Creative Casanova: A Hero Club Novel

by K. Street

  “I owe you an apology.”

  I lifted my eyes and waited.

  He ran a hand through his hair. “I’m sorry.”

  He’s sorry?

  I needed clarification. “You’re sorry? For what exactly?”

  “About the other day.”

  “The other day?”

  “Yes.”

  “Okay?” My voice lilted, making it sound like a question.

  “Is there something else I should be apologizing for?”

  Usually, I would keep my mouth shut. But there were two things that made me loose-lipped. Alcohol and the asshole who had no recollection of ever having sex with me.

  Old anger rose to the surface. Normally, confrontation wasn’t my thing, but I couldn’t let it go.

  “You really are a piece of work.”

  “Care to tell me what you mean by that?”

  My cheeks flamed red, and I briefly wondered if it was solely from embarrassment, irritation, or a combination of both.

  “Have we met before? I mean, before the other day?” Ryder gave me a quizzical look.

  I crossed my arms. “You could say that.”

  “I don’t think so.” His appreciative stare moved over my body. “Trust me, I’d remember you.”

  Humiliation scorched my skin.

  A sarcastic laugh fell from my lips. “Obviously not.”

  Did he really have sex with so many women he couldn’t remember?

  I mean, Presley isn’t the most unique name, but it isn’t exactly common either.

  If he couldn’t remember, no way in hell was I going to spell it out for him.

  Gathering my dignity, I said, “You know what? It’s not important.”

  I attempted to make my way past him.

  “Must be. Since you’re acting like a woman scorned.”

  Like a brick wall, his words stopped me in my tracks.

  I pivoted, pinning him with a hard glare. Then, I tightly folded my arms over my chest, mimicking his stance.

  “Not sure scorned is the word I’d use.”

  His eyes widened. “Wait. You’re serious?”

  The answer was written all over my face. There was no need to verbalize it.

  Ryder’s eyes moved over me in slow perusal. Scrutinizing every inch of my frame, as though he were seeing me for the first time.

  I closely watched his face, waiting for the pieces to click into place.

  “When?” he asked.

  “Three years ago.”

  Recognition finally flared in his green irises.

  “Presley? From Kyle and Natalia’s wedding.”

  I merely stared at him. Proud I resisted the urge to award him with a slow clap.

  Ryder’s expression morphed from surprise to confusion.

  He inched closer, fingers grazing my cheek as he tucked a strand of hair behind my ear.

  With a single simple touch, he ignited all my nerve endings.

  The way my body reacted to him pissed me right the hell off. It took all I had not to lean into him.

  Desperate to put some space between us, I took a step back.

  “You look different.” He simply stated a fact, not an ounce of disapproval in his tone.

  He was right.

  I did look different.

  Three years ago, I hadn’t been as toned back then, and I had also been a blonde. Those changes weren’t drastic enough to make me unrecognizable. At least, I didn’t think so.

  He’s a guy, I reminded myself. They aren’t really known for being observant.

  Still, it was painfully apparent I was nothing more than another notch on his bedpost. One he hadn’t remembered putting there.

  I hated how after all this time, the sting of his rejection still lingered. It made me feel ridiculous and stupid. Which I hated even more.

  Angry words burned like bile in the base of my throat. I wanted so badly to lash out at him. To tell him he was an asshole.

  I’d broken my rules for him.

  For a few hours … he made me fearless.

  When I’d woken up alone the next morning, my sense of boldness disappeared.

  The bitter taste of regret left in its place.

  That was my issue though. Not Ryder’s. So, I held my tongue. For the most part.

  There was one thing I couldn’t get past.

  “You have a kid.” Accusation dripped from every syllable.

  Something that looked a lot like pain twisted his features.

  Ryder’s gaze dropped to the floor. “It’s not what you think.”

  He must think I’m either blind or an idiot.

  “He looks just like you.”

  “I know. But like I said—”

  “Look,” I cut him off. This conversation wasn’t going to get us anywhere.

  We’d spent one night together.

  One glorious night.

  It wasn’t like I was in love with him.

  His grandmother and my grandfather were waiting on us for lunch. Now wasn’t the time or the place.

  “We had a one-night stand a long time ago. Evidently, it wasn’t a very memorable one for you.” Ignoring my bruised ego, I forced a smile. “Let’s leave it at that. I’m not looking for seconds.”

  I turned on my heels, barely making it two steps when Ryder reached out and gently grasped my wrist.

  The skin-to-skin contact sent a jolt through me.

  Regret and something I couldn’t identify flashed in his eyes. “Presley, for what it’s worth, I’m sorry. Usually, I’m not that much of an asshole.”

  “Well, if it looks like a duck …” I trailed off, slipping my wrist from his grasp. “Let’s just get through lunch. Then, you can go your way, and I can go mine. And we’ll never have to see each other again.”

  “Is that what you want?”

  “Yes.” My tone held zero conviction.

  Ryder leaned in close. So close that I breathed in his clean, crisp scent.

  His warm breath tickled the shell of my ear. “We’ll see about that.” He started to walk away but turned back, sliding his fingers into his pockets. “Just so you know, we’re definitely going to see each other.” He began walking backward as he continued speaking, “Since you were jogging in my neighborhood, I’m guessing you live there too.” Ryder tipped his head toward the wall. “Factor in those two geriatric cupids out there, and it’s a done deal.” Smirk fixed on his sexy face, he gave a shrug and strode away.

  Geriatric cupids? I stifled a laugh.

  And his we’ll see about that?

  The unmistakable challenge in his voice wasn’t lost on me.

  Cocky bastard.

  I took a few seconds to regain my composure, and then I plastered a smile on my face and went to join the others at the table.

  Zeke’s constant commentary at lunch kept things from being too awkward.

  At least until Harriett put Ryder on the spot.

  “Ryder, you know, Presley just moved here from New York. You should show her around. Make her feel welcome.”

  A smirk played on Ryder’s lips while I nearly choked on my chicken salad sandwich.

  I reached for my glass of lemonade and took a long drink before setting it back on the table. “That’s very thoughtful, Harriett, but it’s not at all necessary.”

  “Oh, let the boy show you around, Pea,” Papa B insisted. “It’ll be good for you to get a real lay of the land.”

  I loved my grandpa. Really, I did. He was pretty much my favorite person in the entire world, but right now, I wanted to throttle him.

  It was the twenty-first century, for crying out loud. I was more than capable of using Google Maps. And I was familiar enough with the area not to get lost. Much.

  I am woman. Hear me roar and all that jazz.

  I needed to stay as far away from Ryder DeLuca as possible, so I tried again. “I’m sure Ryder has better things to do—”

  “I’d be happy to show you around,” he interjected.

  I silently added
Ryder’s name to my People to Throttle list.

  My gaze moved around the table.

  Harriett had a hopeful gleam in her eye.

  Papa B raised his brows while tilting his head ever so slightly in quiet encouragement.

  Zeke was too focused on pulling the crust off his peanut butter and jelly sandwich to concern himself with the grown-ups.

  Then, there was Ryder and his sexy damn smirk.

  Not wanting to make a scene, I conceded through semi-gritted teeth. “All right.”

  “Give me your number. We’ll figure out the details later.”

  Ryder pulled his phone from his pocket, punched in his passcode, and then held it out for me to take.

  I stared at it for a few seconds.

  “I don’t bite”—he lowered his voice so only I could hear him—“unless you want me to.”

  I glared at him and briefly entertained the idea of giving him a fake number but decided against it.

  There was no way in hell Harriett and my grandpa were letting this go.

  After I entered my contact information, I passed him back his phone.

  A few seconds later, my pocket vibrated. When I glanced across the table to Ryder, he winked at me.

  “Now, you have mine as well.”

  “Oh goody,” I muttered.

  “Mimi, I’m stuffed,” Zeke groaned. “Can I be done?”

  “May I be excused,” she corrected.

  “Mimi, may I be excused?” he repeated.

  “Yes, you may.”

  Zeke scooted out of his chair and started to head out of the kitchen.

  “Not so fast, little buddy.” Ryder stood and strode toward him.

  When he closed the distance, Ryder crouched down to Zeke’s level.

  “I gotta go to work. Be good for Mimi.”

  “I will.”

  “I’ll pick you up tomorrow afternoon.”

  “All right.”

  Ryder tugged Zeke to his chest. “I love you.”

  Holy ovary explosion, Batman.

  Zeke’s much smaller arms wrapped around Ryder’s neck. “Love you bigger.”

  Zeke bounded out of the room.

  Ryder stood to his full height.

  My eyes tracked him as he cleared his plate and Zeke’s too.

  “I hate to eat and run, but I really need to get to work,” Ryder said to nobody in particular.

  “Wait just a minute before you rush off.” Harriett got up from the table and then disappeared inside the pantry. When she came out, she had a plastic container filled with cookies. She extended the dish to Ryder. “I know how much you love them, so I made extra.”

  “You’re the best, Mimi.” Ryder took the treats from Harriett. “I knew you were up to something.”

  Laughter danced in her eyes. “How?”

  He gently shook the container. “Blessed Mess cookies. It’s a dead giveaway.”

  “Oh, you.” Harriett poked Ryder in the ribs before wrapping her slender arms around his midsection. When she pulled back, she placed her palms on Ryder’s cheeks and peered up at him. “You are my blessed mess. Though you’re not so much of a mess anymore. I’m proud of you, Ryder.”

  “You’re not so much of a mess anymore.”

  The words piqued my curiosity.

  “Thanks, Mimi.” Ryder dropped a kiss to the top of her head.

  Their exchange made me damn near melt despite the warning bell blaring in my head.

  A warning I needed to be mindful of.

  Otherwise, I’d end up back in Ryder DeLuca’s bed. And there was no way in hell that was going to happen.

  “Presley?”

  The sound of my name pulled me back to the present. My gaze found Ryder’s.

  “Would you mind walking me out?”

  All eyes were on me as Ryder waited for my answer, leaving me no choice but to agree.

  “Not at all.” I wiped my hands on my napkin and stood.

  Ryder shook hands with my grandfather, and after he hugged Harriett once more, I followed him out the door.

  We made our way down the sidewalk, coming to a stop in front of a Ford F-150.

  He set the cookies on the hood of the truck before meeting my eyes. “Have dinner with me.”

  I crossed my arms over my chest. “Now, why would I want to do that?”

  “How’s next Friday?” he pressed.

  “Ryder.”

  “One dinner, Pres. Let me explain.”

  The use of the nickname caused my heart to skip a beat. “You don’t owe me an explanation.”

  “Well, you’re getting one. It’s just not a conversation I can have right now.”

  “Can’t or won’t?” I asked, peering up at him.

  “Both,” he answered honestly.

  “Ryder—”

  “It’s too much to get into. Besides, I have a date with Mary. I gotta be in the right headspace.”

  I scowled at him. “Are you serious? You just asked me to dinner, and you have a date?”

  “Hold on a second, spitfire.” Ryder’s lips quirked into a teasing grin. “Mary is a sculpture.”

  I remembered something from one of our conversations long ago. “You’re a metal artist, right?”

  “You remembered.”

  I remember everything about you.

  I kept the thought to myself.

  Ryder looked almost sheepish. “The city is building a new children’s library. They received a generous donation from a benefactor, and I was commissioned to design some pieces based on children’s literary works.”

  Excitement bubbled up inside me. “So, Mary … is Mary Poppins?”

  He nodded, and my nerdy inner child squealed.

  “I’ll pick you up next Friday at seven.” He pulled his keys from his pocket.

  “I haven’t said yes.”

  “You will.” He grinned.

  “How can you be so sure?”

  “Given the way your eyes lit up, I’m going to venture that you’re a bookworm.”

  “You could say that.”

  “Then, I promise you won’t be disappointed.”

  “Fine. I’ll think about it.”

  He flashed his dimples, snatched the cookies from the hood, got in his truck, and drove away.

  I stood there until his truck disappeared from view before I made my way back inside.

  Five

  Ryder

  I set the welding torch on the worktable and raised my helmet. Using my forearm, I wiped the sweat from my brow and then slipped off my work gloves.

  For the last several hours, I’d been burying myself in work, doing my damnedest to push thoughts of Presley Gallagher from my mind.

  I owed her an explanation. I might have been a player back then, but I wasn’t an asshole. Leaving like a thief in the night was something I’d only done once and with good reason.

  Reasons I didn’t want to think about right now.

  Not here.

  Creating art afforded me solace from the things that kept me awake at night.

  This place was my escape.

  Inside these walls, I could shut out the world.

  Overlook my responsibilities.

  Pretend I didn’t resent my parents for dying. Ignore the subsequent guilt brought on by my resentment. Like a vicious fucking cycle.

  In here, I was free—for a while anyway.

  It wasn’t Zeke’s fault I had been thrust into the role of fatherhood. For that matter, it wasn’t my parents’ fault either. Rationally, I knew that, but the resentment and guilt went hand in hand.

  The ringing of my cell pulled me from my thoughts.

  My finger slid over the screen to answer the call.

  I heard my little brother’s voice before I even put the phone to my ear.

  “Hey, buddy,” I said.

  “Mimi told me to say good night. Her said I will probably fall asleep during the movie. I telled her I won’t.”

  I glanced out of the open steel roll-up door into the dark p
arking lot. I pulled the phone away from my ear and looked at the time. It was after nine.

  “Mimi’s probably right, bud. You ready?”

  “Yep. We say it together.”

  “All right.”

  “Close your eyes.”

  My lids fluttered shut. “They’re closed.”

  “Now I lay me down to sleep …”

  We recited the childhood prayer together. The one our parents had taught me and then Zeke. This was something I did for him. To keep their memory alive. Aside from the bedtime prayer, God and I weren’t on speaking terms.

  “Night, Ryder. Love you.”

  “Love you bigger.” I meant it, too, and as hard as it was sometimes, I knew I would be lost without him.

  I slipped the phone into my pocket and stretched my arms into the air. Rolling my neck side to side, I tried to loosen the tight, aching muscles.

  My stomach growled, reminding me I hadn’t eaten since lunch, and I was too damn exhausted to keep working.

  After I cleaned up and locked the door, I got in my truck. Before I even started the engine, I opened the container of cookies from Mimi.

  “This is the life,” I told Turtle, though I wasn’t sure which one of us I was trying to convince.

  On the way home, I’d stopped to pick up a few things.

  My feet were currently kicked up on the coffee table, next to the cardboard pizza box and a bottle of cold beer.

  The dog lay beside me on the couch. His big chocolate eyes tracked my hand as I lifted the slice of pizza to my mouth and took a bite.

  “Don’t look at me like that. Pepperoni gives you gas.”

  He army-crawled across the cushions. Inching closer until his snout was on my lap.

  “Dude, you’re killing me.”

  Turtle’s guilt-trip game was strong. He took puppy-dog eyes to a whole new level. Like he knew he’d eventually wear me down.

  He made a sound somewhere between a whimper and a sigh.

  “Enough already. You win.” I gave him the crust.

  He took his prize. Then, he ambled away to eat it in peace.

  “DeLuca, you are fucking pathetic.”

  Great. Now, I’m talking to myself.

  I wasn’t wrong.

  Because here I sat on a Saturday night. Twenty-eight and single.

  Instead of getting laid, I was at home, alone, talking to my dog while drinking a beer and streaming reruns of Lost.