Playboy For Hire

6. Quinn

6

QUINN

I couldn’t stop thinking about that damn kiss.

It was Monday. Three whole days after it had happened. I was on my way to Bar Onze after work, to meet a new guy—a guy I was actually excited about—but it was Ryder who filled my brain.

It had been a while since I had kissed anyone, but I was pretty sure that kiss was still one of the best ones I’d ever experienced. Which made no sense, because it wasn’t like Ryder liked me or anything.

But his lips, his tongue—God, he’d been so sure of himself, so confident but gentle at the same time. He’d erased all thought in my brain for a minute. My knees had actually buckled, and when he finally pulled away, I’d been lightheaded.

And then, of course, I’d seen Brandon and remembered where I was, and the heartbreak came rushing back. And then , Ryder told me it was a pity kiss, and I felt even worse. I’d had to pay somebody to kiss me in front of my now-engaged ex, and it was fucking amazing, and now I had to deal with the fact that it wasn’t real.

I was so mad at him. How dare he kiss me like that? How dare he act like he knew anything about me? Like he had a right to point out how messed up I was over Brandon.

It was extra unfair that Ryder was right, that I really was that transparent. But still, he shouldn’t have kissed me. Kissed me, and left me wanting more.

So now I had to go meet this new guy, and somehow put Ryder out of my mind. Not compare the guy to Ryder. Not wonder what Ryder was doing while I was on my date. Not drift off and start daydreaming about his lips the way I’d been doing all weekend.

I was jittery enough when I got to Bar Onze that I walked straight to the bar and ordered a glass of rosé instead of my usual mocha. I didn’t need the additional caffeine. My body was ready to vibrate into the stratosphere all on its own.

The bar was moderately full. Two women sat at one end, and someone had left a backpack with a laptop at the other end—they must have been in the bathroom. The tables were about half-full, and I texted Ewan, my date, to let him know I’d grabbed one in the back corner.

Thirty minutes later, I wanted bang my head on the table.

I was aware I didn’t lead the most exciting life. I was a law librarian, which meant I spent most of my days looking things up on computers instead of interacting with people. When I came home from work, I read or built little model houses from kits.

My favorite thing to do with my friends was to invite them over for dinner and be in bed by nine. I got up early to watch birds, hung out with my great aunt, and sometimes, when I was feeling really spicy, I stayed up ‘til ten and fell down Wikipedia rabbit holes about the oldest continually-operating passenger trains in the world.

The point is, I knew my life would make most people yawn. But even I thought Ewan was about as interesting as a Ziploc bag full of fingernail clippings.

It wasn’t so much his life as the way he talked. He gave mono-syllabic answers to all my questions, and his tone was the softest, most affect-free thing I’d ever heard. It was like listening to an NPR host read Goodnight Moon. The man was soporific.

Plus, he kept staring at my birthmark. I was used to people staring, but usually they at least tried to hide it. He was like the little kids on the bus who exclaimed, ‘ Mama, that man has dirt on his face ,’ except he didn’t have the excuse of being three years old.

Of course, he looked perfect. Or at least attractive. He had straight brown hair, parted neatly on one side, and a broad, open face that seemed like it should belong to someone who talked a lot and laughed even more. His eyes were a really pretty shade of brown, and I was sure he worked out regularly, if the breadth of his shoulders was any indication.

Maybe not the most incredible guy I’d ever seen—I firmly pushed away the image of Ryder that popped up in my mind—but definitely hot, which made me want this date to go well. And I was trying, I really was. But Ewan kept giving me the world’s shortest answers.

Where did he live? Glover Par k. Did he like living there? Yeah . What did he like about it? It’s nice . How long had he been in DC? A while . What brought him here? Work . What did he do? Spreadsheets.

Was he a super spy, being vague on purpose? But surely a super spy would have a better cover story. What kind of answer was ‘ spreadsheets ’? I used spreadsheets too sometimes, but that didn’t tell you what I actually did .

I tried asking why he’d chosen the beer he had. Looked interesting . How did he like it? It’s fine . Did he prefer beer to wine? Not really . All the while, he stared at me with wide eyes, like he’d never seen someone who looked like me before.

But this was DC. He’d seen plenty of Black people. Plenty of people with glasses. Plenty of guys in business casual. No, I knew what he was really staring at.

Finally, I cracked. “So, what do you want to talk about?”

For the first time all evening, Ewan’s face brightened, like I’d actually said something interesting.

“I’m glad you asked.” His voice was more alert than I’d heard it yet. “Where did you get that mark on your face?”

I was prepared for the question, but my heart still fluttered. I reminded myself sternly not to freak out. I’d practically asked the question for him. But I still didn’t enjoy feeling like I had to explain my tragic shortcomings to someone who so clearly didn’t see anything else about me as a person.

I shrugged. “Born with it. Just a birthmark.”

“Really?” Ewan asked. “I’ve never seen a birthmark that big. Is it weird, having it?”

“I don’t know.” I shrugged again and tried to laugh, like this conversation wasn’t rapidly increasing my desire to take off running. “I mean, I’ve never lived without it, so I don’t have anything to compare it to.”

“Do you think—I mean, could I—” Ewan broke off, then lurched forward, his arm outstretched.

I jumped back when I realized he was trying to touch it. My knees hit the underside of the table, which set my wine glass wobbling. My chair tipped back, and I windmilled my arms to keep from falling. The glass rocked right, left—and then a hand swooped in, steadying it.

“Hey, Quinn,” said a voice over my shoulder. “Fancy meeting you here.”

My heart was still thumping wildly from my near fall, and I looked up to find Ryder standing next to our table. Where had he come from?

“What’s up, man?” Ryder said, nodding at me and Ewan. “What are you guys doing here?”

He had a pint glass in his hand, and he took a sip of his beer like this was a completely normal occurrence. When neither Ewan nor I spoke, he stuck his hand out to Ewan.

“Hey, I’m Ryder. Nice to meet you.”

Ewan just stared at him, and I realized I was going to have to make the introduction. I still couldn’t work out why Ryder was here. Hadn’t he told me, when we’d first met up, that he’d never been to this bar before?

“Ryder, this is Ewan. Ewan, this is Ryder.” I didn’t try to explain how I knew Ryder to Ewan. What would I even say? I hired this guy to be my fake-boyfriend. Doesn’t that make me seem cool and desirable ?

“Oh, cool,” Ryder said, giving Ewan an easy grin. He pulled a chair out from the table next to us and sat down on it, backwards, as though I’d asked him to join us, which I definitely had not. “Always nice to meet another of Quinn’s friends. So how do you two know each other?”

I stared at him in incomprehension. I’d told Ryder I had a date today. Couldn’t he put two and two together?

“We’re on a date,” Ewan said, and again, his voice sounded more animated than it had all night. “How do you guys know each other?”

He sounded positively territorial. I hadn’t even been sure he was fully awake when we were talking earlier. But I guess he had tried to touch my face a minute ago. Maybe he really did like me?

Ryder didn’t answer Ewan’s question. Didn’t even seem to hear it. He just looked at me and said, “Oh, that’s cool. So how’s it going, Quinn? You having fun? Is he good enough?”

I stared at Ryder, wide-eyed. “What?”

Dimly, I heard Ewan echo me, but I was so shocked, I barely noticed.

“Just kidding, just kidding,” Ryder said, holding his hands up in mock surrender. Then he turned to Ewan. “I’m Quinn’s ex, by the way. We split up, but it was amicable. I was about to ship out to Antarctica, and he didn’t want to do long distance, which I totally understand. But you get it—I just want what’s best for Quinn here.”

“...Oh?” Ewan said softly.

“Ryder, what are you doing here?” I asked.

Ryder acted like he hadn’t heard me. He rested one elbow on the tabletop and looked at Ewan. “To be honest, it was probably for the best. Quinn is, shall we say, well endowed . And I honestly don’t know if I could have handled all of him for much longer, if you know what I mean. The whole enchilada. The whole dick’n’caboodle. The whole nine yards—or should I say inches?

He wiggled his eyebrows at Ewan, whose mouth dropped open.

“But hey, maybe you’ve got more capacity in that regard than I do,” Ryder continued. “What do you think? Think you can take all of him?”

He slapped Ewan on the arm with a hearty laugh. All I could do was stare. What the hell was Ryder doing?

“I don’t think…” Ewan trailed off, his mouth hanging open in confusion.

“Well, hey, keep your mouth nice and open like that, and you’re off to a good start,” Ryder said. “That’s what our boy here deserves.”

He turned to me. “What do you think? Does he do it for you? Because if he doesn’t, maybe you and I could—”

“What the fuck are you doing?” I snapped, finally getting the words out.

“Just having a drink,” he said, gesturing to his beer. “Catching up with old friends. Is there a problem?”

“We’re not friends,” I said.

“Okay, sure, I suppose ‘ old fuck buddies ’ is probably more accurate.” He chuckled, then said to Ewan in a confiding tone, “Quinn once made me come five times in one hour. Magic dick, I swear. You’re in for a treat.”

My heart was still pounding, but not from shock anymore. No, now it was from anger.

“Ryder, I don’t know what you think you’re doing—”

“I just told you, I’m—”

“But I want you to leave. Now.”

Ryder cocked his head to one side, like he wasn’t sure he’d heard me correctly.

“Oh, come on. We’re all having fun here, aren’t we? That’s a little premature.” He turned back to Ewan. “Not a problem Quinn has, by the way. He can go all night .”

“Ryder,” I growled.

Sighing dramatically, he pushed his chair back from the table. He didn’t stand up, though.

“Okay, okay, I can tell when I’m not wanted.” He smirked at Ewan. “Hey, at least one of us is getting lucky tonight, even if it’s not me. But when he’s reached your stomach with that giant redwood of a cock, don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

“I think I’m gonna go,” Ewan said, standing up suddenly.

Ryder and I both stared at him, but Ryder reacted quicker.

“What? Man, I really think you’ve got a chance here, if you stick it out,” Ryder said. “Quinn’s pretty picky, but even a one-night-stand with him is worth it, if you don’t make the cut for boyfriend material.”

“Yeah, I—no. I think it’s best if I—” Ewan shook his head. “I don’t know what’s going on here, but I don’t want to be part of it, I think. Bye.”

He gave a final nod, then walked away. It was the longest sentence he’d strung together all night.

I stared at Ryder after Ewan left, trying to tamp my anger down enough that I could actually get words out. It was hard to focus that much when what I wanted to do was throttle him.

“What the hell was that?” I snapped. I worked hard to keep my voice under control. I wasn’t going to yell in a public place. But God, I wanted to.

“What do you mean?” Ryder asked, looking at me with what appeared to be genuine confusion.

“I mean, what the hell were you doing just now, torpedoing my date? What are you even doing here?”

“I wasn’t torpedoing anything,” he said, his tone defensive.

“You interrupted my date, pretended to be the world’s creepiest ex, and kept talking until Ewan left. What do you call that if not torpedoing?”

Ryder rolled his eyes. “Okay, so it didn’t go quite like I hoped it would. But I wasn’t trying to torpedo it. I was trying to help.” He wrinkled his nose. “Though to tell the truth, I think you can do better. I was watching you for a while, and talking to that guy looked about as fun as waiting for your computer to install updates. Also, what the fuck was he doing, trying to touch your birthmark? That was weird.”

It didn’t help my anger that Ryder was right about both those things. Then something else he’d said clicked into place.

“Wait a second, you were watching me ?” I popped up out of my chair. I was too frustrated to stay seated any longer.

Ryder rose too, but he waved my question away. “Anyway, you’re way hotter than that guy. So it’s his loss.”

“No, I’m not, but that’s not even the point,” I sputtered. “Looks aren’t everything.”

“Yeah, but it’s not like this guy had a sparkling personality.”

“Maybe I don’t either.”

“Come on, Quinn, cut the bullshit. I know this whole low self-esteem thing is kind of your jam, but you know you’re more interesting than that guy. Funnier, smarter, way more fun to—”

“Jesus, how long were you watching us?”

“I was just trying to help,” Ryder said, ignoring the question a second time. “As a friend.”

“By posing as my ex and telling the guy I had a twelve-inch dick.”

“Nine inches,” Ryder corrected. “Was that big enough? I know some gay guys are kinda into size stuff. Maybe I should have emphasized girth too. My friend says—”

“I don’t care what your friend says. You’re not my friend, and that was a fucked up thing to do.”

“I was just trying to talk you up. Boost your confidence—and maybe get that guy to up his game a little, because seriously, Quinn, talking to him was like talking to a used tissue.”

I hated that this observation, at least, was one hundred percent accurate.

“And we could be friends,” he continued. “If you want to be. Here, let me find another guy for you. Can I look at your app? I bet we can find someone better.”

“What the hell? No. I barely know you.”

“I’ve kissed you.” Ryder made this sound like an eminently reasonable counter-argument.

“I paid you for that.”

“No, you paid for my company. The kiss was free. Speaking of which…” He trailed off and bit his lip. I couldn’t read the look he was giving me, but a moment later, his hand was on my shoulder, and his lips were on a crash course with my face.

“Jesus, are you drunk?” I asked, putting a hand on his chest to stop him from getting any closer.

Ryder blinked and stepped back, then looked down at my hand. I dropped it and folded my arms across my chest.

“I’ve been here since four o’clock,” he said. “Had to drink something to justify holding onto the bar stool. You must have walked right past me when you came in. Didn’t even notice me. Kind of rude, don’t you think?”

He gave me a playful smile, but I was in no mood.

“Go home, Ryder.”

“What? No, Quinn, I—look, I’m sorry, okay. Tell me how I can fix this, and I will.”

“You can’t.”

He made a pained face. “I came down here to apologize for Friday, and I feel like every time I try to make things better with you, I just make them worse.

“Apologize for Friday?” I said suspiciously. “What about Friday?”

“For kissing you. I feel like I might have crossed a boundary or something. I just wanted to say I was sorry.”

“By attempting to kiss me again right now?”

He grinned sheepishly. “I got nervous, waiting. Thought you might yell at me. Might have had a bit too much liquid courage. Blame it on the alcohol.”

“No, I’ll blame it on you being a fucking idiot.”

“Well, that works too.” He gave me a serious look—or as serious a look as he could, given the amount he’d had to drink. “Truly, though, I did want to say I’m sorry. And I am. Sorry. Very. Did I like, violate you?”

I wanted to shake him.

Because no, he hadn’t. Not in the way he meant. I wasn’t a damsel whose honor had been ravaged. But also, yes, he had, because that kiss was really fucking good, and I couldn’t get it out of my head, and even now, I was fighting the urge to pull him in again, except I knew Ryder wasn’t actually serious about kissing me another time.

He was just drunk. And an idiot. He didn’t want me. If he did, he would have tried to run Ewan off, tried to keep me for himself instead of selling me to him. But no. He’d been trying to help. In his ridiculous, absurd, completely unhelpful way.

I sighed. “No. You didn’t. Not in the way you mean, anyway.”

“Really?” Ryder brightened. “Because you seemed kinda mad when you left.” He ran a hand through his hair. “I really don’t want you to be mad at me. I know that sounds stupid, but I’d like us to be friends. And I don’t want to hurt a friend. I mean, I don’t want to hurt anybody, but especially not someone like you.”

I just stared at him. Even drunk, even chagrined, his gray eyes had the power to make me feel like I was the only person in the whole world. The only guy he ever wanted to look at. But that was exactly why we couldn’t be friends.

There was no way I could be around Ryder for more than five minutes without wanting him. And underneath all the playful flirtation, Ryder was a straight guy, and a player, and he didn’t want me.

“I’m sorry,” I told him. “But that’s not what I want. And I have to go. Enjoy the rest of your beer.”

Ryder was also directly responsible for how poorly my next date went.

Okay, maybe not directly responsible, but certainly indirectly. Because when Joe, a hot CEO of a local wildlife conservation nonprofit, messaged me a week later and struck up a conversation, I was determined not to let the date go badly.

Joe was chatty, and aggressively interested in me. Or maybe aggressive wasn’t the right word—maybe just forthright. It was refreshing the way he just came right out and said what he thought.

JOE: I like you a lot from talking to you and I’d love to meet in person. Are you free?

I’d said yes, and he seemed really happy. Enough that he texted me the next day, saying he was excited to meet me. He texted again the day after that. When we finally set a date for drinks at a bar called The Dartmoor on Thursday evening, I was more excited than I’d been in a long time.

I was not going to let Ryder ruin this for me. First of all, I wasn’t going to let him know I had another date. We hadn’t talked since I’d seen him, and that was fine with me. But I also wasn’t going to let memories of Ryder get in my head and make me freeze up. This date was going to go well.

I’d never been to The Dartmoor before, which made me a little nervous. And because I get awkward when I get nervous, I decided to counteract that by having an espresso and then a shot of vodka before the date. I also decided to get to the bar early, just to get the lay of the land.

The place was tiny, with a maze-like warren of rooms that were barely wider than a hallway, tiny tables crammed in every spare bit of space. I picked a table right by the front door and windows, so I wouldn’t feel too hemmed in, and so I could see Joe coming.

A server asked if I wanted anything to drink while I waited, and I ordered a glass of pinot noir. I was so antsy, I gulped half of it down as soon as he handed it to me, and when he asked if I wanted a refill, I said yes.

So I was two and a half drinks in when Joe arrived, late but very apologetic. I was buzzed from both alcohol and caffeine, but extremely glad of it, because Joe was even better looking in person. He was talkative, paid attention to what I said, and had a lot of funny stories about work.

He was a little high-handed, maybe. When the server came back, he didn’t even look at the menu. He just said, “Macallan 18-year sherry oak single malt. Neat.”

“We don’t have that,” the server said apologetically, proffering the menu again.

“Well, you should,” Joe said. “It’s the best.” His voice was playful, but his eyes were a little intense.

“Yeah, probably,” the server agreed, laughing a little. “I’ll tell the management. But in the meantime, we do have Johnnie Walker Black, or Glenfiddich 12-year single malt. Or if you want to look at the menu—”

“Glenfiddich will be fine,” Joe sighed. Then he pointed to me. “And he’ll have the Johnnie Walker, with a dash of water.”

I blinked. I hadn’t been paying attention—all the words Joe was tossing around meant nothing to me. But I didn’t particularly want any scotch.

“I already have a drink,” I said.

“Yeah, but this is so much better. You’ll regret ordering your wine once you taste this.”

His tone was still playful. I supposed he was just really confident. And he’d hardly even glanced at my birthmark, which was impressive. None of my pictures online showed that side of my face, so I was used to some double-takes, but Joe seemed like he’d barely noticed.

So I drank the scotch when it came. It made me cough, but I tried to smile through it.

“Yeah, it’s really peaty,” he said. “That’s why I ordered yours watered down. Most people can’t handle it straight.”

I couldn’t decide if that was patronizing or just thoughtful. Joe kept complimenting me, though.

“You look even better in person,” he said, flashing me the kind of smile I wasn’t used to getting from guys.

“You too,” I said, before flushing. I wasn’t usually that forward.

But he just laughed. “Well, thank you. I’m so glad we’re clicking.”

“So what kinds of animals are you working to save specifically?” I asked.

Joe leaned back in his chair, taking another long sip of his drink. “We’ve focused on lots of different ones over the years, but currently, I’m interested in the dwarf wedgemussel.”

“What’s that?” I asked. I’d never heard of it.

“The short answer is that it’s a mussel,” he said. Then he winked. “But the long answer is that it’s a meal ticket to some of the best wining-and-dining I’ve ever had.”

I blinked. “What?”

“Get this,” he said, leaning forward again. “All you have to do is pick an endangered species to focus on. Make sure it’s one nobody else really cares about, so you can corner the market. Then you just talk about it a lot, and suddenly all kinds of lobbyists from fossil fuels to agriculture to big pharma appear at your side with gifts.”

I blinked again. “I’m sorry, I don’t think I—”

“It’s a free lunch,” Joe laughed. “More than lunch. Dinner, travel, hotels…you name it. Any industry that pollutes our rivers and streams—which is basically all of them—is desperate to donate to your campaign, and give you gifts on the side. You know, I’ve got a bottle of Macallan back on my boat right now, a gift from Peter Cassinelli at Labrago Chemical.”

“Oh. That sounds…interesting.”

That was the nicest thing I could think of to say. In reality, it sounded self-centered and grifty. But I supposed if he was still getting donations to save the mussels… How did one save mussels, exactly? Presumably by forcing companies not to pollute anymore, which I wasn’t sure Joe was actually pushing for. But maybe if he—

“Wait, you have a boat?” I said, keying in on something he’d mentioned.

“It’s nothing special,” he said. “Just a houseboat moored down at the marina. But Peter, the guy from Labrago, has a yacht that I’ve been on and man, I’ve gotta get one of those. He took me on a cruise down to St. Lucia, all around the Caribbean. Wicked cool. So that’s the goal, now.”

“Isn’t the goal to save the swarf sledgemussel?” I asked. I tried again. “I mean the dwarf dredgelussel?”

“Doesn’t matter,” Joe said. “I mean, sure, that’s the goal in the grander scheme of things. But if I can get a yacht out of the process, I’m not gonna complain, you know?

“I always wanted to live on a houseboat when I was little,” I said wistfully. “I read this book about a dog who lived on a boat when I was a kid, and I just thought it was the coolest thing.”

“Well, I can show you my boat, if you want. Maybe after the next round, we could head down there?”

“I’d love that,” I blurted out. “I’m so curious what life is like on one.”

“Well, I hope it meets your expectations. At the very least, it’ll give us a chance to get more…comfortable. I’ve gotta say, Quinn, I can’t stop staring at you. You’re so hot.”

Suddenly, I realized I’d just agreed to go back to Joe’s boat not for a wholesome tour, but to hook up. I laughed nervously, wondering what the hell I’d been thinking. But then, I hadn’t really been thinking—thanks to all the vodka and wine and scotch swirling around in my head.

It wasn’t that he wasn’t hot. He was the proverbial tall, dark, and handsome. And he did seem interested in me, which was a plus. But I just couldn’t get excited about it.

It’s because you don’t actually like him , said a little voice in the back of my mind, and with a sinking heart, I realized it was right. He wasn’t horrible or anything, but the whole swedgebustle scam had put a bad taste in my mouth.

Maybe I just didn’t know him well enough, though?

“So where would you go, if you had a yacht?” I asked, reminding myself to keep an open mind. “What’s your dream vacation?”

That was always a fun topic. My personal dream vacation swung back and forth between Argentina or South Africa, both of which had excellent birdwatching. Though I supposed I could take a road trip to the Gulf Coast instead. Closer to home, but still lots to see.

“Oh, you know,” Joe said. “I’d just hop in and set sail until I got to the edge of the earth.”

I nodded encouragingly. “Yeah, that’d be amazing. But like, where specifically. Any part of the world you particularly want to see?”

He gave me a strange look. “Yeah. The edge of the earth.”

I cocked my head to the side, wondering what I was missing. “Is that the name of some resort, or…”

“No, the literal edge of the world. I want to find it. And if I had my own yacht and crew, I really could.”

I stared at him, completely at a loss for words.

“I know, I know, you’ve probably got alarm bells going off in your head right now, don’t you?” Joe said.

I laughed weakly. “I mean, I can’t say that’s something I hear every day.”

“I get it. I used to be the same way. I thought people who believed in conspiracy theories were completely nuts. But then I saw this video on YouTube one day—completely by accident, it was almost like divine intervention—and it changed my life. Everyone thinks flat-earthers are crazy, but we’re just asking questions, you know? The government wants us to believe certain lies because the foundation of our country was built on them, and they want to keep us complacent. And who knows, maybe I’m wrong, I’m willing to be wrong—but I’m not the type to just believe what someone else tells me. And there are so many reasons to be suspicious of the round-earth theory. I mean, for starters, why would they call it ‘sea level ’ if the earth is round?”

“I’m not sure—” I began, but he barreled onwards.

“Think about it. You can test this stuff at home. If the earth is curved, why is the water in your bathtub flat when you fill it? Why is the water in a pot on the stove level?”

“I think that’s because they’re not really big enough to—”

But it was no use. He wouldn’t let me get a word in edgewise. I just sat and listened, stunned. Not only was this guy arrogant and materialist, but he was a flat-earther too? God, this would be the kind of thing that happened to me. I was almost surprised it hadn’t before.

I wondered if he brought up his theories on all his dates. Did he get a lot of second ones, after mentioning it on the first? Oh, God. I didn’t get a lot of second dates either. Was I as annoying and weird as Joe?

Shit. Maybe that was why he was coming on so strong. Maybe he was trying to get me to like him, because he didn’t think he’d have a shot otherwise. Or maybe he thought I was too desperate not to go home with him.

Which I’d already agreed to do.

Fuck. I needed a way out. And suddenly, an idea occurred to me.

“I’m sorry,” I interrupted. Joe was in the middle of a rant about how we couldn’t trust the government, so we needed to abolish the Department of Education. “I need to use the bathroom. I’ll be right back.”

“No worries. Take your time. I’ll watch your stuff.”

“Oh. Thanks.”

I hadn’t been worried until he’d said that, but now I felt like he was going to do something strange to my coat. But that was fine. I had my phone in my pocket, which was all I really needed.

I hurried through the tangle of rooms and heaved a huge sigh of relief once I was safely ensconced in the bathroom. This wasn’t an ideal situation. And it was definitely going to require me to grovel. But I was more than happy to do that, if it got me out of this date from hell.

I just had to hope Ryder was free.