Page 33 of Tall, Dark, & Ginger

“Tell me your name again?”

“Matty.”

“Listen, Matty, you’re hella cute, man. You’re sweet too. Don’t let a guy like me get in your head.”

He nods as a slight smile tugs at his lips. “You’re right. It stings sometimes, you know? I thought there was a spark, but it was obviously one-sided.”

“It wasn’t. It was a different kind of spark though. For me it was…” I shrug.

“A hookup. I get it. I’m glad I saw you though. You were a ghost I needed to exorcise.”

“Glad I could help.”

The kitchen doors swing open and Wren steps out, his eyes landing on Matty, then me, then focusing past me as he walks out to the bar.

My stomach does a little flip just from the sight of him, and suddenly no one exists but him. Okay, so I’m a little obsessed, and a few rounds with him haven’t dampened my enthusiasm yet. Maybe I have a chef kink. Clearly, I have a ginger kink.

“Ridley?”

I jerk, looking back at Matty. “Yeah?”

“Thanks for talking.”

“You bet.”

I watch him walk to the table with his friends, then turn to go to the bar. Wren’s face is blank but his jaw is clenched. Did something go wrong in the kitchen?

“What’s up?” I ask.

Florian shrugs and turns to make another drink, leaving Wren practically glaring at me.

Okay. I’ve definitely missed something.

TWELVE

WREN

Seething.

That’s the only description I can come up with as I push past Ridley and head back to the kitchen. He’s right behind me though, grabbing my arm and pulling me into the office.

“What the fuck, man? Did I do something?”

I tug my arm away and move back. “I’m clear that what we have is casual, but it’s pretty fucked up to pick up another guy in the bar right under my nose. At least show me some respect.”

Ridley pulls his head back. “What?”

“We didn’t agree to any kind of exclusivity, I get it, but come on, Rid.”

He blinks rapidly, his mouth gaping open, then he huffs. “Oh man. Dude. You got that all wrong. I wasn’t hitting on him at all.”

I narrow my eyes. “Don’t lie to me. I hate lying.”

Ridley takes a step toward me, but I cross my arms to make it clear I don’t want that. He holds his hands up in defeat.

“That’s not what that was, Wren. He was a guy I ghosted. He saw me and confronted me. I was explaining myself without trying to be a dick about it.”

My defenses want to tell me he’s lying, but I hear the truth, the slight embarrassment, the vulnerability in his voice.

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