Total pages in book: 21
Estimated words: 19689 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 98(@200wpm)___ 79(@250wpm)___ 66(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 19689 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 98(@200wpm)___ 79(@250wpm)___ 66(@300wpm)
Suffice it to say, I wanted that promotion badly. Badly enough to design a kitchen for Ruby Granger, Nashville’s reigning country queen, in a style she excitedly referred to as Hunter-Gatherer Glam, which involved a lot of sparkles and a lot of antlers. Bad enough to babysit Ryder Richards on New Year’s Eve, even though the man wreaked havoc on my equilibrium.
“So, choppity chop, Mr. Richards.” I clapped my hands obnoxiously. “Let’s get those doors hung, and then we can get home before the storm starts.”
Ryder raised one perfect eyebrow but otherwise didn’t move a muscle. “You have plans, huh? Hot date, Kearns?”
It drove me fucking crazy that he called me Kearns. Yes, it was my last name, but I was the only person he last-named, and how freakin’ hard was it to say “Colin” instead of “Kearns,” really? It had exactly one extra syllable. Took barely a tenth of a second to articulate. Didn’t even require an extra puff of air.
I would die before I told him this, obviously. And also before I called him Ryder.
I shrugged. “Maybe I do.”
Ryder grunted, which was not sexy. “What’s his name?”
“None of your beeswax.” I huffed.
“None of my beeswax?” Ryder grinned a devastating grin, one that showed gorgeous white teeth and made his eyes crinkle at the corners. “I haven’t heard anyone say beeswax since I was twelve.” He put his two hands on the marble countertop and boosted himself up. “What if I want to make it my beeswax, Kearns?”
“Are you not hearing me? Or are you— Oh! Oh, my bad! Let me translate my request from English into Cro-Magnon for you: Big man go hang doors now? Bang bang? Swish swish? Make pretty?”
“Is it the Eben guy who did the custom closets from the Pritker job two months ago?” Ryder ignored my comment and tilted his head to the side thoughtfully, like he was trying to picture me and Eben together. “Or is it that redheaded intern you were working with last summer who was all up in your grill when we did the outdoor space for Buck Reynolds? What was his name? Tommy? Timmy?”
“Steven?”
Ryder snapped his fingers. “That’s him. He’s got a weird look about him.” He wrinkled his nose. “All sleek and soft. Shifty. You probably like that though, huh?”
“If by sleek you mean that a man knows how to use a hairbrush as something besides an imaginary microphone, then yes, I like slick.” I gave his tousled hair a disapproving look, like I hadn’t spent hours, once upon a time—not as long ago as I’d like to pretend—imagining what it would feel like between my fingers. “But I’m not dating Steven.”
“Hmm. The electrician guy from the Henderson job last year, then? The dude smiled every time you walked in the room.” Ryder couldn’t have sounded more disgusted if he tried.
“Marcus? He’s seventy if he’s a day!”
“So?”
“And he’s married—to a woman—and has four grandchildren! FYI, as hard up for a date as you clearly believe me to be, I have some hard limits when it comes to dating married men and men with grandchildren. Now can you hang the doors?”
“I’ll get to it.” Ryder unwrapped the platter of cupcakes and then studied them like a math problem before finally selecting one covered in edible silver confetti. He twisted the cupcake and licked the frosting in a way that made the breath shudder from my chest. “And you’re sure it’s not Steven?”
I tightened my hands into fists. “I think I’d know. And I’m not playing your game.”
“Just give me a name—one little first name—and then I’ll get back to work.” Ryder took a bite of cupcake, smearing frosting all over his nose and scruffy chin in the process. It made him look simultaneously Jason Momoa–hot and cuddly-puppy adorable… and that made me weak.
I inhaled sharply and let it out in a sigh. “Why, of all the nights in three years, have you decided that this night must be the night when you chat with me?”
He shrugged and chewed thoughtfully. “I dunno, Kearns. I guess ’cause there’s something symbolic about New Year’s Eve, right? Last year is over, next year’s not here yet. Everything feels possible for just a few hours? No rules.”
Considering I’d expected something along the lines of, “’Cause I felt like it, that’s why,” getting a real answer out of Ryder—and a thoughtful, introspective one at that—was a little stunning. That, accompanied by the warm, solemn weight of his blue gaze on my face? Hngh.
I almost felt bad when I had to lie about my own answer. “His name is, um… Ryan.”
As in Seacrest, the only guy I planned to see tonight.
Ryder nodded slowly and licked the last bit of frosting off his finger in a way that, if I didn’t know better—which I totally did—might have seemed a little disappointed. “Have you known him long?”