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I-M-P-A-L-E-D
“Unnecessary roughness? Are you kidding?” Bill’s raspy voice echoed down the hall.
Claire heard the expletives pouring out of the entertainment room from the top of the stairs off the kitchen. She’d only gotten lost a few times in her search for football and an escape from pretension. Straight after dinner, Ryder went upstairs to “wrap up the meeting” from earlier. She had no idea what that meant, but she wasn’t surprised. She’d tossed her sweater in their bedroom before heading downstairs for the game. Not wanting to risk another fiery blush at her proximity to Grady, she opted for the lighter weight white cotton t-shirt.
From the arched doorway to the entertainment room, Claire took in the scene. It was quite a setup. A pair of overstuffed black leather sofas faced each other around a large, tiled coffee table, and two plush recliners were aimed at the TV screen. Bill looked like a king on his throne, his feet up and empty beer glass clutched tight in his hand as he stretched out on a recliner. Opposite the entrance, a slick bar with a variety of liquors and fancy snacks stepped up the man-cave aspect. Between her and the bar, behind the recliners, there was a billiard table with the cues and balls prearranged for play whenever the mood may strike. Plank walnut lined the floors and walls, with forest green accents on the lights and décor.
She paused when she allowed her gaze to land on Grady before anyone realized she was here. His arms were in the air as he swore at the referees through the screen. That hair seemed to be eternally unruly, and now it was downright wild.
At the commercial break, Bill turned and saw Claire hesitating in the doorway. “Come on in, girlie. Ryder’s not a football fan, but hopefully he’s brought someone home who enjoys the finer things in life?” He chuckled merrily as he gestured to the sitting area. Thankfully, he didn’t seem to be the sexist sort to hang a No Girls Allowed sign on entering the man-cave. Her brothers had tried that once. Once.
Grateful for the welcome, Claire took a few steps into the room. “I’d love to join you. I’m more of an Arizona fan, but I’ll settle for the Seahawks, since the Fire knocked us out of the playoffs.”
Grady hopped up from the couch and foolishly attempted to flatten his hair before giving up and shoving his hands in his pockets. “Can I get you a beer?” he offered, making his way to the bar.
“Top me off?” Bill asked as he held his empty glass in the air. “We’re big Fire fans too, so you’re in poor company. Grady, you ever talk to Finn anymore? I know your mother made it clear she’s got something against him—lord knows why, but he’s a hell of a player.”
“Not in a while.”
Claire walked over to Bill and took his glass. “I can get it.”
Grady moved with the elegance of his mother, but in a masculine way. Smoother, like he could finesse his way through anything. He took Bill’s glass from her hand and motioned to the barstools for her to sit while he fixed their drinks. “You’re on vacation, I’ll get it. What’s your poison?”
With the ease of a seasoned bartender, although she doubted that he’d worked his way through school as she had, he filled Bill’s glass from a built-in tap and made a quick delivery while she looked at the options behind the bar. They must entertain a lot. Hopefully they didn’t drink these alone.
“I’ll try that IPA.”
“Excellent choice.” He carefully poured the glass and passed it down the bar to her.
Still seated on her stool, she took a sip and turned toward him. “This is good. Is it local?”
He rested his palms on the bar in front of her, and she could feel the heat radiating off him as if he were inches away, rather than the maximum distance the bar would allow. Her eyes locked onto his corded arms. That spectacular muscle tone that took more than just a few days a week at the gym, working arms that didn’t take to idleness. Not the arms she’d expect for the lawyer-son of a wealthy family. She almost drooled, but luckily, she was able to manage her secretions.
“As local as it gets. I, uh, I’m co-owner of a craft brewery. This one’s pretty hoppy.”
“I like a beer that bites me back.” She grinned over the mouth of the glass at him.
He shook his head in disbelief and grinned at her. “How did you end up with my brother? He hates football. Not big on beer. Nor animals, for that matter.” Pausing, his eyes met hers and she felt that same liquid heat pooling deep in her belly that he seemed to fuel every time he met her gaze. “Or being out on the ice.”
Blushing, she sighed, trying to shake the thrill that shot through her veins. In that impulsive moment, she’d been ready to chase him down and ask him to be her complication. How would tonight have been different if she hadn’t hesitated? Regardless, she wasn’t sure what to do with this second chance. Things were likely to get really awkward, really quickly. Already rapidly migrating in that direction.
“In the way people usually meet. At a party. Some friends set us up. Our apartment leases were about up, and we were both busy with school and work, so we sort of moved in together and started dating on the same day.”
“Love at first sight then.”
Her gaze landed on his long fingers, rapidly tapping against the bar to the tune of The Terminator’s iconic theme song. He was an utter mystery, and the complete opposite of his brother. The air in the room was getting thicker and heavier by the moment, filling her lungs with confusion and arousal.
If only he knew just how much she knew what that phrase meant to her now. She’d have laughed her ass off at anyone who had declared that they had experienced love at first sight. Well, that may be the predicament she found herself in now... and it was a hell of a lot more painful than it was rumored to be. Well, Cupid did fire an arrow, delivering a sharp, bloody, excruciating blow as you realized you were a goner. It might be that other L-word, but she’d felt that when she’d met Ryder.
It was an entirely unique sensation she floated on right now.
Her throat swelled as she tried to finish the conversation, really not wanting to talk about her relationship with Ryder at the moment, and absolutely not with Grady. “Well, we hit it off right away. I’m sure you know how charming Ryder is.”
Grady raised his eyebrows and let out a slow-burning exhale. “Yeah. I’m familiar with his appeal.”
Claire wasn’t sure what that was all about, but clearly the brothers didn’t get along. She’d been with Ryder for two entire years, and he rarely talked about his brother.
Avoiding the inevitable awkwardness if she pursued that line of questioning, she took her beer and found a spot on the couch in time for the second quarter. Grady safely sat across from her, stealing glances whenever she’d holler at the screen. Or when she’d attempted to study him. Her cheeks would flame and the heat from the stolen look would lick through her veins, both a warning and a temptation. By the time Bill started snoring as the game neared the final minutes, Claire realized she’d lost track of the game entirely, her mind a muddled tangle of confusion.
“Hey Babe, are you in here?” Ryder came whistling around the corner, a mysterious smile pasted onto his face.
Claire cringed, immediately shifting her attention to the game. The moniker, the tone, the look. Would it have bothered her twenty-four hours ago? “Yeah. Two minutes left in the fourth quarter.”
Ryder sat next to her on the couch and slipped his hand into hers.
The game suddenly aggravating, she flailed her hands in the air and shouted at the TV, “What? Offsides? What game are the refs watching?”
He cleared his throat and said, “I didn’t realize you were so passionate about football.”
Claire shrugged. “I didn’t get to watch much the last few seasons. Too busy.”
Ryder shifted his hand to her thigh, his fingers edging along the bottom of her skirt.
Grady stood abruptly and stalked out of the room without a backward glance.
“Are you ok?” Ryder’s hair stood on end, crackling from the static electricity of pulling his sweater over his head and setting it neatly on the top of his suitcase. Intolerant of the disarray, he smoothed the unruly spikes that didn’t dare flip back out of place.
“Fine.” She was fine. Totally fine. After dropping her skirt, tights, and t-shirt on the floor by the bed, she crawled into the cool Egyptian cotton sheets and flicked off her bra, forgetting she’d still had it on.
Sliding the rest of his clothes off and stacking the folded discards atop the dresser, Ryder slipped into bed next to her. Reaching his hand over, he grazed smooth fingertips over her abdomen. “You seem distracted.”
She flipped to her side, and his hand pulled away to avoid getting squished. Lungs heavy with pent-up carbon dioxide, she couldn’t squeeze another drop of air in until she let it all out in a sustained huff. She was distracted. And irritable. Realizing your life was not quite where you hoped it would be by this time, turned completely upside down realizing you’d turned down a wrong path, tended to do that to a person. “It’s been a long couple of months. Hard to decompress.”
Ryder rolled onto his back and rubbed his hands over his face. Tan and muscled, his arms were toned from hours at the gym each week. Instead of meeting her on breaks. “For both of us. I’m sorry I’ve been so distant lately.”
Watching his familiar movements, her head swimming on the cloud-like pillow, Claire responded softly, “Me too.”
“I was hoping this trip would help us reconnect and figure out where we’re going.” Ryder’s chest rose and fell with deliberate breaths.
“Yeah. That’s what I’d been hoping.”
“I have a video meeting in the morning. They’re thinking of giving the lead on the vodka campaign to Menard with the timeline moving up, so I won’t be able to join you on the horses like I’d hoped. If I nail this meeting, I’ll be able to buy a little schedule freedom for us, and maybe I can take you out for a nice dinner? There’s an authentic Italian place on the edge of town. We can visit, just the two of us, without my pretentious mother, my self-absorbed stepfather, and certainly without my hopeless brother. And we’ll see where we’re at.”
With a shrug and that damn lip creeping into her teeth, Claire nodded. “Okay. Maybe I can catch the stablemaster to show me around in the morning.”
Ryder flipped to his side to face her and flashed his sexy dimples and smoldering eyes. He reached under the sheet and grazed the back of his hand along the curve of her breast.
With a sharp intake of breath, Claire rotated out of his reach. A few days ago, she was desperate for his touch. Had gone too long without it. “I’m really tired. It’s been a long day.”
“Okay. Goodnight, Claire.” Turned away, she couldn’t see if her resistance had doused that smolder... or if he was as relieved as she was.
Maybe if her brain would relax a bit, she could catch a few hours of sleep. Claire rolled onto her abdomen and glared out the open curtains at the sliver of silver moon, faint and distorted under the thin layer of clouds. A few long blinks. Maybe she’d fall asleep soon.
Anytime now. Cold air seemed to freeze the life and energy from the muscles and the brain, so sleep ought to be setting in anytime. Soon.
Fuck it. She knew why she wasn’t sleeping. Why Ryder’s hand felt like it didn’t belong on her body. Maybe it wouldn’t have a few days ago either, as the distance between them had multiplied logarithmically these past few months, and they became ships passing in the night rather than lovers. She knew what she had to do. Dinner alone would be a good time to do it.
As her blinks grew longer, it was Grady that filled the preamble of her dreams. Similar eyes, but the passion behind his, the intensity with which he seemed to view everything, melted her insides to molten lava. Similar chiseled jaw, but Grady’s lack of dimples charmed her. The fiercely flexing mastication muscle in his jaw told of all the heavy thoughts he didn’t share. Never quite assimilating to his environment, his hair was always on end as if he struggled to find his balance on uneven terrain.
