I pop a few olives into my mouth and lean forward with my elbows on the bar. The alcohol starts to soothe my frayed nerves. I’m nursing my second gin, when my peripheral vision tells me the person next to me has turned to look at me. I don’t return the glance. Probably some creep wanting “to talk.” He says nothing, but I know he’s still looking at me. It’s creepy.
Without turning my head to see who it is, I give the guy a sideways glance. My eyes go wide, and I whip my face to him. It’s hot Mystery Man from the bistro who was spewing crazy shit at me.
Gin in my veins, it’s my turn.
“You!” I snarl and narrow my eyes, shooting daggers at him.
He jerks his head back and lets out a sharp huff of air through his nose. He squints his blazing green eyes back at me, and, holy shit, he’s really hot. I try to ignore the heat spreading rapidly through me, wishing my veins were filled with ice instead. I shake my head.
I’ve been without a man too long.
By choice, Aspen!
And right now? I’m in no mood for bullshit.
I’m ready to rumble.
“Who the hell are you anyway, Mystery Man, who says bat-shit-crazy stuff to people? You got a bone to pick with me? Wanna sue me for something? Go ahead. I. Don’t. Fucking. Care.”
He’s steely calm this time, and though the place is dark, his emerald eyes glow like summer grass at sunset. He’s wearing some fancy-ass, white cotton button shirt, with cufflinks, and the top button is unbuttoned. I think he’s wearing black dress pants, but it’s too dark to tell. He’s dressed nice, like he was the other day.
“You don’t recognize me?” he says. “You really don’t know who I am?” His jaw flexes, and my throat tightens.
“No. Sorry to pop your ego, Mr. Mystery, and I’m not in the mood for fucking games.” He tilts his head, and his bedroom eyes stare at me longer than is normal between strangers, but… maybe we’re not strangers? A vague feeling rattles uncomfortably in my stomach.
I stuff a handful of popcorn into my mouth and take another sip of my drink.
He straightens his neck and says, “You should know who I am, Aspen. You destroyed my family.”
“Again, Riddle Man, I don’t know what you’re talking about. I don’t know who you are. You have the wrong person. Either that, or you’re insane.”
“I’m Ryker. Ryker Miles.”
Holy shit.
“Ryker Miles?” The name spills out of my mouth. A crazy bark of laughter explodes from my throat. Oh, this is too rich. As if my day couldn’t get any worse. Ryker Miles… the son of a bitch who bullied me in high school. The guy I thought was nice and sociable, even a friend at one time, turned out to be a total jerk when he started trash-talking my family in front of the kids at school.
“Ha. Well, look at you,” I say. “You look different.” Fucking bastard is hot as hell. I take a long drink of my cocktail this time. That’s not how I remember him looking in high school.
We stare at each other for a moment, and a brilliant, white-hot energy pulls between the two of us. It’s making me uncomfortable, and my toes tingle, like my Spidey Sense telling me to get the hell out of here.
I break the staring contest, though I could have stared at his sexy, arrogant face all night. “Ryker, the only thing I remember about you, is you being a dick in school to me.”
I turn my face back to the bar, done with this conversation. Jerry is looking down at the wine glass he’s drying with a white towel, pretending not to listen, but his raised eyebrows give him away.
It’s with significant effort that I don’t look back at Ryker. He really has changed, at least regarding his looks. I might be off men for the next five years, but I can still appreciate a piece of art when I see it.
Ryker isn’t done though, and tension emanates from him like waves of heat. “You don’t remember what you said to me in the cafeteria that day?”
Without turning to him, I cock my head, and my memories line up like a platoon of soldiers. Why, yes, I do remember. I said something in particular to him, and it was then that he stopped bullying me.
We were sitting in the cafeteria at the lunch table. The popular kids were nearby, and I fit in, sort of on the periphery, and only sometimes. It wasn’t always easy though. When my parents got divorced, the other kids, and their families, took sides. So, although the popular kids didn’t shun me, like they did the poor kids, the stoners, or the nerds, they didn’t always invite me to things either. It sucked.
Ryker was nice to me, but then one day, he started poking fun that my parents had divorced, making everything worse, and making me feel like shit. This went on for days, and he just wouldn’t stop.
One day, I went home upset, and I told my mom about it. And I’ll never forget… she laughed an evil laugh. She said, “The next time he does that, ask him if he knows where his mother goes on Tuesday nights.”
Well, the very next day, Ryker was giving me shit again, and I did just that. He was talking trash to me in the lunchroom, for all to hear. So, I asked him, “Do you know where your mom goes on Tuesday nights?” Our corner of the cafeteria immediately fell silent, and somebody gasped a hushed, “Oh my god, did you hear what she just said?” I must have hit a nerve. Ryker’s eyes froze with confusion and fear.
He didn’t
