Page 12 of No Rhyme or Roughing
“It’s just the exertion. Makes me talkative.”
“No.”
I only felt like myself when I was dancing or choreographing. I’d been here for a week now, and this was the first time I’d let my body just move. “Did you ever imagine weird little Sydy would make a career in dance?”
“Yes. Even then, I could tell you loved it.” He leanedfarther into the room, dropping his voice. “And for the record, I never thought you were weird.”
No, he most likely hadn’t thought of me at all, which was a good thing. I’d just been a kid when he left, and I wasn’t his actual family. But now… I wanted him to want me.
I brushed by him on my way out the door in search of water. He followed me.
“Why aren’t you with the team?” Their morning skate couldn’t be over already.
“I’m sick.” He gave me a weak cough that was obviously fake. “Not playing tonight so I don’t have to be at the morning skate.”
Lifting one eyebrow, I shook my head and reached for a glass. I filled it at the sink and took a large gulp of water. “Some captain. Do you really expect me to believe that?”
“Mental health day?”
“Do hockey players get those?” I stifled a laugh, but when I looked back over my shoulder, he was no longer smiling. I set my glass down and turned to face him. “Is everything okay, Ryder?”
He rubbed the back of his neck, not meeting my gaze. “There’s something…” He shook his head. “I told Coach I couldn’t play tonight because I was too banged up and not feeling well.”
I stared at him for a moment longer before realizing whatever was going on, he didn’t want to talk about it. “Well, I have nothing to do today, and it’s been a long time since I’ve been in the Bay Area. Any suggestions for me?”
That smile—the one I wanted to box up and keep forall my rainy days—returned. Ryder had always been the charmer, the one who could pull out pickup lines, but also knew when to stop. Some people loved grumpy-sunshine romances, but what others had to understand about this man was that he was both grumpy and sunshine.
“You know…” His smile widened. “About a year ago, your brother bought a boat.”
“Absolutely. I’m in.”
Teddy was goingto kill us, but what were sisters for if not stealing their brother’s boat—and his precious kettle corn, which he kept in heaping amounts? Armed with a cooler and a bag of snacks, we parked in the overpriced garage along The Embarcadero and made our way toward Pier 39.
The boat Ryder led me to was far too luxurious for the likes of us. I’d never made much use of my family’s money. Most of it came from Dad, and unlike Teddy, I hadn’t known him except when I was very young. Then, he left—my fault—and I became just Mom’s unwanted daughter.
It was okay, though, because I’d had my brother.
Teddy, however, loved his trust fund. He lavished in it. Expensive houses, boats, and nice cars. He spoiled himself and everyone around him.
The sleek black boat had leather seats for four people, so soft I could have fallen asleep under the California sun the moment I sat down. Except, Ryder was watching me, a shyness in his eyes.
The man who’d hit on me after a car accident hadn’t been shy.
“You’re different.” I leaned my head back, trying to force out more than my usual quiet words, trying to remember how easy it had been with this man when I was a kid. “Now that I’m not a stranger.”
He untied us from the dock and then sat behind the wheel. “You’re imagining things.”
“Don’t bullshit me, Ryder Sullivan. It won’t work.”
He pressed his lips together as the boat pulled farther out into the water. “Plainspoken little Sydy.” He shook his head, as if remembering the little girl who was too honest for her own good, who always said what was on her mind. Except, that wasn’t me anymore.
A breeze brought a chill across the top of the bay. San Francisco never got too hot, nor did it get very cold. Growing up, I’d found the weather boring, though everyone else said it was perfect. I pulled the sleeves of my sweatshirt down over my hands and studied the man behind the wheel.
Dark brown hair blew back from his forehead as we sped up. He had naturally tan skin and warm eyes. It was the face I saw in my dreams—rounded jaw, angled cheekbones that looked like they’d been carved from gold.
His eyes flicked to me, and I looked away, pretending to watch Alcatraz in the distance. To busy my hands, I pulled a Perrier from the cooler and tossed a second one to him. The carbonation burned going down, and I coughed.
“You okay?”
