“I think Can’t Buy Me Love is the best.”
“I don’t think that’s John Hughes.”
“Of course it is. I know my John Hughes movies. Breakfast Club. Sixteen Candles. Can’t Buy Me Love.” I list them off on my fingers.
“I’ll bet you it’s not John Hughes.”
I thrust out my chin, positive he’s going to lose. “You’re on. What do you want to bet?”
“If I win, you run with me. No bitching that it’s still dark out. No whining about the time.”
“Why would we have to go so early?”
“We have to get in a run before you go to work.”
I close my eyes, hating the idea of running at all, let alone when it’s still dark. At least I don’t have to worry about it since I know I’m right. “Fine. If I win, you never ask me to go for a run with you again.”
“Deal.” We shake on it. He then pulls out his phone and IMDb’s it. I’m crushing my boobs against him as I squint to read the screen. When I see the name of the director, I drop my jaw, shocked. “Who the hell is Steve Rash?”
“The director of your John Hughes movie.” He stands and grabs my empty glass. “We have enough for one more each. Should we?”
“Why not live dangerously?” I hate to run so why not run with a hangover? That should make the waking hell known as jogging at the butt crack of dawn before the morning shift at the diner even more awesome.
32
{Emma}
My calves hurt. My hips hurt. My head hurts. I can’t breathe. So far, this whole jogging thing really sucks ass. “Can we take a break?”
“We haven’t even gone half a mile. No.”
“Ryan,” I whine, not ashamed I sound like a five-year-old. I’m panting and sweating profusely as I attempt to keep up with him. He’s not even breathing hard, the asshole. “Sweet Jesus on a scooter, would you please take pity on me? I’m not used to this.”
He turns and jogs backward, that crooked grin on his face. I hate him, despite how goddamn good he looks right now. “How are the shoes holding up?”
“The shoes are fine,” I say and gasp for air. “It’s the rest of me that’s falling apart.”
“Which is why we’re jogging.” He grins wide.
How dare he sound like he’s standing still. “You could stop making it look so easy.”
“Three weeks.”
My brain is in a fog and clearly shutting down. “What?”
“We have three weeks until the DASH.”
“Two,” I correct and swallow to wet my throat. When he stops jogging in place, I hold my finger up in a V to give him the visual.
“No, it’s three.”
“Sorry. It’s two.”
“But…” He trails off and blinks several time as his brow furrows sharply when I hold up my phone to show him. “I thought we had a whole month.”
“So did I. Apparently we were both wrong. Spring break is in two weeks, not three.”
“No. That’s too soon.”
I agree but admit to nothing. “It’s all good. I’ll be dead by then.” I hold myself up by placing my hands on my knees. “You do this every day? On purpose?”
“We’ll jog every morning until the DASH. I guarantee you’ll change your tune.” He turns and runs forward. “Try to keep up.”
I so hate him right now. Even though I’m positive I’ll collapse before the end of the run, I force myself to match his pace. Sort of. I’m more running behind him as he slows for me to catch up. By the time I reach him, he’s grinning, so I push him into the bushes. I giggle—that is until he jumps out and comes after me. I scream and sprint away, laughing.
We spend the next hour bumping shoulders, pushing each other into obstacles, and trying to outdo the other. By the time we make it back to the mod, I’m practically crawling. My legs are rubber. I collapse on his couch and barely have the strength to accept the water bottle he hands me. I twist off the cap and drain half of it before leaning my head on the back of the cushions.
“How are you feeling?” he asks me as he bounces around the mod like the damn Energizer Bunny.
“I’m never moving again.” How am I going to change for work when everything hurts? I’ll have to call in sick. Hell, at this rate, I’ll call in dead. That’s how I feel. Kayla is going to kill me. “Hand me my phone. I need to call work.”
“It’s on the table in front of you.”
“I know. I can’t move.”
He chuckles and grabs it. “Would you like me to dial the number?”
If I could move, I’d make him pay for mocking me. I’m dying. I accept the phone and dial. It’s still early, but Kayla is always at the diner half an hour before it opens.
She answers on the first ring. “If you’re calling in sick, I’m telling Alfonse you’re just hungover.”
I was hungover. Those maraschino martinis did a number on me. “I lost a bet.”
“Come again?”
“Remember the guy I told you about?” I glance at Ryan, who’s listening to every word. I give him a look. He gets the hint and goes into the bathroom.
“Your fake boyfriend?”
“That’s the one.” I hear the shower and wish I could move. Hot water on my achy muscles would feel so good right now. “I bet him Can’t Buy Me Love was a John Hughes movie.”
“It’s not. It’s Steve Rash.”
“How’d you know that?” Like I need to ask. Kayla is the smartest person I know. I glance down the hall and imagine the person in the shower. Well, maybe the second smartest. Ryan definitely has one hell of a brain to go along with all his other great assets.
“Does it matter? So, does this bet involve you calling in sick?”
“He made me run, Kay.” I can’t even raise my voice, positive that will hurt, too.
“Oh, shit. Like for real run? How far?”
“Too far. I have no idea how many miles, only that it took us over an hour. One hour of running. No breaks. He wants me to do this every morning for the next two weeks.”
“Too bad it’s not three. It takes twenty-one days to form a habit,” she informs me, always the wealth of information.
“It doesn’t matter. I’ll be dead within a week.”
“This will be good for you, Em. Maybe now you won’t get so tired during rushes.”
Not her, too. “So, are we good?”
“It’s pretty slow this morning, so you’re lucky. You’d better find a way to make it in tomorrow. Sundays are the busiest day of the week. We’re lucky Rosa and Vivian covered for us last week.”
“I’ll be there, even if I’m in a body cast.” Besides, I need the money. Sundays are also the best tips. Catering to those hungover—and those still drunk—is very beneficial. Since we were both hungover as hell last Sunday and had to have two other waitresses cover our shift, we both need the money. Especially after my shoe purchase.
Listening, I still hear the shower, giving me a few more minutes of privacy. I can talk to Kayla about things I can’t say to Britt, and I need someone to talk to about this. Whatever this is. “Hey, Kay? Got a second to talk?”
“Diner doesn’t open for another ten minutes. Alfonse is in the back singing away. He’ll be crushed his singing partner won’t be coming in today.”
I love my boss and smile. He’s a great boss and a great singer, greeting us every morning with his favorite classics. Well, to him, they’re probably today’s Top Forty. To everyone else, they’re considered the oldies.
“I think I may be in trouble here,” I confess out loud for the first time.
“Because you can’t move? Or because you’re falling for your project?”
“He’s not my project. Come on. We talked about this. You promised.”
“What else do you want me to call this? It’s exactly what you called him the first time you told me about him and then again after our fourth glass of boxed wine. My head still hurts. I’ll never drink boxed wine again.”
I ignore her lecture. “I thi
nk I may be getting the feels.”
“Em, no.”
“I can’t help it. He’s doing everything right.”
“Of course he is. You’re turning him into exactly what you want. You. You’re not turning him into a player. You’re turning him into your version of a player. That’s a very subjective version.”
“So says the person hung up on a total player.”
“No, I’m not.” She’s not pleased with the mention of his name. “I happen to be dating someone else.”
I try to sit forward and give up. It’s no use. My muscles refuse to work. “You are? Who?”
“His name is Ian. You remember him. He comes into the diner sometimes.”
“Kay, no.” I groan as the disappointment seeps through my tone. Yes, I remember him. He belittles the waitresses like we have to impress him to be in his presence, and pollutes the air with puffs of weird-smelling steam as he vapes. Jake Swanson doesn’t do any of that.
Jake wins.
“Don’t judge me. I will hang up on you.”
“He’s not going to get you over Jake,” I push, willing to risk the hang-up.
“No, he’s not.” She sighs and falls silent. “Anyway, back to you. Do you have the feels for the real Ryan? Or do you have the feels for the guy you’re turning him into? They aren’t one in the same.”
“I don’t know.” They feel like they are one in the same. Maybe that’s my problem. I can’t tell the difference anymore.
“Until you do, I suggest you keep your feels to yourself. Don’t give him reason to think this is anything more than what it is. You two are using each other. Not in a bad way, but not really in the best way, either. It’s not right.”
“We’re not…” I trail off knowing my defense is about as strong as hers is when we talk about Jake Swanson. “You really think it’s not right?
“You’re grooming him into a player to get into a party,” she points out matter-of-factly. “What’s right about that?”
33
{Emma}
Now that I have Kayla covering for me at work, I can melt into a permanent fixture right here on the couch and never move again. There’s no way I can do this again tomorrow. I’m spent.
He walks into the kitchen with a spring in his step, and I hate him for it. “Do you want some breakfast?”
“I’m good with whatever.” I’m still in recovery mode and can barely keep my eyes open. I close my eyes and don’t open them again until I feel Ryan nudge me. I blink awake. “Did I fall asleep?”
“Yep. Your midterm is done, by the way.”
I jerk upright. “You finished my hello world project?” I rub my eyes and stretch.
He laughs. “I’ve got the laptop primed and ready for you to make something up for my midterm.”
“You want me to work on that thing?”
“What’s wrong with it?” He glances at the massive computer.
“It looks like it has launch codes and can control satellites.” I take my time standing. My muscles are stiff, my legs rubbery, but I’ll live.
“Don’t tell me you have an aversion to powerful laptops on top of your fear of eggs.”
“What if I break it?” I can’t even enter my password without needing help.
“It’s pretty solid. I don’t think you can break it. But, uh… Don’t try.”
“Fun sucker.” I sit at the counter and wiggle my fingers over the keys. “Give me three things you’d write about.”
“How about you just make something up,” he says with a shrug of his yummy shoulders.
I can’t even look at him without having naughty thoughts. Next thing I know, I’ll have penned the next Fifty Shades. I’m not into the whole room of pain thing, but if I was, I’d want Ryan to be my Mr. Gray.
No, damn it. I need to stop thinking about him when I have to make good on my half of our deal. I spot a couple files on his desktop labeled sensitive, so of course, I open them. His phone buzzes and he answers, but I barely hear him. I’m too fixated on words like data retrieval for something called TREX—whatever that is.
“Hello? Yes.” He glances my way before placing his back to me. “Just a sec.” He says over his shoulder, “I have to take this. I’ll be right back.” He disappears into his bedroom, closing the door behind him.
I read more. It’s an overview of several foundations, including the Ryan Foundation. For the first time, I realize Ryan has the same last name. Coincidence? It’s a pretty common last name. But, then again, why would he be saving information on his laptop about a foundation that shares his name? Maybe he’s looking at getting a scholarship.
I read on and had no idea the Ryan Foundation benefited so many universities in addition to Bainbridge University. I’m one of the two scholarship recipients the foundation has paid to attend BU. It looks like the foundation offers the same two scholarships to several universities. That’s cool. I’m honored to be a part of something so awesome.
The bedroom door opens and I quickly close the files, and bring up the paper. I know exactly what to write and get started. A kid on the streets wants to be a doctor. A kid with wild brown hair and a lopsided grin. As he’s stealing a bicycle, he spots a guy crossing the street. A racing car. It runs the light. The kid jumps into action, pulling the guy out of the way just as the car speeds by. The guy is so grateful he takes him in. He’s like a Daddy Warbucks and offers to pay the kid’s college in return for saving his life. In my story, Daddy Warbucks is Stuart Ryan, although I change the name to protect the innocent.
I smile as the words come faster and faster. By the time Ryan joins me at the kitchen island, I’m well on my way to giving him a midterm paper worthy of an easy A.
“How’s it going?”
“Awesome. I’ll have your paper done in an hour.”
He chuckles. “Pretty sure of yourself.”
“How long did it take you to do mine?”
“Less than an hour.”
“I rest my case.”
I follow through on my promise and have the paper done in an hour. With edits. The story practically wrote itself. Smiling at my triumph, I save the file and close the laptop. “Done.”
“Thanks.” He’s changed into a pair of his new jeans and one of his custom shirts I shrunk. I have just one word.
Damn.
He’s oh my God hot. Like if I saw him in the bar looking the way he does right now, I’d take him home and never let him leave. I can’t believe my nipples are tightening as a distinctive tingling sparks to life, wetting my panties. I want him between my legs, first his mouth, then his cock. He has me horny as hell by doing nothing more than standing there.
I’m in serious trouble.
[Ryan]
“No, you can’t just shoot. You have to aim. Save your ammo.”
Emma laughs that throaty laugh and it distracts me from my task. I have zombies to kill, but I can’t do that when she’s sitting next to me in nothing but one of my T-shirts and sexy-as-shit boy briefs. I couldn’t stop myself when she was in sweats and a sweatshirt. I’m a complete goner in what she has on now.
“But the dude was clearly a zombie.”
“She’s right,” ZombKiller says through the headset. I only know my team by their screen names. “If she wouldn’t have taken him out, I’d be dead. Thanks, ERae69.”
I give her a look and cover my mic. “Did you really need to choose that screen name?”
“I’m nothing if not consistent.”
“You’re a lot more than that.” She is. She really is.
“Don’t read more into it. It’s just easy to remember.” She doesn’t even bother to cover her mic. She shrugs like it’s no big deal. Between her screen name and her husky voice, she’s no doubt got my entire team panting for a little one-on-one. Too damn bad. She’s mine until the DASH and I plan on making the most of it. I only have two weeks left.
Sharing her with my team isn’t making the most of my time with her. My cock has been hard since she chose that scre
en name. Images of our own sixty-nine conjure up in my head, making my balls ache. I’m never going to last all night if I can’t stop thinking about her on top of me, her mouth sliding on my flesh as I drink her sweet juices.
“I like her screen name,” Die4Now speaks up.
“You’re not helping,” I tell him. He’s not allowed to insert himself into the conversation with my fake girlfriend. None of them are.
“Are you going to bitch about my screen name? Or are you going to get your head in the game?” Emma shoots a zombie that snuck up behind me, saving my life. “You’re welcome.”
“You use too much ammo,” I tell her, trying to find something she’s doing wrong. She can’t play TDM for the first time and outplay me. I’ve been playing this game for years and beat it more times than I can count. Who is she to not even understand the story behind it and still play better than me?
“Fun sucker,” she replies and giggles as she shoots two more zombies. Goddamn her laugh. It fills my senses and renders me helpless but to do something that will have her laughing again.
“I think he’s jealous you’re better at this than he is, ERae.” NytroVenom speaks up.
Emma lifts her brow as she shrugs. “I guess you’re not the only one with natural talent.” I widen my eyes and cover my mic to say something when a shit storm of shots ring out, pulling my attention to the screen as zombies come at us from every direction.
“Zomb? Where are you, man?” He’s supposed to cover my back.
“Incoming!” ZombKiller shouts. I swing my avatar around and shoot, but there’re too many. My lifeline is quickly shrinking as the zombies overtake me. When my life is blinking red and I’ve got maybe one hit left in me before I’m out, another avatar appears.
“I’ve got you, babe.” Emma’s brow is furrowed in concentration as she rushes in, taking out every zombie about to kill me. She’s got her tongue swiping across her lower lip and damn if it isn’t an awesome sight. When the last zombie falls, she then moves her avatar to me and transfers some of her life. We now have a half-life each.
Reluctant Hero (TREX Rookies Book 1) Page 23
