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"Did you see that?" Bryn asks, just as sharp as I am.
"Uh...yeah, I did," I say, laughing softly. "That's one of the newer members, right?"
"He's checking you out," Bryn says, rolling her eyes. "Better nip it in the bud. Do you want me to say something?"
I shake my head. "No—I'm pretty sure that's Ryan Wright. He's a harmless, really nice guy."
Bryn is right to suggest saying something—it's technically against the rules for members to come onto waitresses at the club for all our safety—but I really don't think he'll do anything. I haven't had a lot of interactions with Ryan Wright, but he seems like a stand-up guy.
I turn away from Ryan's table and back to Bryn, but my mind is still on him. Something about him is intriguing and makes me want to know more. And yet, I know I shouldn't get involved. It'sagainst the rules, and besides, I have enough on my plate as it is. But a part of me can't help but be drawn to him, like a moth to a flame.
The night wears on, and the club gets busier and busier. I'm running drinks and taking orders left and right, my mind buzzing with the endless stream of tasks that need to be done. But even as I work, I can feel Ryan's eyes on me, and I can feel myself wanting to sneak a glance back at him.
I finally go over to see if he has something to say to me, just to make sure that I don't miss something that needs attention. It's not technically my job to take orders—I'm the staff manager these days, not a waitress—but I grab my notebook anyway, pulling it out as I walk over to his group with a smile. He's sitting with a long-time member, Diego Ramos. The latter grins as I come closer, leaning back in his fancy suit.
"Well, look at us—graced with the company of the beautiful Sophia," Diego teases. "I didn't think you bothered with the rabble anymore."
"You're not the rabble, Diego," I say with a wink. If I didn't know him, I might think that behavior is inappropriate, too—but Diego has spent a lot of time at the White Oak and has always been nothing but respectful. "I just thought I caught Mr. Wright's eye a moment ago and wanted to make sure you two didn't need anything?"
Ryan's beard is thick enough that I didn't think I'd be able to see him blush, but I definitely do. His cheekbones turn bright red, his eyes averted. "No, ma'am," he says—and yes, it strikes me as odd that a man with what has to be about fifteen years on me is calling me ma'am. "We're all set here."
I nod, flashing them both a smile. "Well, just give me a holler if you need anything, okay? And let me know if you're enjoying the drinks. Our bartenders are top-notch, but I always like to double-check."
I give Ryan one last look before heading back to the bar, my heart beating faster than it should. Bryn raises an eyebrow at me as I approach, sensing that something's up. "You okay?" she asks, already reaching for the ice scoop like she's about to beat someone over the head with it.
"Yeah, I'm good," I reply, shrugging off the strange feeling in my chest. But even as I say the words, I know it's a lie.
Because I actually feel like being bad right now—and for the first time since I started working here, a member at the White Oak just gave me butterflies in my stomach.
I don't know Ryan Wright.
I don't really know what he does or who he is.
But something in his eyes makes me think that maybe—just maybe—I'll be part of the White Oak's next love story.
Chapter two
Ryan
Ihave no idea what I'm still doing in this city.
My truck doesn't fit on the narrow streets, my dog has nowhere to run and play, and I don't have anywhere to escape. I'm a big guy with too much time on my hands and not enough to do; everything is far away.
I don't particularly like New York.
But I'm here anyway. Now that Amanda's gone, I'm not sure why.
I dial my mom's number as I try to get through traffic to the White Oak Society for the evening, intent on relaxing and sipping some good whiskey. It's a little farther than I like—and damn, I should really try to learn the subway system if I'm sticking around—but the White Oak is my one refuge here in the city. The phone rings a few times, then it clicks, and my mother's voice answers.
"Hi, sweetheart."
"Hi, Mom," I tell her, not sure how to start. I don't usually talk to my parents as much as I have lately, but I feel like I havenothing else to do ever since Amanda and I split up. Not that I can say that—I'm forty-five, and I should have a life of my own. "I uh...I'm driving and just wanted to check in on you and Dad."
There's a smile in her voice, and I'm sure she knows this is more about me than it is about her. "Oh, we're just fine, Ryan," she says. "Dad's just resting after bringing in the horses for the night; I'm about to cook some dinner. We're right as rain."
"What are you having?"
"Chicken soup," she replies. "And how about you?"
