All the times I’ve met him over the years, he’s never seen me as the woman I’ve become. I wondered if I was fooling myself. I wanted a sign that Ryder would one day be mine. And now, here it is! I’m his pet sitter. I’m living in his house. I’m sleeping with his dog, if not him.
And the timing couldn’t be more perfect. When I was a dramatic sixteen-year-old, I gave my love for Ryder Black a time limit. I swore that if he didn’t fall for me in ten years, I’d give up trying. And when that decade passed, I’d move on, no matter what. The ten-year deadline expires at the end of the summer on my birthday. So this is my last chance. It’s do or die time for my long-held crush.
Now that the initial shock is wearing off, perhaps I can see this situation as a gift from the universe. Maybe the loss of my store was part of some grand plan to be here this summer.
Or maybe I shouldn’t follow so many manifestation accounts on Instagram.
Most people think I’m not self-aware. But that’s not true. I just choose to ignore the boring, crappy parts of life and focus on the happy. For example, I’d rather imagine that Ryder sees me as a golden sex goddess and not an annoying child.
And maybe, with this time and proximity that we have now, I can finally make my imaginings a reality because he can’t escape me, not here.
We’re in the middle of an artsy, yuppy small town. A place that’s so tiny you can walk the main street in a few minutes. A place that sports a fudgery, an ice cream shop, one bar, a few restaurants, a dozen boutiques, and a handful of art galleries. It’s so small that stores just randomly close at the owner’s whim, and you never know when any of them will be open. Come tothink of it, it’s exactly how I approached my business in San Francisco. I guess I see why Olivia kept warning me I needed to stop closing in the middle of the day. Itisannoying for customers.
Regardless, I’m going to spend this time making sure that Ryder knows I’m no longer the girl he knew when I was sixteen. I’ve changed a lot in the last decade. I’m a little wiser and don’t break into random fits of crying. I dress better. I laugh more. I know how to flirt and drive guys crazy. I’ve embraced my curly hair. Really, my hair back then was tragic. Frizz for days. I’ve also grown a pair of quite spectacular breasts, if I do say so myself. They may be petite, like me, but they’re perky.
And I’m going to show up in front of him with those breasts displayed to their best advantage as often as I can.
I begin to think and make plans.
As I climb the hill, I feel my usual optimism return. With every step, my smile widens.
And as I approach the front entrance, I find my main-character energy returning, something I thought I’d lost along with my business.
“He won’t know what hit him,” I tell Archie as I open the large wooden door.
And run straight into the man I was just thinking about. I fall back a little, dazed. His chest is bare.Sansclothes. My eyes widen as they greedily devour every sinew and shadow of muscle, every line of sexy tattoo. He’s wearing black swim shorts. A towel is slung around his neck, water droplets decorating all that tanned skin and eight-pack. A thin line of hair leads into his shorts. He must have come from a swim. A gold medallion hangs from his neck, jewelry I’ve never seen him without.
I gulp and tamp down any doubt that I’ll be able to wrap this incredible man around my finger. I’m Daisy freaking Lane. Delusional is part of my DNA. It’s my charm. My superpower.
I once bought a 1962 Dior gown in perfect condition for twenty dollars. I talked Simon Lacey of the Savannah Laceys into letting me purchase his late wife’s entire wardrobe for next to nothing. I made the up-and-coming movie star Tate Daniels cry when I told him I didn’t want to sleep with him, though it’s possible he was crying because I’d just backed his Ferrari into a fence trying to reverse into a tight parking spot in New York City.
With perseverance and a thousand-point turn, I fit into that parking spot, despite a little damage.
I did that. I can do this.
“Well, well, well. Isn’t this a happy surprise? Ryder and Ryder’s chest coming out to greet me.” I run a finger down the line of his pec, reveling in the warmth and strength of him.
Our skin touching sparks electric shocks through me, like it always does. Not that we’ve touched much throughout the years, other than casual, accidental brushes of skin on skin. But each time, a fire ignites in me like it does now.
He takes a quick step back, his eyes flaring, before he schools his features into a mask of polite formality. “We need to talk and clarify some things about your…duties…while I’m staying here.”
He’s all business, as if I’m nothing but a normal employee and he’s my boss. I mean, it’s true. But it makes me want to needle him.
“Whoo, it’s hot today, isn’t it?” I say. I unbutton my long-sleeved white shirt I’d changed into after the mud fiasco. It comes to mid-thigh and falls apart from my body, showcasing my jean shorts and even pink bikini under it.
As I step past Ryder in the doorway, my body presses against his. He sucks in a shaky breath at the contact, which makes mesmile. Maybe he isn’t as indifferent to me as he acts. He watches with an intense, albeit grumpy, expression.
“You coming?” I taunt. “Where do you want to meet to discuss things? My bedroom is very comfy. And there’s air conditioning when it gets too warm,” I suggest. God, I love teasing him. But something feels different. Normally, we’re surrounded by my brother and their friends. But now, on this estate, it’s just us.
He shakes his head. “One day, someone’s going to take your flirting seriously, and then what will you do?” he says, his voice rough.
“There’s only one way to find out. Why don’t you try it and see,” I challenge.
“We can talk by the pool. Unless that’s too hot for you.” He raises an eyebrow.
I just roll my eyes and follow him through the doors to the pool.
“Come on,” I say to the dog, who follows us. “Boss man wants to talk.”
