Page 29 of Hungry Hearts

RYDER:Fuck me. That’s not what I was trying to do. Okay. No more texting. I mean, maybe a little, but I’m sorry, Maia. I was just teasing. A little. Most of what I said was true, but I never meant to make you cry. That’s not my style.

ME:I’m crying because I’m laughing so hard. My cheeks hurt from smiling. Thank you for ending my day on a most perfect note.

RYDER:I wish I was there to hear your laugh, and to lick away your tears. Or any other part of your body that needs licking.

ME:Go back to work or you’re going to be camping out in that walk-in all night.

RYDER:Camping because of my tent? I caught on to that innuendo. You’re good, my sweet Maia. Sweet and dirty. Shit. Campground’s open again.

ME:I’m turning off my phone and going to bed. Get back to work. I’ll text you on Tuesday and we can pick a place to eat. Since you’re the food expert, you can decide.

RYDER:You already know what I want to eat. Night, Maia angel. *read that like My-ah (insert moan) angel*

ME:Goodnight, Ryder. *read that like I need to get some sleep because I have to get up early in the morning (and do NOT tell me how you’re getting up right now). Turning phone off now and not reading anything you send me until Tuesday. Behave. People are hungry, waiting for their food. Do not turn that into an innuendo!!!!!!

P.S. Thank you for making me fall asleep with a smile on my face.

If I don’t do as I say, I’ll be up all night with him, and he’ll have angry diners. With more self-control than I thought I possessed, I power off my phone and curl to my side. I fall asleep with my heart happy and full.

Ryder is the escape I didn’t realize I’ve been needing.

CHAPTER NINE

DAMN. I HAVE THE PERFECTresponse to Maia’s P.S. but I respect her wishes and put my phone away. The rest of my evening is not nearly as entertaining as my five minute almost-sexting session with Maia.

Not even the bachelorette party with all the grabby hands. It was the bride-to-be’s third go around, that information shared with me freely by the maid of honor who was currently married but her husband was a cheating asshole, so why couldn’t she be one too? Her words, not mine.

We’ve hosted many bachelorette parties at Red, but they’re usually a serene and sophisticated affair before the high society ladies go out clubbing. People who dine here expect a classy atmosphere, so we hold the private events in a back room, but when they don’t indicate it’s a bachelorette celebration at the time of their reservation, we don’t know to seat them in an isolated area.

When the tipsy maid of honor started to turn heads from our guests, I was called out to speak to the party, which only riled them up even more. Three of the eight ladies got a little handsy. Normally, I don’t mind, but I didn’t like how they diverted my attention away from the string of texts Maia sent me.

I wanted to get back to my kitchen, sear a filet or two, and imagine Maia naked in bed. Instead, I wasted my evening on crowd control. The only way to quiet them down was to promise I’d stop by The Club later.

Since I crossed my fingers behind my back while making such a promise, it isn’t considered a lie when I head home after we close. Most nights I’d have no problem decompressing from work with a few drinks, some dance floor grinding, and maybe even a hook up.

Tonight, I want the comfort of my own bed, not even the bed in the penthouse. It’s close to two in the morning by the time I’m showered and my head hits my pillow.

Eight hours later, my feet hit the pavement as I run through the Seaport District. Nora and Avery have lectured me a lot lately about working too hard and how it’s not good for my overall health. Since my sex drive and my eating habits are on point, I don’t see the issue, but I’ve recently conceded and haven’t worked a Monday in two months.

What that’s meant is I usually spend Sunday night in a woman’s bed until I’ve fucked her to sleep, then return to my place to sleep until I’m fully recovered. After a long run, I whip up a healthy breakfast, do the mundane chores, and run the errands I’ve neglected all week.

By three, I’m usually bored out of my mind and back at the casino bugging Drake and Nolan in their offices. Today, however, I leave them in peace and scout around my neighborhood for a place to take Maia tomorrow.

I’ve lived here for a few years now and don’t spend enough time in my neighborhood. Maybe Nora and Avery are right. I’ve been pissing my life away with work and women. Not that there’s anything wrong with either.

I’ve enjoyed watching my three best friends and business partners settle down with their women, even though having a wife and kids isn’t on my goal sheet. While I’m happy for the love and contentment they found in their lives, I don’t feel like I’m deprived of anything.

My bank account is fat and happy, I love my job, my apartment is lit, and when my dick needs attention, a willing woman isn’t ever too far away. There’s also my hand, which is sometimes just as nice.

I don’t have to put in as much effort. Don’t get me wrong, I love charming the panties off the ladies. It’s fun, easy, and rewarding. But sometimes it’s nice to plop down on the couch, and shove my hand down my pants while I’m drinking a beer and watching a Red Sox game.

No complications. No smooth lines. Just me and my johnson.

I slow my jog in front of Boston Harbor beach. The excited barks from the Bark Park catch my attention. Big dogs, little yappers. Singles, couples, families, the park is a happy place for the animals and their owners.

Drake and Nora’s dog, Daisy, would love playing here. Maybe I should get a dog. I always had one growing up. Freckles, my German Shepherd, was my best friend when Nolan wasn’t around. I’d never felt lonely growing up, even when my parents were going through their shit.

Not that I’m lonely now. I’ve never needed to be surrounded by people to be content. When Nolan took off for the Navy after high school, I picked a place on the map that looked fun, packed my bags, and took off for New Orleans.

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