Chapter 1
Ryder
I don’t think he’s looked up from her tits even once. Not that I could blame him; she was cute, but you’d think he’d at least try not to make it so painfully obvious.
Sipping my beer, I watched from the corner, keeping to the shadows to avoid attention. It wasn’t easy, not with my height and unnervingly symmetrical features, but in my line of work you learned to disappear when it mattered.
“I’m sorry, did you say something?” the man asked, finally meeting his date’s eyes.
“I asked whether you’ve memorised the freckles on my breasts yet,” she said, her mellifluous voice somehow still warm despite hardening with irritation. “Or do you need a little longer?”
I snorted, covering my face with my arm when she looked back over her shoulder at the sound. She had one of those tones that reminded me of chocolate, rich and velvety. A voice that would sound amazing with a post-sex huskiness. But I was getting ahead of myself. She wasn’t on a date with me. No, she had met with this fuckwit.
On a blind date, no less. I knew this because my observation skills were honed to perfection due to a ratherunglamorous upbringing, and also because the pretty blonde that held my attention had posted a story on her Instagram.
Social media, invented by stalkers.
“Alright, you caught me. But how could I resist?” the man chuckled, trying to charm his way out of it. “You’re just so beautiful.”
“Hmm,” she hummed, lips pursed into a thin line as she tapped her finger on the side of her glass. “It’s getting late, Richard. I think I’m going to go.” She went to stand, only for her wrist to be caught by his hand.
Of course his name was Richard. He looked like a dick, with his coiffed hair and pompous watch that I was eighty percent sure was fake. It made total sense.
“What? You haven’t even finished your dessert.” He looked around, as if the rundown pub he’d decided to take her to was the fucking Savoy. “Come on, I promised Bridget I’d show you a good time. Sit down.”
I could tell Violet wanted to leave, her eyes darting to the doors as if her sanctuary was just out of reach, but she was clearly too polite for her own good.
“Sit, down,” he commanded with a little more authority. “You can’t just get up after I’ve bought you dinner. At least stay for one more drink? Please?”
I could see his fingers had tightened, almost yanking her back down to her seat.
“One more,” she said, her tone hardening a little even as her smile was tight.
Mr Fuckwit Dickingdon smirked, raising his arm to order. “So, did Bridget tell you I’m a footballer?” he continued almost immediately, as if he hadn’t just forced her to stay.
Violet let out a long breath, smiling at the waitress as she set down their drinks. “She said you were her dentist.”
He shrugged nonchalantly. “I do that too, but I’m also a midfielder for the Vanguard Lions. We’re part of the National League South, close to being promoted next season.”
Dick’s eyes had returned to her cleavage, and if Violet’s glare could burn, he’d have combusted by now.
That’s it, love. Have some fight.
“I can’t believe Bridget didn’t tell you.”
I’d put money down that he wouldn’t be seeing those pretty tits outside her dress anytime soon. If ever.
“I don’t really know much about football,” she said, and she deserved a gold star with how she faked that enthusiasm. See? She was way too polite. Too friendly despite him being a right prick. She’d be eaten alive in my world.
“That’s okay. I don’t really know much about… what do you do again?” Dick’s sleazy smirk felt like oil on my skin, and he wasn’t givingmethe ‘fuck me’ eyes. What was she doing on a date with a douchebag like him?
“I’m an artist.”
“An artist?” he repeated, almost genuinely curious about her answer. “Are artists still a thing?”
“Well,” she replied, her expression brightening, “I specialise in murals and paintings, but I can also?—”
“Wait,” he scoffed, “you’re being serious? You actually make money from that?”
