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“If you haven’t noticed, I have other things going on.”
I sense a chill between the best friends that isn’t usually there. Is it because Ryan was standing so close back here in the dark part of the restaurant? Brando has always been protective of my sisters and me, like a big brother. Despite his lack of social media accounts, it’s likely he knows about Ryan’s scoreboard—and I don’t mean the football one.
“Harley, I want to talk to you, Heather, and Harper about things.” Brando angles his head toward the kitchen.
“Sure thing. I’m just finishing up out here.” I clear my throat. “Cleaning up, I mean.”
My cousin disappears to the back, likely to make sure Uncle Eddie doesn’t accidentally brand himself with the iron he uses to stamp the tops of the burger buns—not that he’s had customers in months.
“So, will you at least think about it?” Ryan asks when Brando is out of earshot.
“I’ll think.” Think about how Ryan is a flirt, a rascal, and not necessarily reliable. Who’s to say my face won’t be plastered all over social media as his rebound relationship?
He must read my dubiousyou don’t take life seriouslylook.
“I’ll change. I can be a gentleman. I want to.”
I harrumph. “I’ll believe it when I see it,” I mutter and thenregret it because that almost sounds like I agreed to his hair-brained idea.
Then again, Royal and Ryan are twins. Never thought I’d see the day Royal would find someone who tolerated his ice man personality. One look from the guy always made me feel like he was going to sue me for everything I was worth and then push me off a cliff. Okay, that’s a little extreme, but he’s transformed since meeting Isla.
“I’ll even make it worth your time,” Ryan adds.
“How’s that?” I cannot fathom a single thing Ryan can give me.
He glances around the restaurant. “You said you’re a waitress. You probably make good money. What if I quadruple it?”
I blink a few times. “What now?”
“I said I’d pay you for your PR help. I’ll give you one hundred thousand dollars a month for the rest of the year if you be my fake girlfriend, for starters.”
My expression wavers because the words refuse to compute.
“I’ll cover your bills, all your expenses. Call it two hundred grand if one hundred isn’t enough.”
I drop off the table and onto my feet. I know football players make a lot of money, but that is a stupid amount of money. “Ryan, we get by on less than two thousand a month, including gas and groceries.”
He frowns. “We? Do you mean that the average person gets by on that amount? Doesn’t seem possible.”
“I mean like—” I almost say Luke and me, but that will open a door to questions I’m not ready to answer. “Yeah. National average.”
“I can do better and all you have to do is pretend to be my love butter.”
“Your what?” I practically shout.
“Everything all right?” Brando calls from the kitchen.
“Yeah, I, uh, just got surprised. All’s good out here,” I call over my shoulder.
When I turn back, Ryan’s ears are red.
Love butter?
Recovering quickly, the corner of his mouth lifts into a flirty smile. “I’d better go. But what do you say?”
“I’ll think about it.”
The second the bells on the door jingle, I whisper, “Love butter?”
