Page 30 of Playboy For Hire

“Earth to Ryder.” Amir’s voice broke through my train of thought. “You alive in there, or did some alien just body-snatch you?”

“You are a genius,” I told him, heading for the kitchen, where my laptop was charging on the counter.

I wasn’t breaking any rules if Quinn and I just happened to be in the same place, after all. It would be pure chance. And maybe, if I saw him, I’d be able to apologize again for that kiss. And maybe then I could stop thinking about it, and everything could go back to normal.

I just had to see him one more time, and it would all work out.

6

QUINN

Icouldn’t stop thinking about that damn kiss.

It was Monday. Three whole days after it had happened. I was on my way to Bar Onze after work, to meet a new guy—a guy I was actually excited about—but it was Ryder who filled my brain.

It had been a while since I had kissed anyone, but I was pretty sure that kiss was still one of the best ones I’d ever experienced. Which made no sense, because it wasn’t like Ryder liked me or anything.

But his lips, his tongue—God, he’d been so sure of himself, so confident but gentle at the same time. He’d erased all thought in my brain for a minute. My knees had actually buckled, and when he finally pulled away, I’d been lightheaded.

And then, of course, I’d seen Brandon and remembered where I was, and the heartbreak came rushing back. Andthen, Ryder told me it was a pity kiss, and I felt even worse. I’d had topaysomebody to kiss me in front of my now-engaged ex, and it wasfucking amazing, and now I had to deal with the fact that it wasn’t real.

I was so mad at him. How dare he kiss me like that? How dare he act like he knew anything about me? Like he had a right to point out how messed up I was over Brandon.

It was extra unfair that Ryder was right, that I really was that transparent. But still, he shouldn’t have kissed me. Kissed me, and left me wanting more.

So now I had to go meet this new guy, and somehow put Ryder out of my mind. Not compare the guy to Ryder. Not wonder what Ryder was doing while I was on my date. Not drift off and start daydreaming about his lips the way I’d been doing all weekend.

I was jittery enough when I got to Bar Onze that I walked straight to the bar and ordered a glass of rosé instead of my usual mocha. I didn’t need the additional caffeine. My body was ready to vibrate into the stratosphere all on its own.

The bar was moderately full. Two women sat at one end, and someone had left a backpack with a laptop at the other end—they must have been in the bathroom. The tables were about half-full, and I texted Ewan, my date, to let him know I’d grabbed one in the back corner.

Thirty minutes later, I wanted bang my head on the table.

I was aware I didn’t lead the most exciting life. I was a law librarian, which meant I spent most of my days looking things up on computers instead of interacting with people. When I came home from work, I read or built little model houses from kits.

My favorite thing to do with my friends was to invite them over for dinner and be in bed by nine. I got up early to watch birds, hung out with my great aunt, and sometimes, when I was feeling really spicy, I stayed up ‘til ten and fell down Wikipedia rabbit holes about the oldest continually-operating passenger trains in the world.

The point is, I knew my life would make most people yawn. But evenIthought Ewan was about as interesting as a Ziploc bag full of fingernail clippings.

It wasn’t so much his life as the way he talked. He gave mono-syllabic answers to all my questions, and his tone was the softest, most affect-free thing I’d ever heard. It was like listening to an NPR host read Goodnight Moon. The man was soporific.

Plus, he kept staring at my birthmark. I was used to people staring, but usually they at leasttriedto hide it. He was like the little kids on the bus who exclaimed, ‘Mama, that man has dirt on his face,’ except he didn’t have the excuse of being three years old.

Of course,helooked perfect. Or at least attractive. He had straight brown hair, parted neatly on one side, and a broad, open face thatseemedlike it should belong to someone who talked a lot and laughed even more. His eyes were a really pretty shade of brown, and I was sure he worked out regularly, if the breadth of his shoulders was any indication.

Maybe not the most incredible guy I’d ever seen—I firmly pushed away the image of Ryder that popped up in my mind—but definitely hot, which made me want this date to go well. And I was trying, I really was. But Ewan kept giving me the world’s shortest answers.

Where did he live?Glover Park. Did he like living there?Yeah. What did he like about it?It’s nice. How long had he been in DC?A while. What brought him here?Work. What did he do?Spreadsheets.

Was he a super spy, being vague on purpose? But surely a super spy would have a better cover story. What kind of answer was ‘spreadsheets’? I used spreadsheets too sometimes, but that didn’t tell you what I actuallydid.

I tried asking why he’d chosen the beer he had.Looked interesting. How did he like it?It’s fine. Did he prefer beer to wine?Not really. All the while, he stared at me with wide eyes, like he’d never seen someone who looked like me before.

But this was DC. He’d seen plenty of Black people. Plenty of people with glasses. Plenty of guys in business casual. No, I knew what he was really staring at.

Finally, I cracked. “So, what do you want to talk about?”

For the first time all evening, Ewan’s face brightened, like I’d actually said something interesting.

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