Chapter 6 – pippa #2
If I can’t find a new place by January 1st, that means I’ll probably be stuck with Ryan until at least the 15th if not February.
And I really don’t know if I can handle another month and half of giggling girls and endless poker chatter.
“I hope Ryan’s been a good host to you,” Jack says, shooting a pointed look at his son.
Ryan’s jaw tightens. He knows that this is my opportunity to tell Jack exactly how annoying he’s been, from his constant shirtlessness to scaring off my date.
Fortunately for him, the last thing I want is to listen to the two of them whisper-fight in the middle of a party.
Ryan may not have limits or morals, but I do.
“I haven’t even seen Ryan that much,” I say, mostly truthfully. “He’s been traveling a lot for work. The only reason I know he’s been home is the mountain of energy drink cans he clogs the recycling with.”
Jack frowns. “Playing poker isn’t work.”
“Well, it pays the bills,” Ryan says stiffly. “So I think it counts.”
“You’re not producing anything. Not building anything or making a contribution to society. It’s gambling.”
Ryan clears his throat. “Yeah, I should really be doing something more noble. Maybe like getting repeat offenders off on just charges.”
Jack’s eyes flash.
Mom and I exchange glances. It’s a fight we’ve both heard dozens of times, and we know all the beats by heart. Luckily, before they can get into it, a man taps Jack on the shoulder.
“Jack! Wonderful party,” the guy says, his voice slightly muffled by his giant mustache.
My stepfather immediately puts on his big strong susinessman face, clapping the man on the back heartily.
“Great to see you, Harold,” he says in a booming voice. “And this must be Molly.”
Molly is a skinny woman in her 20s, with long stringy blonde hair. She extends her hand to Jack, but her eyes flash over to Ryan. She looks him up and down shamelessly, even while her arm is linked through Harold’s.
Jack gestures toward us. “This is my wife Emily, my son Ryan, and my stepdaughter, Philippa.”
I cringe at the use of my full name that literally no one except him ever uses.
“Great to meet you all,” Harold says, and apparently it’s my turn to be ogled. My stomach twists as his eyes track up my legs, hips, and breasts.
Barf.
As Jack and Harold start discussing how some banking stock has been performing, Ryan leans over and whispers in my ear.
“See? You don’t even need dating apps, sis. Looks like you found your first date already.”
I wrinkle my nose. “Ew.”
“Come on, he’s kind of cute, in a walrus sort of way.”
I shudder. “Ugh, did you see the way he looked at me?”
“You kind of invited it, Pips.”
I glower at him. “Excuse me?”
“That dress is screaming ‘I’m a present, come open me!’” Ryan tugs at the ribbon bow acting as a strap on my left shoulder.
Instinctively, I yank away from him, but Ryan doesn’t let go of my dress. The knot comes loose and the fabric unravels, slipping off my shoulder.
I barely manage to clutch the velvet to my chest before it falls, showing everyone in the party the bra I’m not wearing.
Whirling on my heel, I rush back to the kitchen, holding the front of my dress tight against my torso as I dart between two men in matching combovers and squeeze around a gaggle of women oohing and aahing over someone’s Valentino purse.
Thank god, nobody’s in the kitchen when I get there. The caterers must be using the staff kitchen in the back of the house for everything tonight.
Using my hazy reflection in the stainless-steel refrigerator door, I carefully retie my shoulder strap. This time, I make a tight knot before I tie it in a bow. I wouldn’t put it past my absolute asshole of a stepbrother to try and humiliate me by untying it again.
Just as soon as I think of him, Ryan appears in the doorway. He rakes his fingers through his messy hair, looking way too pleased with himself.
“That was so fucking childish! I almost flashed the entire party.”
He rolls his eyes. “Oh, big deal. So a few people would have seen your bra.”
“I’m not wearing one! I can’t with this dress!”
“Not wearing a bra to the family Christmas party? Wow. That’s the wildest thing you’ve ever done, Pips. What’s next, are you going to star in a porno?”
“Of course. For you, everything has to be about sex. There’s no such thing as appropriate context. You even had to make my dating profile dirty.”
His eyebrows raise. “Wait a second. I get it. You’re pissed off at me because my methods worked. How many matches did you get?”
I swallow, looking down at my shoes.
“Oh, it’s even more than I thought, isn’t it?”
I clench my teeth.
“Come on, Pips, how many?”
“Three twenty-six,” I grumble. “Last I checked.”
“As in, three hundred and twenty-six?” Ryan echoes, and I roll my eyes.
“That is what I said.”
Something flashes in his eyes that I can’t name. Then his lip curls into a sneer. “See what happens when you don’t act so sexless and uptight?”
The barb digs right into my skin. “I am not sexless!”
“Hey, I’m not saying it’s your fault. Some women just aren’t into sex. You know—” He strolls closer to me, counting on his fingers. “Frigid bitches, elementary school librarians, and apparently, Pippa Murphy.”
I take a furious step toward him, poking him in the chest. “Just because I’m not trying to get in the Guiness Book of Sex Records like you doesn’t mean I’m frigid! I like sex.”
His brown eyes narrow. “I’m sure you do. Let me guess—lights off, missionary, and total silence? Am I far off? Ooo, I bet you even keep your bra on.”
“I’m not even wearing one now!” I hiss, punching a hole in his stupid logic, wondering why I even care what he thinks about my sex life.
Ryan’s eyes darken, then dip down to my neckline.
I instinctively draw a sharp breath, and I realize I’m practically close enough to brush up against his chest. His musky cologne goes straight to my head, and suddenly my mouth feels dry as hell.
I take a shuddering breath, and my chest almost grazes his.
Static electricity licks at the narrow space between our bodies, and any second now it’s going to start a fire I hope burns all his pretty hair right off his head.
Then my stiletto heel snaps.
My left ankle goes out underneath me, and I reach for something to hold onto, tumbling to the floor.
Ryan grabs my arms just in time, hauling me up against his body with a curse. My hands land on his chest as I try to catch my balance, and I raise my chin to look at him just as he glances down at me.
The whiskey is spicy on his lips. I know because his lower one brushes against mine and I gasp, frozen at the surprise contact despite the heat rushing through my chest. My heartbeat is pulsing loud in my ears.
My fingers twist into his shirt and he falters a step with me in his arms, his dark eyes falling to my mouth, throat bobbing.
All it would take is one of us to lean in and—
Crash!
The sound of glasses toppling to the floor in the next room shatters the stillness and I spring back from Ryan just as Mom’s voice carries in from outside the kitchen.
“I’ll go get the mop!”
Instantly, Ryan turns and plucks the bottle of whiskey from the counter behind him, all innocence as he says, “Found where Dad was hiding the good stuff,” and shakes the whiskey bottle like it’s a trophy as Mom bustles past him.
“Careful,” she calls back to him. “Mind the glass.”
“Oh!” Mom’s hand covers her mouth when she sees me, and for a moment I think, she caught us, which is ridiculous because we didn’t do anything wrong. We weren’t going to do anything wrong. And I’m not fifteen years old anymore.
“Pippa, there you are.”
“I–I—” In my attempt to stammer an explanation, all I do is prove I’m too flustered to string two words together.
“Oh, sweetie,” she comes over to me, picking up the broken bit of stiletto from the tile. “Not again! I know how long you saved to buy those. What happened?”
Yes! The shoes.
I put on a pout. “I don’t know, it just gave out.”
Mom pats my arm. “Don’t worry. I’ll find you another pair to wear after I clean up in the living room. Just wait here—I don’t want you stepping on the broken glass.”
Grabbing the broom and mop, she rushes back into the party. As the door swings open, I see Ryan chatting with one of Jack’s partners at the firm, his body language completely relaxed. His tone completely normal. Like nothing happened.
Which makes sense because nothing happened.
Right?