Page 38 of Resting Grump Face
Ryker doesn’t answer. Instead, he tries to annoy me with his stare. I assume that’s what he’s doing because it’s something I’d do. Apparently, neither of us has fully grown out of elementary school yet. I respond appropriately and reciprocate. We stare at each other for what feels like a small eternity. At some point I suspect Ryker must have purposefully turned on the heating because I am beginning to sweat and I kind of wish I was wearing something with a lot more cleavage (not only for temperature reasons but) because that pig probably wouldn’t be able to resist peeking, and then I’d win our little staring contest.
Eventually, the car comes to a stop. We sit for another minute before Ryker finally succumbs to his primal instincts anyway. He gives me a long look-over before exiting the car, leaving me behind without a word. I wait for him to open mydoor in case I need to accompany him, but when he doesn’t, I just sit back and let out the longest sigh I’ve ever sighed. I didn’t even notice I was this tense until now. Not all that surprisingly, my thighs are burning up and I don’t even need to touch myself to feel how wet I am. From a stupid staring contest.Ridiculous.
“You okay, Miss?” Miles lets down the partition between us. “There’s water in the bar if you need any.”
“Oh, thank you,” I answer. “I’m good, but I did actually want to apologize.” I lean forward to the lowered window and rest my arms on it.
Miles turns around with his eyebrows raised. “What for?”
“Well, to begin with, for Mr. Grayson being your boss. Must be rough.”
He laughs out loud before I can continue.
“And then for the couple from hell yesterday. It was kind of my doing that you had to drive them around town.”
Miles chuckles again. “Oh, don’t you apologize for that. We actually had a blast. I mean, I did. Him not so much. I kept driving in circles until the husband got very annoyed with me. So I kicked him out and then went to a Burlesque show with his date. She was much more agreeable once he was gone.”
“Good for you.” I nod.
“Yeah, and Mr. Grayson isn’t so bad either. He’s actually… how do I put this?”
“A robot whose programming got messed up a little?”
Miles grins.
“A patient with a medical condition called Resting-Grump-Face-Syndrome?”
He laughs again. “My initial theory was that he secretly sucks on a lemon every five minutes,but?—”
The door swings open and Ryker slides back into his seat.
“But what?” I ask. “But he’s actually much worse than I can imagine? But you need me to help you escape? But I should save myself as long as I still can?”
Ryker drops a giant bag into my lap. “Don’t believe a word he’s saying,” he grumbles, scowls at Miles, and raises the partition again.
Typical.
“I think he was just about to sing high praise on you, actually.”
“Even more reason not to believe him.” Ryker nods down at the bag. “Put that on.”
Here we go, Mr. Do As I Say in his natural commandeering tone.
Well, at least that’s a lot less unnerving than him being delighted.
I do wonder what happened to Ryker that he became like this. How did he become this grumpy, obnoxious, I-only-smile-once-a-year-even-though-I-have-the-most-amazing-smile-in-the-entire-world guy?
I reach into the bag and pull out an absolutely ridiculous-looking dress. Only, it’s not really a dress. Sure, it’s got puffy shoulders, a massive skirt and a nice tempered waistline, but it also has tacky tulle and more glitter than a disco ball. It’s a costume.
“Well, if that isn’t Cinderella’s dress,” I conclude. “Which you want me to put on? Listen, Mr. Grayson. By the way, do I have to call you Mr. Grayson now that we work together?”
Ry-Ry doesn’t respond. He’s busy settling back in and checking his phone.
So I just continue, “I’m happy that you know what you’re into, but I’m not really interested in playing a part in your weird role-play fetish.”
His jaw tightens noticeably before he answers in the flattest voice he can muster, “Bibbidi-bobbidi-boo. Put on the fucking dress… please and thank you.”
I try not to laugh and fail miserably. By now I’m not even surprised anymore he knows that song or that he comes up with his own rhymes on the fly. It takes me a minute or two to gather my wits. “We’re not really going to some weird sex party though, are we?”
