PIPPA
Ishould have known that any guy who accepted a date with me two days before Christmas would come waving all the red flags.
Charlie’s profile looked fine—boring, but fine. He had brown hair, brown clothes, and a face I could best describe asregular.He loved playing video games and hiking.
“Can I get you another Diet Coke?” the bartender asks. She’s in her fifties with full sleeves of tattoos, and she’s already let me know that she’s profoundly unimpressed by men as a whole. I shake my head. “I’m good, thanks. Probably shouldn’t have any more caffeine this late.”
“I can get you something a little stronger if you want, on the house. ‘Cause you know, I’ve been on plenty of shitty dates in my life, too.”
“Thanks, but I’m good.”
“Men these days. They think they can get away with caveman bullshit. I don’t know what the internet told them all…”
That starts her off on a long rant about how computers are ruining all our lives. I just pretend to listen and nod. Most days,listening to a colorful character like her would be my idea of a good night. Unfortunately, at the moment, I can’t really focus.
My date didn’t do anything wrong, but the vibes were off the whole night. He’d stare too intently at me, or ask really intimate questions about my past sex life. Then, after I went to the bathroom, he suddenly seemed very invested in me drinking my wine. He was so pushy, I started wondering if he put something in it. That’s when I called Ryan.
Or rather, Cat. When I went to my recent calls, I accidentally pressed the number under hers—Ryan’s.
I’ve been avoiding him since the White Elephant party. Because kissing your stepbrother is one thing. Letting him fuck you until you’re screaming his name is another. I’m not ready to face my mistake just yet.
In the end, Charlie left the restaurant after calling me on my obviously fake call.
I considered calling an Uber and telling Ryan not to bother coming, but the restaurant is close enough to the House of Cards that Ryan should be here any second.
Just then, Ryan bursts through the door. People’s heads turn to look at him as he scans the room, looking for me. His messy hair is even wilder than usual, like he spent the whole drive here raking his fingers through it. Even I’m taken aback with how intent his eyes look—like he’s hunting for someone, almost.
The hostess hesitates, clearly scared to talk to him.
“Can I help you, sir?”
He ignores her, still searching the restaurant for me. As soon as he spots me, his focus narrows. His long strides eat up the distance between us, and my body stiffens. Damn it, he’s going to yell at me for being irresponsible and not vetting my dates enough. That’s what he accused me of after he interrupted my date with the crypto dude.
Instead, he shocks me by pulling me into his arms for a rough hug. I’m surrounded by his familiar musky scent, shielded from the world by his chest. My body instinctively relaxes against him before my mind can even process it.
“You good?” he asks roughly. I give a tiny nod and he pulls away to inspect me. His eyes rake over my face, my neck, my body. “Did he touch you? Where is he?”
“I’m fine. He left. You shouldn’t have come.”
“Well, I’m here now.”
“You didn’t have to come,” I repeat, my voice wobbling.
“Yeah,” he grits out. “Well, you don’t get to drunk-dial me and then decide I’m optional.”
Ryan glances up at the bartender. “She’s paid up?”
The bartender nods. “She’s good.”
He shrugs off his jacket and wraps it around me. Underneath, he’s only wearing a ratty white T-shirt, but I can tell by his expression he’s not about to take the jacket back, even if I offer. His jaw is tense, his eyes narrowed and dark. He actually seems pissed.
I’ve never seen Ryan actually angry. Annoyed, sure—usually because I’m goading him. But he’s the type of guy to let things slide off his back, not get under his skin.
My mouth feels dry, and my relief gives way to worry. Something feels off. Ryan seems angrier than he should be…maybe even angry at me?
He wraps his arm around my shoulder and pulls me against his side as he leads me out of the restaurant. Outside, it’s so cold that I can see my breath in the air. Despite Ryan’s protective position, he moves so quickly that I have to trot to keep up with him.
His car’s idling outside, the keys still in the ignition. I want to lecture him for being an idiot—anyone could have driven away with his Mustang—but the words die on my tongue. My instinctstell me to keep my mouth shut, for once, instead of baiting him. He opens the passenger side door for me, then slams it shut the second I’m seated. I scramble to get my seatbelt on fast.
