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“A party?”
“Don’t worry.” She grabs my hand. “It’s just us, the uncles, and Pops.”
I sigh. Thank goodness. I hate parties. Standing around making small talk with people I don’t know or like while being put on display is not my idea of fun. I’m being silly. It will be fine. No one in Hailey’s circle wears Dior gowns for parties. Their idea of a party is a fun night at McGraw’s eating yummy food and drinking beer. No fake people allowed.
We finish our cake and I stand to start cleaning up before getting to work. I nearly drop the plates when Suzie asks, “And are you going to ask your hunka hunka burning love to the party?”
“He’s not my…” What do I call him? Because hunka hunka burning love are words I plan on uttering never.
Before I figure out what I should call Ryker, Suzie continues, “Sure looked like he was your something something on the side when you two were making out in the Atrium yesterday.”
My face heats. “You saw us.”
“Everyone saw you, Pheebs. It’s not like you were hiding.”
I narrow my eyes. I told her not to call me Pheebs. It’s undignified. My name is Phoebe. I swear I can hear my mother’s voice telling me nicknames are for the help, not for us. Well, screw her. I am the help now.
Hailey hip checks me. “Call and ask him.”
“Yeah, you’re not chicken, are you?” Suzie clucks like a chicken and marches around the room in circles while flapping her arms like wings.
“I’ll call him.” Suzie raises her hand in triumph. “But not because you called me a chicken.” I walk to my office and shut the door before anyone can follow me.
“You know I’m going to eavesdrop, right? There’s no reason to shut the door.”
I walk to the furthest corner of my tiny office and dial Ryker’s number.
“Princess, is everything okay?” He answers on the second ring sounding out of breath.
“Yeah, but I think I’m disturbing you.”
He chuckles. “Working out.”
A vision of Ryker shirtless and sweating while lifting weights pops in my head. Do they have spectator bleachers at gyms? If not, they should. There’s definitely a market there.
“Babe.” Ryker’s voice cuts into my vision of watching sweaty men playing volleyball. What can I say? I have an active imagination.
“Everything’s fine. No, it’s great. I passed my PI exam.”
“I knew you would, sweetheart.”
My face heats and my chest warms. Hearing Ryker call me sweetheart may be even better than him calling me princess. He’s not one of those guys who throw terms of endearment out. Well, except for babe, which seems to be his favorite word. But babe is not a term of endearment.
“Anyway, we’re having a little party at McGraw’s tonight. Do you want to come?” I hold my breath. I’ve never asked a man out before. It’s kind of terrifying. I’m not sure how men do this.
“Of course. I’ll pick you up at your place at six.” I hear grunting in the background. “Gotta get back at it. My sparring partner is getting anxious. See you tonight, Princess.”
“Bye.” My voice comes out all breathy. Of course, it does. Now I’m imagining Ryker shirtless while fighting another shirtless guy. Oh my. I’m starting to understand why women go gaga over MMA.
