Page 49 of The Devil You Know
“A red Porsche? Seriously?”
He grins at me. “Hey, I didn’t have a car for like fifteen years when I lived in the city. Now I get to have my Porsche.”
I have to admit, it’s a nice car. When I slide into the leather seat next to Ryan, I can appreciate why he likes it. It’s a lot nicer than the Prius. I’m further impressed when I see the stick shift. I had no idea he knew how to drive a stick. I can barely operate an automatic.
Ryan winks at me. “Want the top down?”
“Ha ha.”
“Where do you live?” he asks me. I give him my address and he nods, “That’s right on the way to my house.”
I can’t help but smirk, and Ryan raises his eyebrows at me. “Sorry,” I say. “It’s just hard for me to imagine the infamous Dr. Ryan Reilly with ahouseonLong Island.”
“Why?”
I nudge him. “You know. You were all about that bachelor pad you had in the city. Remember?”
He’s quiet for a second, as if remembering that one-bedroom apartment with the great view and expensive furniture. “Things change,” he says simply.
With those words, Ryan takes off. And I am extremely glad to be wearing a seatbelt, because oh my God, he drivesfast. Ben always stays a steady five milesabove the speed limit when he’s got me and Leah in the car, which is as slow as you can go without people honking angrily at you—he takes absolutely no pleasure in driving nor sees it as anything other than a way to get from Point A to Point B.
But I can tell that Ryan is really loving his Porsche. He grins as he weaves in and out of lanes, overtaking any car that dares travel within ten miles of the speed limit. Two people give us the finger before we get off the highway. I’m slightly frightened, but it’s also thrilling. I mean, if you’re in a Porsche, you may as well be going really fast.
As we exit the highway, my purse buzzes with a text message. It’s from Ben:
Is Lisa able to give you a ride?
I don’t know why he’s asking. If I said no, would he drive back out and get me? No way. I’d have to wait around for a taxi. Or get murdered in an Uber.
I text back:Yes.
Not that I’m doing anything wrong, but… well, no sense in making trouble.
It took us half an hour to get to Dr. Kirschstein’s house, but Ryan and I make it back to my place in under twenty minutes. I see my house coming into view, looking rather shabby compared with my boss’s mansion. We pull up in front of the driveway and Ryan gives me a meaningful look.
“You know,” he says, “I bet he doesn’t expect you home for at least another hour…”
“Ryan…”
“Just a thought.” He smiles and shrugs. “Didn’t expect you to take me up on it.”
“Thanks for the ride,” I mumble.
“My pleasure, Jane.”
I take one last look at him—at his blond hair tousled from the hat he was wearing during our walk to the car, to his blue, blue eyes, to his slightly crooked smile. He could have any woman in the entire world probably. But for some reason, he always just seems to want me.
I get out of the car before I do something really stupid. It’s still freezing, and I make a dash to the front door, forcing myself not to look behind me. I unlock the door quickly and shove my way inside before my fingers get frostbite and require Ryan to amputate them.
The house is completely dark and silent. Ben is probably upstairs on his computer. He’s not waiting up in the living room, watching the door to see when I’ll arrive. Not that I would have expected him to.
That’s when I realize that Ryan’s scarf is still wrapped around my neck. I never returned it to him.
I unravel the scarf from my neck. It’s black and silky and warm. And it smells like Ryan’s aftershave.
Chapter 18
Richard Garrett has some of the worst varicose veins that I’ve ever seen. They stand out on his legs like a roadmap of lumps and bumps and blue lines.
