“Steven?”
Ryder snapped his fingers. “That’s him. He’s got a weird look about him.” He wrinkled his nose. “All sleek and soft. Shifty. You probably like that though, huh?”
“If by sleek you mean that a man knows how to use a hairbrush as something besides an imaginary microphone, then yes, I like slick.” I gave his tousled hair a disapproving look, like I hadn’t spent hours, once upon a time—not as long ago as I’d like to pretend—imagining what it would feel like between my fingers. “But I’m not dating Steven.”
“Hmm. The electrician guy from the Henderson job last year, then? The dude smiled every time you walked in the room.” Ryder couldn’t have sounded more disgusted if he tried.
“Marcus? He’s seventy if he’s a day!”
“So?”
“And he’s married—to a woman—and has four grandchildren! FYI, as hard up for a date as you clearly believe me to be, I have some hard limits when it comes to dating married men and men with grandchildren. Now can you hang the doors?”
“I’ll get to it.” Ryder unwrapped the platter of cupcakes and then studied them like a math problem before finally selecting one covered in edible silver confetti. He twisted the cupcake and licked the frosting in a way that made the breath shudder from my chest. “And you’re sure it’s not Steven?”
I tightened my hands into fists. “I think I’d know. And I’m not playing your game.”
“Just give me a name—one little first name—and then I’ll get back to work.” Ryder took a bite of cupcake, smearing frosting all over his nose and scruffy chin in the process. It made him look simultaneously Jason Momoa–hot and cuddly-puppy adorable… and that made me weak.
I inhaled sharply and let it out in a sigh. “Why, of all the nights in three years, have you decided that this night must be the night when you chat with me?”
He shrugged and chewed thoughtfully. “I dunno, Kearns. I guess ’cause there’s something symbolic about New Year’s Eve, right? Last year is over, next year’s not here yet. Everything feels possible for just a few hours? No rules.”
Considering I’d expected something along the lines of, “’Cause I felt like it, that’s why,” getting a real answer out of Ryder—and a thoughtful, introspective one at that—was a little stunning. That, accompanied by the warm, solemn weight of his blue gaze on my face? Hngh.
I almost felt bad when I had to lie about my own answer. “His name is, um… Ryan.”
As in Seacrest, the only guy I planned to see tonight.
Ryder nodded slowly and licked the last bit of frosting off his finger in a way that, if I didn’t know better—which I totally did—might have seemed a little disappointed. “Have you known him long?”
How long had he been hosting American Idol? “Oh, yeah. A pretty long time.”
“Bet he does something fancy for a living, huh?”
“Um…” I felt my face go hot and was thankful that my skin tended to hide a blush. “You might say that.” Pretty sure he wore a tuxedo when he counted down the ball drop. Did that count?
“Right. So. You guys going out to eat, or…?”
“No, Nosy Nellie.” I set my hands on my hips. “I prefer staying in.”
“Nosy Nellie.” He smiled a little and shook his head. “You talk like my grandma, Kearns.”
“Your grandmother sounds like a woman of exquisite taste and refinement. She’s probably a delight to all who know her.” I folded my arms over my chest too. “Anything else?”
Ryder swallowed. He hesitated. Then he shook his head slowly. “Nah. Guess not.” He hopped off the counter like a fucking gymnast dismounting from a balance beam, which put him directly in my personal space, close enough for me to breathe in the mingled scents of piney cologne and vanilla frosting and feel the electric warmth radiating off his skin. It—he—made my heart beat double time.
Also, I was pretty sure the combination of vanilla and pine would forever after elicit some kind of Pavlovian response in me, which was going to make next Christmas with my elderly grandparents a fucking joy, and that was just one more thing to blame Ryder Richards for.
Jesus Lord a’Mercy, I really needed to get laid.
And Jesus Lord a’Mercy, I really did talk like my grandmother.
“…so I’m gonna need your help,” Ryder said, and I realized a second too late that he’d been speaking to me while I’d been staring at him and possibly—I touched the corner of my lips. No, dang it, definitely—drooling.
“My help?” I sputtered. “No. What? No.” I didn’t want to be anywhere near Ryder Richards because I really, really wanted to be all over Ryder Richards. “How long have we been working together? How many times have I helped you? There’s a reason for that. These hands do not toil, they design.” I waved them in the air and only winced slightly when I remembered just how much I disliked this this particular design. “We have a symbiotic relationship, you and me. Interior designer.” I pointed at myself. “Tool belt dude.” I pointed at him. “Kinda like a majestic sea creature, and one of those li’l suckerfishes that attaches to it.”
“Just so I understand…” Ryder passed one big hand over his jaw, and the scratchy, sandpaper noise rolled down my spine like he’d trailed his fingertip there. “Which of us is the majestic sea creature, and which is the little guy?”
I shrugged, since this was self-explanatory, but Ryder’s cheek twitched again like my epic insult hadn’t landed appropriately.
“Right.” Ryder lifted one of the cabinet doors, which was already fitted with silver hinges. “So you need to stand here against the counter and hold the door up to the cabinet.” He demonstrated, holding the door easily in one hand. “While I get the drill and screw it.”
I ground my teeth together stubbornly, but he gave me a challenging look.
“You wanna get out of here or not?”
I really did, because Ryder’s weird, sudden about-face was getting to me, ruining my equilibrium.
“Ugh. Fine. Fine.” I put my tablet on the counter and threw my hands in the air. “What do I do?”
“Just get in front of me here and hold this up. It’s not hard, Kearns.”
I held my breath, and when he moved back a couple of inches, I slid in front of him and lifted my arms.
“You got it?” Ryder’s hot breath hit the back of my neck, but I refused to shiver. “It’s heavier than it looks.”
“Yes, I’ve got it,” I snapped, trying not to breathe in that vanilla scent. “Get on with it.”
Ryder moved away for one second, but when he came back, he pushed right up behind me, erasing all the space between us. He held the drill in his right hand and the screw with the other, hemming me in on both sides, surrounding me with all things Ryder.
I was almost positive this was not the way I’d ever seen him hang cabinet doors on any other project we’d ever done, or the way I’d ever seen anyone use a drill ever. I would have noticed.
“Do you have to squish me like this?” I sounded peevish. I was peevish.