I grin. Falling into such natural conversation with people isn’t always easy, but he’s right, there’s something easy to trust about Griffin Marks.
“Listen, I know the job had some bumps, but I’m hoping this stuff—” Griffin points at the food. “Might be enough to soften you up to the Vegas Kings for a little longer.”
A groove gathers between my brows. “I don’t understand.”
“For the new job. Remember how much fun and how nice I am before you talk to him again.” Griffin leans forward and whispers. “He’s grumpy with everyone, but we love him anyway.”
“Mr. Marks—”
“Whoa, I’m going to stop you right there. Griffin, please.” He holds a hand to his chest as if he might vomit.
I think I’ve made a new best friend. “Griffin, sorry. I really don’t know what you’re talking about.”
Griffin steps off my porch. “Ryder. He wants to interview you again for the job. We hear he wasn’t exactly polite last time, and he’d like a redo.”
My face pales. Griffin must notice, because his tone softens, he speaks slower. “I understand there is a history, but between you and me, this youth field house has been something he’s been trying to get approved for two years. He’ll never admit how much it matters to him, but it really does. Up for it?”
Griffin opens his arm as if ushering me forward. I swallow thickly, and peek around the post on my front porch.
Three more guys are at the end of my curved driveway. One is probably taller than Griffin. One stares at his phone, facing the truck in my driveway. But between them is Ryder.
A cruel bite of pain gnaws at my heart. He’s horribly wonderful to look at. He was never hard on the eyes. But Ryder, as a man, is a new delight.
He’s dressed more casually than he was two days ago. I can’t decide if the tight tee works better or the black suit and tie.
Simple—they both work too well. He could wear button up pajamas and would still look like he belonged on the front of a magazine.
He’s the worst.
“What do you say?”
The takeout nearly flies out of my hands when I jump. I’d almost forgotten Griffin was standing beside me. I close the front door, desperate to keep Drake from storming out here, then hand the bags back to Griffin. “Mind holding these?”
“I’ll hold them as long as you want.”
I glide my hands down my wrinkled sweater, as if it will do any good, lift my chin, and step off my porch.
The two guys next to Ryder take obvious steps back, giving us room to face-off in the middle of my driveway.
A muscle in Ryder’s jaw pulses. He swallows, and, unbidden, I follow the movement of his throat.
“Is there something I can do for you, Mr. Huntington?”
He frowns. “I don’t like that, Ava.”
“Oh, I thought I was supposed to pretend to be a mere acquaintance and not someone you’ve known since fourth grade. Not someone who ended up—”
“Ava.” Ryder’s eyes widen, a silent warning to shut up.
I cough, swallowing my rant back down. What is wrong with me? I’ve packed in so much angst, so much hurt, and after all these years he’s causing me to lose all my good sense. I need to watch what I say. If I had to guess, all these men are Vegas Kings, and I don’t know how much they know.
“What are you doing here?”
“The designer job.”
He takes a step closer. For a moment there is a bit of light in his dark eyes. A speck of warmth, maybe the same kind of pain I’m trying to hide. If only I could find a way to gauge what was going on in his head. Did he struggle standing in front of me the same as I struggled in front of him? Was it because he couldn’t stand to be here, or because it pained him not to touch?
I was a traitor to all the tears and heartache he left in his wake, because with him two steps away, all I can think about is slipping my fingers through his and squeezing. Like I used to when he was nervous.
