“You’ve got the look.” Her next glance my way bears an edge of coquetry. “Tall, dark, and mysterious.”
“Are you flirting with me?” It feels like she is as her heels clip-clip against the pavement to keep time with my regular strides. But she’s in the driver’s seat, and I’m just along for the ride.I kind of like that too.
“Just paying you a compliment. If we’re judging books by covers, I’m saying you look like you’re an expert of some kind. Dangerous. Confident. You might kill for a living. But you’d be a hit man with a heart. This is fate, Matt. You were meant to be by my side tonight.”
I say nothing, mainly because I’m more like her pawn than her savior. But something tells me Ryan doesn’t play damsel in distress very often, so maybe I should be flattered.
“You haven’t asked what I think about you, aside from your balls of steel.”
She pulls a face. “I’m almost afraid to hear more.”
I give a low chuckle. “Now, that I don’t believe.”
“The hotel isn’t very far,” she says, changing the conversational direction.
“Yeah, I know where the Pierre is.”
“Do you live in Manhattan?” There’s an edge of discomfort in her question.
I fight a frown. “I’m only here for the wedding. For the weekend.”
“Really?”Was that surprise or gladness?“All the way from Ireland?”
I give a noncommittal shrug.
“It’s a long way to come for an ex’s wedding.”
“Yeah, I’m nice like that.” Fuck. I’m even saying it about myself now.
“You’re sure it wasn’t a Hail Mary?”
“I object, you mean?” I pull a face. “Nah. What about you—you live here?”
“Lower East.”
So much for being able to pay me well. I mean, all housing is expensive in Manhattan, but the Lower East Side is no view of the park.
We pause at the crosswalk, ignoring the waft of trash carried on the unseasonably warm breeze. Late October tends to be transitional, but the city is definitely resisting the change of season. The light changes, and we step out, then dodge a DoorDash cyclist who plows through the light. Ryan squeaks and clutches my arm, all awkward smiles and embarrassment a moment later.
She’s fucking adorable in the moment. Not so adorable is the noise my stomach makes at the greasy scent of meat from a nearby food truck. I could go for a gyro. It’s been hours since I’ve eaten.
“I hope there’s food at this wedding. I’m so hungry I could eat the hind leg off the Lamb of God.”
“What?” Her answer gurgles with amusement.
“I need food.”
“There’s food. Six hundred dollars a plate, so I heard.” Her gaze dips to the slender watch on her wrist. “But I imagine the meal will be over by the time we get there.”
“Great,” I mutter. Not even a feed out of my good deed.Supposed good deed.
“If anyone asks, we should say your plane got in late. The timing might work in our favor.” The latter she adds under her breath.
“Not for my stomach. I’m half starved.”
“You don’t look it.”
Go ahead and call me a peacock, because I fucking preen under that verbal slip. “I’m a big lad,” I say, not bothering to make that sound like anything other than what it is. “I’m not cheap to and kind of hard to satiate, once I get going.”
