Page 10 of Desperate Pucker
“Ryker’s not rude to you because you’re not in charge of training him,” Maddy says to Ingrid while keeping her eyes on me.
“Ingrid seems qualified for the job she has. I can’t really say the same about you,” I say, irritated that she believes this is the reason I refuse to work with her.
Maddy death-scowls at me. “Just admit you don’t like the idea of a woman training you.”
“I won’t. Because that’s not true. I don’t care if a man or a woman trains me, as long as they’re good at their job. You’re not.”
Maddy steps forward and presses her finger into my chest. “You don’t know that. You haven’t even worked with me yet.”
Ingrid lets out a flustered chuckle and steps between us. Gently, she pulls Maddy back.
“Okay, you two. Clearly you got off on the wrong foot.” Ingrid looks between us before focusing on Maddy. “Ryker canbe a little rough around the edges. He probably came off a little harsh.” She turns to me. “Right?”
“Only a little,” I say.
Maddy aims an annoyed look at me.
Ingrid sighs as she looks at me. “Maddy is an Olympic athlete. A freaking bronze medalist. Maybe she’s never trained anyone before, but I guarantee you could learn a thing or two from her,” Ingrid says sweetly.
Just then, Maya runs up to her and grabs her arm. “It’s sex on the beach time!”
Ingrid gets pulled away to the other side of the bar, where she and Maya down two glasses of the brightly colored cocktail.
“She’s right. I could teach you a lot,” Maddy says, arms crossed over her chest. So damn defiant.
This was supposed to be a fun evening out, and now I have to listen to this know-it-all rich girl tell me off.
“I’m not entrusting my recovery to someone who’s never done this kind of work before. I don’t have that kind of time.”
“Because you’re old?” She quirks an eyebrow.
That irritation amps up. “Everyone is old compared to you. You’re what, twenty-two?”
She leans back like she’s offended. “I’m twenty-seven.”
I almost laugh at how defensive her tone is.
“You could have fooled me.” I nod at her half-finished vodka cranberry juice sitting next to her on the bartop. “You drink like an infant.”
“I’m twenty-seven,” she repeats, her tone petulant.
“You sure? You look young for your age,” I taunt. “I bet your favorite food is a Happy Meal.”
She stares daggers at me. She’s so fucking pissed. I almost laugh.
“My favorite food is baked potato soup, which isn’t even—” She presses her eyes shut and shakes her head. “You know what?Never mind.” When she opens her eyes, she’s glowering at me. “You look really old. What are you, fifty?”
I smirk at her. “I’d be the best-looking fifty-year-old on this planet.”
She scoffs, but her eyes fall to my chest. She runs her gaze down my torso, then back up to my shoulders. The blue Henley I’m wearing is a little tight, but it was the only halfway decent shirt in my closet that was clean…and it does a decent job of showing off all the muscle I’ve put on this season in my chest and arms.
She swallows hard before looking back up at my face. Her eyes are shy, on the edge of flustered, like a little kid who got caught with their hand in the cookie jar.
It gives me a strange boost to my ego. Maddy doesn’t like me, but she seems to like looking at my body.
An amused feeling flickers in my chest.
“I don’t look like any fifty-year-olds you’ve ever seen before, do I, princess?”
