I come to a red traffic light. I peek in my rearview mirror. He’s still behind me, looking hot with aviator sunglasses, and he waves at me. For the love of god, I can’t help it, but I grin just a little.
He follows me all the way home.
Well, enough is enough.
I pull into my garage.
I turn off my car.
I close my garage.
There. That’ll teach him.
I take my groceries into the condo and put them away. I toss some fresh romaine lettuce into Dagny’s cage, and I go pee. I swipe on fresh, red lipstick, and I grab my purse, ready to go shopping for my dress. Ryker never rang the doorbell to come in, so I guess he’s gone. Good, I tell myself.
Fifteen minutes later, after checking my email and getting a drink of water, I walk into the garage and push the garage door opener button on the wall. The door is halfway up when…
Sure enough. His car is parked in front of my house.
He smiles and gives me a two-finger salute.
You’ve got to be kidding.
9
Ryker
I follow Aspen into town, and she pulls in front of a small boutique with creepy bald mannequins wearing dresses. I hop out of my car and catch up to her on the sidewalk. She turns her head to me and says, “Don’t you have anything better to do?”
“Nope.” I smile at her and step next to her. She smells like sunlight and fruity juice. God, she’s irresistible. Her lips are right there, so close to me. I drape my arm on her shoulder, playing like we’re old pals. “The only thing on my schedule today is going dress shopping with you.”
She laughs and then takes my arm off her. “Nice try,” she says, and I can tell she’s amused, by the twitch of her lips. And for that second when my arm was on her shoulders, my blood rushed through me like a race car crossing the finish line. But she lets me tag along on our field trip. Progress.
“I love your laugh, Aspen.” She stops and looks at me. Her eyes shine, and her mouth parts slightly, like she’s about to say something, but clarity comes into her face, and she turns forward and walks into the boutique.
“What else makes you laugh?” I ask her.
She thinks about my question. “Um… my mom, she’s a hoot. Popster is funny, too. Dagny makes me laugh. Oh, and romantic comedies, when I have the time to watch them.”
“Who’s Dagny?”
“She’s my bunny.”
“And what’s a Popster?”
“He’s my grandpa.” She starts combing the racks, and she grabs two black dresses, one shorter than the other, and a dark purple sequined item. Her arms are full, and my services look needed. “Allow me to hold those for you, ma’am,” I say in my best concierge tone.
She chuckles and hands them to me, “Might as well.” Then, she adds, “Seriously though, don’t you have to work or something?”
“My future great-great-grandkids don’t even have to work.”
“Hm. Sounds boring.” She steps over to the next rack. I follow dutifully. She holds up a navy dress and wrinkles her nose, then hangs it back up.
Her truth makes me bristle, and I snort dismissively. “I do things. I race in Spartan races every few weeks. I’m a philanthropist. I’m a world traveler, I’m… an investor, ahem.” I pause. She looks over at me and raises her eyebrows, waiting for me to finish. She is paying attention.
She shakes her head. “Oh. That explains why you’re hot on my tail, following me everywhere. You’re bored. Greeeaat,” she says, her tone dry as melba toast.
As she fingers the dresses, assessing their material, she asks, “So what makes you laugh?”
“My buddy, Sax. He’s a crazy motherfucker. Sometimes I think he needs to still grow up, but he always makes me laugh.”
“Hmmm,” she replies, and I don’t know if she’s responding to my answer about Sax or the pink dress she’s holding up. But I’m pleased she’s engaging at some level, and no longer telling me to leave her alone.
Progress.
She puts the dress back, and we move along to the next rack. I ask her, “What do you like to do for fun?”
She stops. The tiniest hint of longing crosses over her face before she answers, “I like going to concerts, but I never do. Too expensive and no time. I also like watching pro basketball, although I couldn’t really tell you why. For whatever reason, if I have it on in the background while I’m cooking or working on my laptop, it relaxes me.”
“That’s it? That’s your fun list?” I ask, shocked and sad for her, though admittedly, my own list is rather lacking.
She shrugs. “Yeah. That’s my life right now. Too busy for fun. Though, in my defense,” she says and purses her lips, making them look utterly kissable, “I have fun with my work. I love it. Maybe that’s why I don’t make a big effort to do anything else. I feel satisfied.”
Before I can comment, she takes one last look around the shop and says, “Well, I’ll try on those dresses.” She takes them from me and heads to the dressing room. I follow her, and she snaps the curtain closed just as I attempt to go in with her.
I snap it back open, and she gasps.
“What?” I shrug, feigning innocence. “You might need help with the zipper.” I give her my most devilish smile, and she laughs. One of her hearty ones, too! I’m on a roll today.
“I am an excellent judge of dresses. I will give you my unbiased opinion. Scout’s honor.”
“Fine. Stay there. On the other side.” She yanks the curtain closed again, but not before I see her lips turn into a little smile.
She starts
