Page 39 of Resting Grump Face
“Is sex all you can think about whenever you see me?”
I hold in for a second to process what he just said, then erupt in laughter once more. Judging by his tone, he wasn’t even trying to make a joke, but he can be quite funny at times. Sex is definitely notallI can think about when seeing him. I mean, sure, I might have imagined what it would be like to go through the Kamasutra once or twice with him, but that’s neither here nor there. And it’s certainly nothing he needs to be aware of.
I still feel the need to set the record straight. “I do not. I mean, I imagine things, but after those, doingitwould be out of the question. Necrophilia is not my thing.”
Ryker smirks, then wraps his arm around the headrest behind him while turning towards me and zeroing in on my eyes. “Please,” he says in a deceptively soft voice and nods at the dress again, “put it on.”
He really does have all the weapons in his arsenal: good looks, more money than anyone should ever have, and, apparently, even normal-person manners if necessary. Of course, I would be a fool if one simple please was enough for me to fulfill his request.
Definitely a fool, I think and roll my eyes partly at him, partly at myself when I pull my hoodie over my head to get changed.
Ryker’s gruff voice sounds muffled under the fabric in which I have gotten myself tangled up in a second later. “What are you doing, Miss de la Vega?” he asks.
“Putting on the dress,” I explain, finally manage to pull my head out and sit there in my sports bra.
It’s my good sports bra, so who cares?
Ryker nods and smirks again. “I’d love to let you continue.” He sighs. “Unfortunately, that would be wrong.” He averts his gaze. “You’re supposed to put the dress over your normal clothes. It’s still a little cold outside. You can’t just walk around in a dress.”
Now I am even more stumped than before. So it’s definitely not a weird sex party in some kind of dungeon. It’s a costume party… outside? In early spring? Luckily, it’s not as chilly as it was yesterday.
The car comes to a halt and I watch Ryker take off his suit jacket, shirt, shoes and pants. He’s wearing spandex underneath. Well, not spandex. He’s wearing ski-underwear underneath. Black, and tight, and snug, andveryrevealing. Again, I can’t help imagine being the one to take off the rest of his clothes, to be the one touching those rough muscles that lie beneath, to grind myself on top of him with his tongue teasing my own.
Alright. If I wasn’t a wet mess before, I definitely am one right now.
The partition lowers itself and Miles passes another bag to Ryker, who leans forward and basically forces me to cock my head so that I have a good view of his ass too. I should let Miles know to turn on the air-con against this smoldering heat in here.
Damn it.
Am I lusting after a man in freaking spandex?
“Stop that,” Ryker grunts as the partition goes back up. He slips into some sort of royally-looking outfit that includes purple pants, heavy boots and a thick white overcoat with golden frills.
“Stop what?” I try to claim ignorance.
“Looking at me like I’m the ride at the amusement park that you’re going on next. I am not.” And with that, he exits the car and leaves me to myself.
I am sweating.
From doing nothing.
No, worse. From ogling. From ogling Ryker Grayson.
Pathetic.
Quickly, I slide into the dress and exit as well. “Are you sure you’re not the next ride?” I ask, louder than intended. “Because I do feel like I’m close to puking already.”
In response, Ryker pokes me with a long stick. Although it’s not just a stick, it’s a grabber. Like one of those you’d use to grab your soda when you’re lying on your sofa and the can is too far away.
“Tally-ho, then,” he declares in a fake accent, and waits for me to take the grabber. “You wanted to see what I am doing today. Well, now you not only get to see, you get to be part of it.” He pulls a plastic bag from his pocket and unfolds it with one swift motion. Then Prince Grayson struts off. He isn’t walking like a normal person; he is strutting. There’s no doubt about it.
This isn’t Ryker anymore. This is just bizarre.
Uncertain about my next course of action, I simply follow him.
What else is there to do?
We enter a park. In the crown of a nearby tree, a bunch of birds sing their little hearts out. It sounds like they’re pretending to be miniature opera singers, and I half expect them to come flying down wearing little top hats as well. Instead, I bump into Ryker once again, who must have stopped walking. He nods towards the ground where a cigarette butt is lying next to a plastic cup. Using the grabber, I pick both up and throw them in the bag that Mr. Tally Ho is holding open.
