It’s nice to be around men so at ease with each other, with themselves. There’s something brotherly about the way Ryder and Cash and Jackson interact that seems to seep into the vibe of this place, and makes it a fun hang-out spot. Ryder claimed he didn’t understand my loyalty to Jamie, why I would work unpaid just to bail out my fugitive brother, but deep down, I know he gets it. He lives it with these guys.
Ryder strides toward us, his brow furrowed, phone off but in hand. He’s wearing what I’ve come to recognize as his workday uniform—a pressed button-up shirt tucked into jeans that ride low on his hips, a blazer that hangs on his shoulders like it was made just for him. He’s let his facial hair go this week, growing a little scruff, and his hair looks a little longer, too, a little disheveled, like sex hair. Not that I would know what Ryder’s hair looks like during sex.
And not that I haven’t thought about it.
“Short-staffed on the floor tonight, Cash,” Ryder says as Cash hands him a glass of whiskey. “You may have to do double duty. How do you look in a push-up bra?”
Cash pours himself a glass, clinks it to Ryder’s. “I look excellent in everything,” he says. He turns toward me. “And even better in nothing, in case you’re wondering, Cass.”
“I wasn’t,” I say. “But thanks for ruining my weekend with that image.”
“Don’t distract the help,” Ryder says. He notes my half-finished beer. “I assume that wasn’t consumed on the clock.”
“It’s after five,” I say, raising the tall glass to my lips and taking a long, slow drink. “So technically I’m not your employee anymore.”
Ryder lumbers to my side of the bar, sits on the stool next to me. “As long as you’re in my bar with my books,” he says, “you belong to me, tiger.” Wrapping his hand over mine, he takes the glass from me and finishes off the beer, his mouth closing over the place where mine had just been, an out-of-body kiss that I feel all over my body.
“So who called in?” Cash says.
“Rachel,” Ryder says. “Some stomach flu thing. I didn’t ask for details.”
“What about calling Trish to fill in?” Cash says. “Or Katie?”
“Katie is already coming in for Trish, who’s out of town,” Ryder says.
“We’ve got some big tables booked tonight,” Cash says. “It’s gonna be tough to run without a full floor staff.”
Ryder toasts his whiskey to Cash. “Thanks for the reassurance,” he says. “I can always count on you to make a situation worse.”
“But at least I make it look good,” Cash says, smiling to show off his dimples.
Jackson nods at me. “What are you doing tonight, Cassie? You want to make some extra money?”
Ryder turns to him, shakes his head. “Since when are you in charge of hiring?”
“I’m just saying, she’s here. She can probably hold a tray and take a drink order,” Jackson says. “If she can keep the books, I assume she can do the math to make change.”
“She uses a computer to do the math,” Ryder says.
“You guys know I’m sitting here, right?” I say. “No need to keep talking about me in the third person.”
Ryder smirks. “You use a computer to do the math.”
I shut the laptop. “Quiz me.”
His lips tighten in a suppressed smile. “Okay,” he says. He pulls up the calculator on his phone. “What’s one-hundred-fifty-two plus thirty-seven plus eighty-four?”
“Two-hundred-seventy-three,” I say as quickly as if it were a rehearsed line.
“Subtracted from five-hundred,” he says, typing.
“Two-hundred-twenty-seven.”
“Divided by thirteen.”
“How many decimal places do you want?” I say.
“Lady’s choice.”
“Seventeen point four six two,” I say. “If we’re rounding up.”
“All in favor?” Cash says. He and Jackson raise their hands. Ryder’s stays firmly at his side.
“As charming as this little exhibition is,” Ryder says, “we’re known for hot girls, not smart ones.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” I say, immediately regretting my sartorial choice today: a pair of baggy pants from college that I found in the back of my closet and a lightweight summer sweater that I’d thought of as comfortable this morning but now strikes me as shapeless.
“He’s being an ass but he does have a point,” Cash says, shooting me an apologetic smile. “It’s just that…people tend to spend more money when you look less like…” He gestures to my outfit. “You know.”
“My point exactly,” Ryder chimes in.
I glance down. So maybe the pants are a little loose and the sweater is a little worn. They’re not the only clothes I own.
Well, okay, they practically are. I haven’t had a lot of time this week to replenish my wardrobe, and in England, Sebastian and I didn’t go out a lot, hence my current state of clothing affairs.
But there’s a mall on the way home from here. And even though every dollar I sweat out tonight is going right back into Ryder’s pocket, I didn’t come back to the States with a completely empty wallet. Rule one of escaping an old life: always carry cash.
Without looking at Ryder, I say to Cash, “What time does the shift start?”