“Oh, it’s even more than I thought, isn’t it?”
I clench my teeth.
“Come on, Pips, how many?”
“Three twenty-six,” I grumble. “Last I checked.”
“As in, threehundredand twenty-six?” Ryan echoes, and I roll my eyes.
“That is what I said.”
Something flashes in his eyes that I can’t name. Then his lip curls into a sneer. “See what happens when you don’t act so sexless and uptight?”
The barb digs right into my skin. “I amnotsexless!”
“Hey, I’m not saying it’s your fault. Some women just aren’t into sex. You know—” He strolls closer to me, counting on his fingers. “Frigid bitches, elementary school librarians, and apparently, Pippa Murphy.”
I take a furious step toward him, poking him in the chest. “Just because I’m not trying to get in the Guiness Book ofSexRecords like you doesn’t mean I’m frigid! Ilikesex.”
His brown eyes narrow. “I’m sure you do. Let me guess—lights off, missionary, and total silence? Am I far off? Ooo, I bet you even keep your bra on.”
“I’m not even wearing one now!” I hiss, punching a hole in his stupid logic, wondering why I even care what he thinks aboutmysex life.
Ryan’s eyes darken, then dip down to my neckline. I instinctively draw a sharp breath, and I realize I’m practically close enough to brush up against his chest. His musky cologne goes straight to my head, and suddenly my mouth feels dry as hell. I take a shuddering breath, and my chest almost grazes his. Static electricity licks at the narrow space between our bodies, and any second now it’s going to start a fire I hope burns all his pretty hair right off his head.
Then my stiletto heel snaps.
My left ankle goes out underneath me, and I reach for something to hold onto, tumbling to the floor.
Ryan grabs my arms just in time, hauling me up against his body with a curse. My hands land on his chest as I try to catch my balance, and I raise my chin to look at him just as he glances down at me.
The whiskey is spicy on his lips. I know because his lower one brushes against mine and I gasp, frozen at the surprise contact despite the heat rushing through my chest. My heartbeat is pulsing loud in my ears.
My fingers twist into his shirt and he falters a step with me in his arms, his dark eyes falling to my mouth, throat bobbing.
All it would take is one of us to lean in and?—
Crash!
The sound of glasses toppling to the floor in the next room shatters the stillness and I spring back from Ryan just as Mom’s voice carries in from outside the kitchen.
“I’ll go get the mop!”
Instantly, Ryan turns and plucks the bottle of whiskey from the counter behind him, all innocence as he says, “Found where Dad was hiding the good stuff,” and shakes the whiskey bottle like it’s a trophy as Mom bustles past him.
“Careful,” she calls back to him. “Mind the glass.”
“Oh!” Mom’s hand covers her mouth when she sees me, and for a moment I think,she caught us,which is ridiculous because we didn’t do anything wrong. We weren’tgoing todo anything wrong. And I’m not fifteen years old anymore.
“Pippa, there you are.”
“I–I—” In my attempt to stammer an explanation, all I do is prove I’m too flustered to string two words together.
“Oh, sweetie,” she comes over to me, picking up the broken bit of stiletto from the tile. “Not again! I know how long you saved to buy those. What happened?”
Yes! The shoes.
I put on a pout. “I don’t know, it just gave out.”
