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“There was no luring involved. I was bored and decided to do you all a favor by gracing you with my presence.”
He snorts. “We’re honored.”
Beckett lightly touches my shoulder. “Want a drink?”
“Beck, how do I change this playlist?” someone shouts from the living room.
“Hold that thought,” he tells me. He winks, the tip of his tongue briefly touching his top lip. It’s kind of hot.
Speaking of hot, my peripheral vision catches Ryder descending the staircase to our right. His mouth quirks, only slightly, at the sight of me.
“Gisele,” he says.
“Ryder,” I say.
He closes the distance between us, towering over me as always. I’m average height for a woman, yet standing next to Luke Ryder makes me feel positively tiny.
“How tall are you?” I ask curiously, craning my neck to peer up at him.
“Six-five.”
Damn, he’s a monster. Even has a couple of inches on my dad.
A little shiver runs through me, although I suppose I’m not the first girl to have a thing for tall strapping guys. Wait. Not that I have a thing for this one. Just, you know, the body type in general.
Right, this one does nothing for you, a voice in my head taunts.
As usual, Ryder doesn’t try to fill the silence.
I shift my feet and say, “Dude, would it kill you to pull your conversational weight?”
He cocks a brow. “Says the person who got the ball rolling with the thought-provoking question of how tall I was.”
“I’m just saying, you could make an effort over here. You know, Hey, Gigi, how was your day? Do you have big plans for this weekend?”
“How was your day? Do you have big plans this weekend?”
“Wow. Could you sound less enthused?”
“You fed me the lines. How excited can I really be about them when they’re not my own?”
“Fine. Then give me your own.”
He looks at me. Hot gaze raking over my body before his dark-blue eyes return to my face. “I like that top.”
I don’t expect the compliment, so I’m genuinely startled. “Oh,” I squeak. “Thanks.”
“So,” Shane pipes up, and I realize I’ve completely forgotten his presence. “This is”—His head moves between us—“fascinating.”
“What is?” I’m puzzled.
Shane nods toward Ryder. “I’ve never heard him speak so many words at one time. And then to punctuate it with a compliment? Did you drug him?”
“Fuck off,” Ryder grumbles.
Suddenly his attention shifts. An emotion I can’t discern flickers through his eyes. Then he says, “Excuse me.” His voice is tight.
He walks toward the front door. The crowd parts slightly and that’s when I catch a glimpse of the woman who just walked in. She’s pretty. Tall and willowy, wearing skinny jeans and a corset top with her ample cleavage spilling out. Black curls tumble down her shoulders.
A desperate gleam lights her eyes before she rises on her tiptoes to whisper frantically in Ryder’s ear. Next thing I know, he has his hand on the small of her back while guiding her onto the front porch where it’s quieter.
Okay, then.
Beckett returns. “Hey, sorry about that. Let’s grab you that drink now. Where did Ryder go?”
Grinning, Shane points toward the porch. Through the open door, I glimpse Ryder and the girl talking.
Beckett looks over and rolls his eyes.
“Who’s that with Ryder?” I ask, trying not to sound overly eager for an answer.
Shane’s knowing smirk tells me he knows how badly I want that answer. “That’s Carma.”
My brow furrows. “I don’t get it. He did something to deserve something?”
“No, that’s her name.”
“Carma with a C,” Beckett explains. “Feel free to make a hilarious destiny joke.”
I force my gaze off Ryder. “Is she his girlfriend?”
Beckett shrugs. “She’s our neighbor. They hooked up once, but I thought that was over. Who the fuck knows.”
I try to ignore the knot in the pit of my stomach. I guess Ryder’s off-limits.
For some unpleasant reason I’m not willing to examine, I’m more disappointed in that than I ought to be.
In the kitchen, Mya and Kate are at the counter standing very close to each other. With her hand on Mya’s arm, Kate whispers something in her ear. Mya giggles in return.
When I introduce them to Beckett, I notice the approval in Mya’s eyes. Yeah. He’s drop-dead gorgeous, no denying it. And the kind of man who doesn’t need to put in much effort to look sexy. A white T-shirt and that face. That’s all it takes.
Beckett gestures to the row of liquor bottles on the kitchen table. “What are you in the mood for? I can mix you something sweet if you want a cocktail.”
“Honestly, I’m the most boring drinker ever.”
“I can attest to that,” Mya confirms.
“Yeah? What’s your poison?”
I sigh. “Scotch and soda.”
“Intriguing. Are you a fifty-year-old businessman in an airport bar?”
“I know, I know. But it was the first drink I ever had with my dad,” I admit. “And I kind of loved it. Either that, or a beer.”
