Page 36 of How to Train Your Billionaire

“Why are you still talking?” I snap.

“If you don’t stop scowling at them like that, you’re going to age yourself prematurely.”

“Will you stop? I’m not scowling. My face still moves because I haven’t had any of that toxin you insist on injecting into yours.”

Malachi flings a straw across the table that hits me in the chest. “It’s called Botox, and you need it.”

“Whatever.”

Chapter Fifteen

Break Out of Your Comfort Zone

Frankie

Ryder is much shorter than I anticipated, but he’s just as cute as his photos.

“Are you new here? I haven’t seen you around” is the first question he asks, after greeting me with a friendly hug.

Since I didn’t know if he was referring to the island or the dating-app scene, I settled for a simple “Yes.”

From there, things were a little iffy. The conversation was difficult to come by—like pushing a boulder uphill. I asked about his work—he was currently unemployed—and about his family—he merely said they live in Ohio. His one-word answers weren’t helping.

Behind the screens of our phone, we were magic. In person, we have less to say. Even if the vibes are slightly off, I’ve assured myself that tonight will be more fun if I just roll with it.

So that’s what I do. In typical Frankie fashion, I laugh and tell him about Tessa and Charles, and generally work to keep the conversation flowing.

When we finally get our drink order, I lift my glass in a toast. “To whoever invented stretchy pants—your contribution to society will never be forgotten.”

Ryder’s eyes crinkle, and he gives a weak chuckle.

After we finish our drink, Ryder gets strangely fidgety. “Are you good?”

I figured we’d stay awhile, make an evening of it. But hey, I’m not going to force it if he’s not. “I guess so.”

I inhale and try not to feel let down. But something isn’t adding up ...

One second, we’re finishing our drinks, Ryder laughing at something stupid I said, looking every bit like a guy without a care in the world. The next, he’s standing up, clapping a hand on my back like we’ve gotplaces to be.

“All right, let’s bounce,” he says, already steering me toward the exit.

I blink. “Uh. The check?”

“Don’t worry about it,” he says, flashing that effortless grin. “I know the system.”

I don’t know what that means. But I do know the check is still sitting there, untouched, and that Ryder is movingvery quicklyfor a guy who has been acting like time doesn’t exist.

We step outside, and he stretches his arms over his head like a manfreeof responsibility. Meanwhile, my brain is doing urgent calculations.

Did he leave cash while I wasn’t looking? Did he start a tab? Did I just unknowingly become anaccomplicein a dine-and-dash?

Oh God. I think I did.

I stop in my tracks. “Wait. Did we—”

“You hungry?” he interrupts, like we didn’t just flee the scene of a financial crime. “There’s a taco truck down the street.”

I stare at him. He grins like this is just another night, just another casual stroll through life, where money is optional and bartenders don’t need to get paid.