Look What the Jet Dragged In
Griff
Standing outside the coffee shop, Ryder was laughing his ass off. "Why didn't you just take it?"
Ten hours ago, I might have laughed, too. But now, after two hours of ribbing followed by eight more of travel, I was in no mood for his bullshit. "Take what?"
He nodded toward the black duffel now slung over my shoulder. "The bag. What else?"
I gave him a look. "So, you were watching the whole time?"
"Hell yeah, I was." With a grin, he looked toward the ferry dock, where some jackass had tried to make off with the only bag I'd been allowed to bring. Shit. Beyond the basics, I didn't even know what it contained. I just knew that its contents had to last me the whole month.
Considering the size of the bag – large, but not gigantic – it was a grim prospect.
Ryder was still talking. "What you should've done was kick his ass and been done with it."
I considered the guy at the dock. Forget ass-kicking. A good strong tug would've done the trick – until the guy screamed holy hell for the cops, and I ended up in the slammer.
I glanced around. Did this place even have cops? I knew cars were banned, so how would a cop get around? Likely by horse. But when I tried to picture it, my head throbbed like a mother – and trust me when I say, the steady clip-clop of hooves wasn't helping.
As if to drive the point home, a horse-drawn cart clattered past, laden with boxes – mostly from Amazon, judging from the logos. I stared like I was glitching. What the actual fuck?
When the delivery cart disappeared into the crowd, I turned back to Ryder. "I'm laying low, remember?"
He shrugged. "Yeah, so?"
"So 'ass-kicking' isn't laying low."
"Hey, it's your loss. I would've paid good money to see it." His grin returned. "Tell ya what. If you kick his ass now, I'll spot you a grand."
I wasn't interested. "Too late. He's gone."
"So find him. I've got the cash in my wallet."
Knowing Ryder, he probably did. To him, a thousand bucks was pocket change – and it showed. Even in that navy polo and dark jeans, he looked like a vintage rich guy slumming it for fun.
One thing was for damned sure. Ryder wasn't a guy who blended. Dressed casually or not, he had that polished look of old money, complete with a pedigree and a personal trainer named Sebastian or something equally ridiculous. But I knew better.
Ryder had no pedigree, and his only trainer was his own ruthless drive to outmatch the competition, including those he might call friends.
Yeah, even me.
This, to my supreme annoyance, was how I'd ended up here in the first place. What the hell had I been thinking? If I were smart, I'd blame the whiskey and be done with it. I'd pull the plug, call it good, and take the next ferry out of here.
But quitting wasn't my style, and hell if I'd start now. So instead, I adjusted the strap of the bag and gave Ryder a hard stare. "What are you doing here, anyway?"
He put on his innocent face. "What, a guy can't check on his friend?"
Some friend. As I reached up to rub my aching head, I muttered, "If anyone needs an ass-kicking, it's you."
"Aw, don't be like that," he laughed. "And to answer your question, I'm here to give you the tour."
I took a long, irritated look at my surroundings.
Around us, slow-moving tourists milled along the sidewalk, and I spotted no less than three fudge shops, all packed with customers from ages eight to eighty.
Bustling or not, I knew the size of the island.
It wouldn't take long to get the lay of the land.
I shook my head. "No need."
"Why not?"
"Because the island's not that big."
This made him laugh. "No kidding. I didn't mean a tour of the island. I meant a tour of the place you'll be living."
Damn it. Last night had been hazy, especially near the end. But now that I thought about it, there had been a promise that someone would meet me on the island with a key. With renewed suspicion, I eyed my so-called friend. "Tell me something."
"Yeah?"
"How'd you get here so fast?"
With an easy shrug, he replied, "Private jet."
"Seriously?" My brain stuttered, trying to catch up. "You flew in?"
"Yup." His smile turned smug. "Landed an hour ago."
This had to be a joke. "Where?"
"Here on the island."
I stared like he'd just sprouted wings. "This place has an airport?"
"It's not a big airport," he clarified. "But it's better than the ferry. Am I right?"
I bit back a curse. The bastard was loving this .
And he wasn't shutting up. "Didn't need a ferry. Just me and my pilot. Hell of a view, by the way."
I took a deep, calming breath. "So let me get this straight. You left me to take the damn ferry while you flew in?" And don't get me started on the seven-hour drive.
"Oh, come on," Ryder laughed. "You survived."
Barely. Blame the whiskey, but the morning sun was doing a real number on my eyes. Sunglasses would have helped – maybe not much, but more than nothing. That fucking bird.
To Ryder, I grumbled, "You could've offered me a ride."
"And what? Have you miss the fun?"
I felt like strangling him – Ryder, not the bird. " What fun?"
"For starters, a nice boat ride." He leaned lazily against the coffee shop's main window. "It's great for the stomach, am I right?"
Not my stomach. At least, not this morning. "You really are a piece of work. You know that?"
Ryder just laughed. "Yeah, but I'm your piece of work." He flicked his head toward the coffee shop entrance. "Buy ya a coffee?"
I wanted to tell him to shove it. I'd buy my own damn coffee .
But the truth was, I would be smarter to let him treat. The amount of cash in my own wallet was less than his thousand – significantly less. I knew this because I'd counted my cash in the limo – the same one that had dropped me off at the ferry terminal on the mainland.
Call it homework. Even so, I hadn't done enough. Sure I'd counted the money, but like a dumbass, I hadn't dug through the duffel.
I hadn't even opened it.
But I should've. Maybe then, I wouldn't have minded showing its contents to a couple of strangers on the dock – the brunette in particular. She had pretty eyes and a nice smile – too nice for the likes of me. And yet, thoughts of her smile lingered like a song stuck in my head.
Of course, she hadn't been smiling at the end.
Damn it.
I knew why.
I'd acted like a dick.
If I were the type to feel shame, this would be the moment. But all I felt now was a pounding headache along with the urge to crash out and wake up in my own bed – alone. No brunette needed.
Ryder's voice cut into my thoughts. "Or you could buy me a coffee." He snickered like a ten-year-old. "If you can afford it."
Asshole. I adjusted the bag as my temples continued to throb. "Coffee. Black. Your treat."
Ryder gave a slow nod. "Smart move."
"Oh, shut up."