Sinclair slapped her hand on my desk. “I can’t believe he made you endure all that. What was he thinking?”
I hated that I was coming out looking like a petty bitch. Damn it, I was a petty bitch. “Fine, it wasn’t so bad. But it wasn’t my space.”
“You know, I get that order is comforting, but it can be limiting too. Maybe you should see this as an adventure. Open yourself to new experiences. New possibilities.”
“It’s a fake marriage. I’m not sure what you think I’m going to get out of it.”
Sinclair’s eyebrows waggled suggestively.
Was she joking? “No. Not in a million years would I sleep with Ryder.”
She frowned. “Why not? He’s a good-looking guy. He has had practice, so he’s probably good at it. And let’s face it, you could use it. You could use a little tension reduction.”
I gaped. “He’s your brother!”
“So?”
“I’m your friend. Friends don’t sleep with their friend’s brother.”
She rolled her eyes. “Jeez not you too.”
“Me too what?”
“When Wyatt and I got together the summer after high school, he wanted to keep us a secret because he said that friends didn’t sleep with their friend’s sister. That damn bro code. And now you’re telling me there’s a sister code?” Sinclair shook her head. “I’d be perfectly fine if you and Ryder wanted to hookup or even have a relationship.”
I stood, deciding it was time to end this conversation by getting to work. “Have you met me and your brother? I’m not attracted to him, and I’m certain he’s not attracted to me. We don’t like each other. All we do is snipe.”
“Some people would call that foreplay,” Sinclair said. “Opposites attract, you know.”
Good God. “I’ve got work to do,” I said, walking away to get the papers for the mayor’s new assistant. As much as I wasn’t sure about that situation, I appreciated the chance to leave the conversation. Then went to check on the mayor and his new perky assistant.
7 Ryder
I wasn’t surprised Trina was doing everything she could to avoid me, but it was annoying. I mean come on! I wasn’t a bad guy. I was bending over backwards to make this bet go easy for her, and she either didn’t notice or didn’t care.
Two nights into our fake marriage, I went ahead and asked her out for dinner, like a real date, which of course, she refused. So maybe dinner was too big of a deal. I asked her out for a coffee instead. She said no.
A part of me wondered why I didn’t accept the writing on the wall; Trina didn’t like me. At least not anymore. Perhaps I really was a glutton for punishment because I couldn’t let it go. My next ploy was to convince my sister to cancel her official deputy mayor appearance at the senior center dance. Once a month the center hosted the dance for residents of the senior living community as well as for seniors in the greater Salvation area. Usually, the mayor’s office sent someone down to participate as well. This month was Sinclair’s turn but when the center booked my band to play for the dance, I asked Sinclair to back out and send Trina instead.
“You’ve reverted to high school games,” Sinclair said when I pitched the idea.
“I know. I can’t believe it myself, but…” I let my explanation drop because there really wasn’t one except that I was nuts.
Luckily, Alyssa was off at my parents’ house, which would give Sinclair a night alone with Wyatt if she didn’t do the senior dance. I kept the part about arranging for my parents to invite Alyssa over for the night to myself.
The night of the dance, Trina came through the door grumbling, as she often did. “I can’t believe I have to spend the evening keeping old people from feeling each other up.”
I laughed. “I admire that older people can still get it on. Makes me not so afraid to get old if I can still have sex.”
She rolled her eyes. “Is that all you think about?”
“No. Do you ever think about it?”
She gave me her agitated glare and I just grinned. It was the game between us. I poked and she glared. It was the longest foreplay I’d ever been involved in.
She disappeared into her room. I shook my head in amusement as I went to get us both a glass of wine. I hoped it would soften the edges for her. It was one thing to be prickly with me, but another to seniors when she’s representing the mayor’s office.
“Well, I guess I’m off.”
I turned and nearly dropped the glass of wine. She wore a green sleeveless dress that made her auburn hair look like spun gold. The dress wasn’t risqué, and yet the way it accentuated her round tits and curves made my mouth water.
“What?” She looked down. “Too much?”
Knowing she’d change her clothes or get mad if I told her what I was thinking—“You’re fucking sexy,”—I shook my head and said instead, “No. It’s great. Wine?”
Her eyes narrowed as if she didn’t believe me. “I need my keys and to get going.”
“Why don’t we ride together?” I suggested.
“Together?” She took the wine and sipped.
“I’m playing all those old Sinatra and Bobby Darin songs tonight.”
Her gaze drifted down my body and then back up. “I was wondering why you were wearing slacks and a button shirt. I thought maybe you had a job interview or something.”
“I have a job.”
She shrugged. It was a reminder that she thought I was a slacker. That somehow bartending and playing in a band wasn’t real work.
We finished our wine, which didn’t smooth her edges as we ended up arguing over who’d drive. She didn’t want to get in my truck, but since all my band stuff was in it and wouldn’t fit in her car, my truck was the only option if we were going to carpool. Eventually, she relented.
“I’m not making a statement,”
