Chapter Eighteen #2
Ryan clears his throat and looks away first, answering the accusatory question with a nonchalant shrug.
“I ran into Maddie in the elevator, and she invited me to use the lounge in her studio. I got curious about the girl who chased me around my own living room with a dick bottle opener in her pants, so I tagged along. It was pretty interesting.”
“It’s really not that interesting. You just caught a weird day to be curious.
It was the outfits that gave you that impression.
Tag along any other day, and it’ll bore you to tears, I’m sure,” I mumble around a fry, shaking my head as I peer down at my own poor life choice.
I really should have gone with something else, even if it meant losing the prize today.
Or maybe I should have changed out all of the prizes and replaced them with floor vacuums. Damn it, why didn’t I think of that earlier?
As Caiden inhales to ask more questions, Baxter’s deep, timbered voice trickles across the table when he asks me, “So, you won two weeks off work? Why do you look bummed about it?”
Ryan snorts. I ignore him.
“It wasn’t the prize I was hoping to win.
The claw machine screwed me,” I answer Bax, though it probably doesn’t explain all that much.
It is what it is, though. If I’m going to see the bright side of winning fourteen whole days away from work, then I should stop talking about it and eat until I feel sick.
“Anyway, how have your days treated you thus far?”
Caid is the first to answer, wiping his mouth with a napkin before he delves into his morning. “Pretty good, but even better now that I get to see you. Had a few clients this morning since the gym is all up and running, but nothing crazy. It’s been a chill day.”
I send him a look that he grins at, and I shake my head as I continue to eat, finding that I’m actually enjoying the company of these four men.
We might still not know one another very well, but there’s a funny little comfort in being around them that I can’t seem to shake.
Maybe it was how we met, or maybe it’s the way they haven’t looked at me like I’m too much to handle, but whatever it is, I find that I can be myself around them far more than I ever could when Toby was near.
“Pretty much the same for me. We’re working on rebuilding a Ford Mustang Fastback that came in yesterday, so it’s all hands on deck,” Bax adds, and I watch intently as he talks, the enthusiasm for his work very subtle but noticeable in every word he speaks.
“I’ve been talking colors with the customer all morning, and we’re torn between Obsidian Plum and Black Cherry. ”
I offer him a blank expression, having no clue what those two things mean, and he laughs under his breath before taking pity on me and explaining.
“Obsidian Plum is an almost-black color with deep-purple undertones that you’ll see when the light hits it right.
Black Cherry is a dark red that kind of reveals itself when the car moves.
Both are pretty sick options for a Mustang Fastback, so we’re torn,” he concludes, and I ponder on it for a moment before sliding my cell out of my pocket and opening my internet browser.
Searching the car and both colors, I debate it for all of two seconds before adding my two cents. “I’d go with the plum color, personally. But in gloss. With the white stripe down the middle, because is it really a Mustang without that iconic stripe?”
I turn my cell toward the car restoration specialist, who is openly grinning at me, and point at the photo of the car in question, with the stripe and cool color.
“You can’t tell me that doesn’t look awesome in purple,” I declare, wiggling my cell at him.
Baxter nods as Caiden huffs a laugh beside me, and Bax reaches for my phone to have a better look at the car I’ve pulled up in my images. “You might be right. I do like the Black Cherry, but the purple works really well. I’ll let my client know what you think.”
“You can totally name-drop me, I won’t even be mad,” I joke, my stomach swooping with the flutter of a fresh wave of butterflies that swarm my belly when Bax laughs and hands my phone back.
Clearing my throat as I rub a hand over my wayward stomach and will my heart rate to calm the hell down, I let my gaze drift toward Rayne and ask, “How about you? Have a good start to your day?”
Rayne pauses his pasta eating to look up at me, his inky black hair falling across his forehead while those piercing blue eyes send my pulse into another tizzy, and I stuff a slice of garlic bread in my mouth to distract myself.
Rayne’s lips twitch, but he shrugs in answer.
“Only had one client today, but it was a four-hour job with another four hours to go after lunch.”
I perk up at that, because I remember being told Rayne tattoos the stars. “Anyone I might know?”
Rayne’s lips twitch again, a small flash of those pearly white teeth that teases at the pretty smile I know he possesses, and he says, “I dunno. Know a guy called Gideon Penn?”
My mouth falls open, because I certainly do know that handsome bastard, and so does Zelda. Hell, those two have a history I’m not sure I’m even allowed to talk about, so I do my bestie duties and nod politely. “Sure do. The lead singer in Neon Graves, right?”
Looking a little impressed, he nods. “That’s him, yeah. How do you know Gideon?”
“Neon Graves has held a place in my playlist for the better half of eight years, since those losers formed their band and made it big. Zelda, my bestie, and I went to all of their gigs when they first started touring,” I explain, keeping the relationship between Zee and Gee out of it.
They don’t need to know that train wreck.
“What did he get done this time? And where the hell did you find the space? Man is covered from head to toe in ink already.”
“Why do you know that about a man?” Caid grumbles under his breath, but not quietly enough that I miss it.
I go to look over at him, but Rayne finally cracks a smirk. “Trust me, there’s space for more.”
I pull a face. “I don’t want to-”
“Maddie, duck,” Ryan suddenly blurts, interrupting me so quickly that pure instinct has me sliding down in my chair, my body resembling a stream of water as I glide right out of my chair and under the table.
“What? What is it? Is it the fucking Autobots? I knew it would happen when I was eating, damn it,” I whisper-yell, dragging my chair closer to me to better hide myself from the sentient robots I truly believe are a threat to humanity.
One of these days, I’ll get my chance to say I told you so to everyone who mocked my fear of Cybertron and its occupants.
Today might be that day, Ryan’s answer pending.
Thankfully, he doesn’t make me wait very long, leaning back in his chair to discreetly whisper back, “I think I can see your ex walking into the restaurant.”
“Oh fuck, that’s worse than the robots,” I curse, adjusting myself until I’m leaning against Ryan and Baxter’s knees, the latter sticking his hand beneath the table and directing me farther beneath it.
Feeling like an idiot, but more than willing to suffer such indignities if it means escaping an encounter with that dick for brains who simply won’t leave me alone, I shuffle across the floor on my hands and knees, slow to remember that I’ve abandoned my purse and food.
I fucking hate Toby Moore, goddamn it all.
At least I have my cell phone still on me.
Silver linings, right? Maybe I’ll text Ryan and ask him to get my food boxed up so I can grab it when I get home.
For now, however, I’m stuck beneath the table, now using the guys’ legs as crutches that are holding me upright and hoping my presence goes unnoticed.
Life has never been that kind, and the universe proves once again what a thundering moose knuckle it is when I hear the devil grumble, “Oh. It’s you. Is Madison here? Her location pings here, but I can’t find her. We need to talk.”
Oh, this motherfucker.