance for Mr. and Mrs. Hugh Hefner too?”
He laughs. “Yes. I brought some for everyone. Except me. I have to get back to the house for a conference call.”
“What? You’re already leaving?” I ask, and I can actually feel the pout curving my lips downward. I try to correct it, but I don’t think I’m very successful because he reaches out and touches my chin softly.
“I’m sorry. I promise I’ll make it up to you tonight. You can have the night off, or…if you want to come with, I’ll make sure to do the heavy lifting with the lovebirds so you can just enjoy yourself.”
I shrug. Spending the night alone for once should be tempting—it should light me up like a fucking Christmas tree, to be honest. But somehow, the proposition is completely lacking in luster. I mean, what am I going to do? Sit at home in my mom’s landominium, alone, and watch TV? No thanks.
“I’ll come with. But I’m holding you to your promise. You have front porch-light duty.” His eyebrows draw together, clearly confused by my reference, so I explain. “You know, like your parents used to do when you were a teenager. They’d stand by the front door and turn out the porch light when you and your date got a little too playful saying goodbye.”
He shakes his head. “I can say with a thousand percent confidence…my parents never did that.”
“What? How is that possible?”
He raises his shoulders and laughs. “I did most of my teenage making out in the car. Not on the porch.”
A shiver runs down my spine at the thought of making out with him in a car, my back against the cool leather of a big back seat, with his hands on my ass. It’s a vivid daydream, one that’s a little frightening, to say the least.
I wrap my arms tightly around my body again and sink my lip into my teeth. Ryan still notices, though.
“Are you cold?”
I nod. I’m not. Not even fucking close. It’s Florida and ninety degrees out, for fuck’s sake. But it’s the only explanation for a shiver as powerful as friction between tectonic plates that I’m willing to acknowledge.
His eyebrows pinch together slightly, but the corners of his mouth lift up in opposition. “I didn’t know it was possible to feel cold out here,” he teases, amused.
“Well, it’s not in a fancy-schmancy suit,” I say with a derogatory tone. “I can’t believe you came to the pool looking like Dr. Phil.”
Ryan isn’t bald and he doesn’t have a mustache, but Old Phil is the only other guy I’ve ever seen look so dang stuffy all the time.
Ryan shrugs. “I have to be on a video call in twenty minutes. What would you have suggested? I change just to make the lunch delivery?”
“No,” I agree. “That would be ridiculous.” He starts to smirk, but I cut off the smug little grin at the pass. “But what’s even more ridiculous is you wearing a suit all the time in the first place. Remote working shouldn’t come with so strict of a dress code.”
“It’s not required by HR or anything,” he contests. “But I have a serious job. I hardly think people would look at me the same if I were in a fuzzy robe and bunny slippers.”
I tip my head to the side meaningfully. “Do you have bunny slippers? Please tell me you do.”
“No. I was speaking in hyperbole.”
I laugh. “Of course you were.”
He glances at his watch and then back up at me, his face pulled tight with regret. “I have to go. I’ll never make it back in time if I don’t leave now.”
“Go, go,” I say encouragingly when the realization hits that, as much as he knows he has to be home, he’s not going to leave without my permission. “I’ll handle Bonnie and Clyde for now.”
“Thank you, Carly.”
“Oh, don’t thank me now,” I say with a wink. “You’ll pay plenty of penance tonight.”
He chuckles, and just like that, with a smile and a wave, he’s gone as quickly as he arrived.
Ryan
Dinner at the clubhouse is the biggest exercise in peacocking I’ve ever seen in my life. And I live in New York, for God’s sake, the home of cocky men and the women who would eat their balls for breakfast.
