We’re drenched and laughing by the time we step inside the Bad Art Museum. “I can’t remember the last time I was here,” I say, blinking against the glare of the orange wall, the color resembling that of a Cheeto. “Were you really planning on coming here tonight? Be honest.”
“I’m always honest.”
“I get that about you.”
“And no, I wasn’t.” His head dips, and that’s when I realize my scrubs are drenched and stuck to my body. I pull on my top and it makes a sucking sound as it breaks the bond with my flesh.
“Average size,” he says under his breath. “I think that’s my favorite.”
“Rider!” I burst out and his eyes cut to mine. “Are you talking about my breasts?”
“Yeah,” he says, not a hint of embarrassment about him.
“You need to get some filters, my friend,” I say, even though I sort of like that he says what he’s thinking. There are no games with this one, and honestly, it’s a refreshing break. Not that I’m looking for anything more from him. I’m not looking for a relationship, and according to Candy, he doesn’t do relationships. Yeah, sure, he might like my average breasts, but I’m average all over, and that puck bunny…she was hands down, over-the-top gorgeous. No way can I compare to the women who throw themselves at him. Nor do I want to. Being his friend, however… that sounds nice.
“Now let’s eat and look at art.” I follow him to the counter and let my gaze drop to take in the way his low-slung jeans cradle his impressive ass. I don’t think the man is a serial killer, but damn, he has a killer body. In my line of work, I’ve seen many naked men over the years, but I have a feeling I’ve not seen Rider’s kind of naked.
He orders two whopper wieners and two drinks. I reach for my purse and he stops me. “This heart attack is on me.”
“Fine, I buy next time, and I get to pick where we go.”
“At least I know you eat meat, and you’re not going to force me to go someplace where they serve weeds and twigs.”
“You don’t strike me as the kind of guy who can be forced to do anything you don’t want to do.”
“I kind of get that same vibe from you, too.” As I bask in the compliment, he pays and hands me a can of soda and a hotdog. I grab two paper straws and make my way to the table, but he stops at the condiments. He pours so much mustard on his dog, it’s spilling everywhere.
“Would you like a wiener to go with that mustard?” I ask, and make a face that showcases my disgust.
He shrugs, uncaring. “What can I say? I like mustard.”
“The bacon, cheese, chilis, and onions don’t cut it?”
He swipes at the dripping mustard from his bun and puts his finger into his mouth. “Nope.”
I give a slow shake of my head. “The things I’m learning about you tonight.”
I slide into a puffy purple booth and he sits across from me. My stomach grumbles loudly, reminding me I skipped dinner. Rider arches a brow when the sound reaches his ears.
“Work was insane tonight. Sometimes I don’t get a chance to eat.” I bite into my hot dog and as I chew, a moan crawls into my throat. I briefly shut my eyes and when I open them again, I find Rider staring at me, his hot dog poised in his hand, inches from his mouth.
“What?” I ask and grab a napkin. “Do I have food on my face or something?”
“Yeah,” he says, the black in his gorgeous eyes bleeding into that strange shade of gray. For the first time since I met him, I’m get the sense he’s not saying what’s really going through his brain.
Deciding I want to know him better, I ask, “What do you do for fun, besides pick up women for your brother? Wait, why do you do that, anyway? Kane doesn’t look like he needs any help getting his own girls.”
He causally rolls one shoulder. “He doesn’t.” He licks more mustard from his fingers, and my God, I’m not sure what is going on with me, but what he’s doing should not be one bit sexy. No, it’s an excellent way to transmit diseases and infections. While my brain fully understands that, the needy juncture between my legs doesn’t much care. Yeah, that damn traitorous juncture is quite enthralled with his mouth, the sucking sounds he’s making and how those lips of his would feel…
“Fuck that’s good,” he says, and my thoughts come crashing back to the present. “And you’re right. Kane doesn’t need help with the ladies. It’s just a game we play.”
“Does it work the other way around?” I crack my soda and slide my straw in. “Does he come in as your wingman?”
“Not really.”
“You like girls, right?” I bite, and chew and add, “I mean, it’s okay if you don’t.”
He laughs. “Yeah, I like girls. I told you that already. I like all girls, all shapes and all sizes.”