“They should call that place Sexy Bastards,” I say. “More accurate.”
The girls laugh. “Well, I don’t think they’ve picked a name for the new club yet,” Shelby says.
Ruby sits to pull on a pair of tall gladiator sandals over her tanned, curved calves. “It’s like they’ve got some Jedi mind power over women.”
“I think it’s called being hot,” Avery says.
“Whatever it is, it works,” Ruby says. “I’ve even seen Ryder do it with a lady cop, when he first started running fight night. She’s demanding to know what’s going on in the warehouse, he’s trying to keep her out of there, so they’re standing outside and she’s all business, ready to toss him in the backseat of her car and read him his rights.” She zips up the back of the sandals. “But by the end of the conversation, I think she was hoping he’d handcuff her.”
“Which, knowing Ryder,” says Avery, “he probably did later that night.”
I slip on the red heels, modeling them in the mirror, hands on my hips, looking casual, or at least trying to, as I say, “When did Ryder start running fight night?”
“About two years ago, when he quit fighting,” Avery says.
“Ryder used to fight?” I say. Though of course it makes perfect sense. His attitude, that body, the way he always has to win at everything.
Shelby crosses to me, carrying three dresses. She alternates holding one up to herself then me. “He didn’t just fight. He dominated,” she says. “He was undefeated.”
“Why’d he stop fighting then?” I say.
“The same reason guys do anything,” Ruby says. “A woman.”
“Ryder Cole gave up fighting for a woman?” I say. I can’t imagine Ryder doing anything for someone that isn’t ultimately for himself, and how much influence could one woman have when he’s going home the champion every night with his pick of groupies?
“His girlfriend,” Shelby says. “Ex-girlfriend by the time he quit.”
“They broke up, she moved out, so he took over running the ring, trying to get over her,” Ruby says. “It keeps him busy and less banged up.”
Ryder Cole in a relationship. Ryder Cole in a we-live-together level relationship. Ryder Cole in a relationship that affected him so much he walked away from fighting. I feel like Ruby just pointed out a puzzle I thought I’d finished has a piece in the wrong place.
I knit my brows, trying to envision the expression on Ryder’s chiseled face looking anything other than in control, his stride anything other than self-assured. The idea of him vulnerable—it just doesn’t compute.
“Was it serious?” I say. “The girlfriend?”
“Ryder thought it was,” Shelby says. “But the guys she fucked on the side probably didn’t.”
Ryder Cole cheated on.
If a second ago I thought one puzzle piece was out of place, now I realize: the whole thing has to be reassembled.
Maybe that explains his bossiness, why he always has to be right, in control, which can be sexy as hell, except when he can’t help being smug.
And then you just want to slap him.
Shelby surveys the dresses in her hands. “This one,” she says, handing one to me. “I think you should try on this one.” It’s black, short, sleeveless, with a gold zipper from the very bottom of the hem all the way to the neckline, the kind of dress made for one thing: to take off.
“It’s cute,” I say. “But I don’t think I have anywhere to wear this.” Since coming home from England, my days have mostly consisted of keeping Altitude’s books in jean cutoffs and t-shirts, and my nights, with the exception of last weekend’s waitressing, lazy lounge pants and old tank tops and Netflix. The dress is probably overdoing it for sending out invoices or catching up on Homeland alone in my bedroom.
“Of course you do,” she says. “You’re coming to fight night tonight, aren’t you?”
“Am I?” I say.
“What, you have a hot date?” Shelby says.
I shake my head. “No.”
“You have a not-hot date?”
I laugh and shake my head.
“Jealous baby daddy?”
“No kids,” I say. I take in a breath, stand a little taller. “Actually, I’m just out of a relationship.” The confession is easier to make the second time.
“Good,” she says. “Then you have no excuse.”
“I don’t think I’m on the list or anything, though,” I say.
Avery waves her hand. “Please,” she says. “You’ll be with us. At fight night, we’re above the list.”
“But will Ryder mind if I just show up?” I say. “We’re not exactly besties at the moment.”
“Don’t even think about Ryder,” Shelby says. “He’s way too independent and jaded to be anything other than a perfect fling, not your future. Definitely not a reason to miss all the other gorgeous guys who’ll be there.”
“Ryder’s just that first pancake that preps your griddle,” Ruby says. “Soaks up all the grease and then gets tossed out so the rest of the batch turns out right.”