Page 17 of Resting Grump Face
I also find out that it’s Ryker F. Grayson and wonder what the F. might stand for.
Fool?
Fuckboy?
Firstborn of the devil?
I might not believe in heaven or hell, but he certainly makes me reconsider. In more ways than one.
“I leave for ten minutes and you miss me so much that you’re already reading fan fiction about me?” His smug head hovers over my shoulder and his scent makes me want to bury my head in the crook of his neck.
“Fan fiction? Are you implying that the…Daily OracleandRyker Rumorsaren’t reliable news sources?”I sure hope they were, because what they are reporting is quite hilarious. “Well,” I continue while Ryker narrows his eyes in annoyance, “as Sun Tzu famously said in The Art of War: ‘Know thy enemy’s tabloid headlines and you will know the truth.’” I turn around to face my very own enemy. “Or something along those lines. But please, let us get back to topic. It’s your turn. I told you why I did what I did. You still owe me your story. Or I will have to believe this article about you and the case of the traveling pants. Unfortunately, it doesn’t say: were the cops able to crack the mystery?”
“Mystery indeed.”
I feel the vibrations of his deep, rumbling tone to the core as he sits down on a stool next to me.
“The only thing they could crack was my patience and a box of donuts.”
“Well, what happened?”
“What do you care?” He turns my way and our legs touch under the bar, giving me goosebumps all over.
“Natural curiosity.” I shrug. “Also, I enjoy when bad things happen to bad people.”
Ryker lifts one eyebrow as his jaw twitches. “Some creep stole my pants, I went to buy a new pair, and before I knew what was happening, the cops tased my ass and arrested me for indecent exposure.” He takes a sip from my beer and shifts on his stool as if his butt is still hurting.
The tasering certainly was over the top, but who could have expected that to happen? I guess I’m not happy about him getting arrested, but I’m also not unhappy about it.
“Aaaand?”
“And now I am considering how to get back at the person who is responsible for me spending a night in prison, missing my best friend’s bachelor party, and almost not making it to his wedding.”
“Don’t forget your injured butt and the bruised ego the entire ordeal obviously caused,” I add, as he takes another sip. “Offering them a job working for you certainly is a good start. It won’t work, but I like the idea of it.” I lean forward and let my thumb glide over his forehead, just beneath his wound. My goosebumps flare up again. “And how did this happen?”
“Well,” Ryker clears his throat and sits up straight. “I heroically saved a little vervet monkey from a tree on my way here.”
Even though I’m only on my second drink of the evening, I must be fairly inebriated, because his stupid scowling face elicitsanother genuine laugh from me. “It’s unusual that a monkey would need saving from a tree. Besides, if any monkey needs saving around here, it’s probably you.”
Ryker finishes my beer and does what he seems to do best: he takes his chiseled jawline, perfect nose, piercing eyes, and scrunches them up as if he is trying to out-compete the grumpiest cat on the internet. At least he’s a handsome grump.
“$3000 per week,” he says.
It’s a normal declarative sentence, but it sounds like a challenge from those lips of his.
7
SIENNA
And it’s a challenge that gets harder and harder to decline, but I know that nothing good can come from working for this maniac. It will be better to just get another job working for some slightly less insane maniac.
“You already said $3000 earlier. I think your next offer should be $4000.”
“Alright,” he answers. “$4000.”
I look at his stupid face, with his stupid stubble, and stupid eyes, and let my brain run wild for a moment. I imagine what it would be like to repeat what we did at the airport, what it would feel like to scratch not only his back but every other part of his body, what it would do to me to let him take charge for a little while, to let him rip apart those panties that he was staring at earlier.
Then I pull the ripcord and get up. “Yep, that’s my cue. Another beer or two and I might start doing things I’d regret later. Like continue talking to you, or accepting all that billionaire-blood-money.”Or making out with those stupid lips.
