My gaze flicked back to Ryder, and I waited for some sign that he was only kidding. I saw nothing of the sort, not even when his lips curved into a knowing smile, like my barista act wasn't fooling him one bit.
I opened my mouth to say something – I didn't even know what – when the friend added, "Make it half cookies, halfmuffins, alright? You pick the flavors – whatever's best. Just no raisin, okay?"
Once again, I looked to Ryder, whose gaze had gone steely, even if his mouth was still curved into that maddening smile.Talk about a mixed message.
As for my own mouth, it felt tight and dry, like it was about to go on strike. Still, I managed to say, "Perfect. I'll be right back with your order."
And then, I turned and fled into the back, leaving the crowd of customers waiting – maybe forever if I made a break for it.
5
Of Choosers and Losers
Ryder
The moment she disappeared through that swinging door, I knew she hadn't gone for pastries.
No. She'd gone to regroup.
I'd seen that look before – wide eyes, locked jaw, breath caught somewhere between fight and flight.
Next to me, Griff eyed the nearby pastry case, filled with everything from bagels to biscotti. He didn't say it, but I knew exactly what he was thinking.Why not box up some of those?
Good question.
I had a few answers, but none I felt like sharing, especially when Griff leaned toward me and hissed, "If there's spit in my coffee, it'll be your fault."
Hell, this whole thing was my fault. But I couldn't regret it.
Last night in Chicago, drowning in whiskey and trash-talk, we'd played one hell of a poker game – not for money, at least not near the end.
Money, we had plenty.
But bragging rights, clout, or whatever you called it – that was the real prize, which was why, at the very end, I'd tossed out a challenge I'd been planning for weeks.
Loser had to go away for a whole month.
And the winner? They got to pick the place.
Who won and who lost?
Well, let's just say I was the chooser, not the loser.
Me,I'dflown in, nice and easy.But Griff?He wasn't so lucky. For him, I'd arranged a long-ass limo ride followed by an houron the ferry, giving him the perfect reminder that money had its perks.
Histrip had taken most of the night. Mine had taken barely an hour, giving me a good night's sleep in Chicago and enough bonus-time to surprise Griff by showing up to meet him.
By private jet.
Hell, I'd gotten here so fast, I'd actually had the pleasure of watching Griff drag himself off the ferry – and carrying his own bag, too, which someone had promptly tried to steal.
Yeah, he just lovedthat.
All this to say, there was a reason he looked like the poster boy for bad decisions, and I felt fresh as a daisy.
Did I feel guilty?
Hell no.
