Playboy For Hire

9. Ryder

9

RYDER

I woke up with my head on one pillow, my arm flung protectively around another. I blinked sleepily. The light coming in through the cracks in the curtains gave the room a dim glow. The space was much bigger than my bedroom in the rowhouse I shared with Raf and Amir.

Where was I?

I turned my head to look towards the door, which was when I realized my arm wasn’t thrown around a pillow, it was thrown around someone’s chest.

A man’s chest.

Quinn’s chest.

My eyes went wide. Last night came pouring back.

Quinn had asked me if I wanted to stay the night. I hadn’t been able to sleep. I’d come into his room, sat on his bed, and then—

And then.

My cheeks flooded with heat as I remembered what we’d done. That single kiss had led to so much more. And fuck, it had been so hot.

I paused for a moment, thinking that over. Shouldn’t I feel weird or something, about hooking up with a guy? And not just any guy, but Quinn. My friend. Did that make it better, or worse?

I lifted my head off the pillow and studied him. His eyes were closed, and the ever-present worry lines between his brows were smooth. His lips were slightly parted, his head stretched back on the pillow, the long lines of his neck exposed. His Adam’s apple was right there, and I had the strongest urge to reach across and touch it—with my tongue. To put my hands on either side of his face and kiss him awake.

That thought sent even more heat to my cheeks—and to other parts of my body.

Fuck.

This wasn’t good.

Not the part about me being attracted to a guy. That was fine. Unexpected, and maybe I’d have some identity crisis later, but right now, I had more important matters to attend to, like the fact that hooking up with Quinn was a recipe for disaster.

There was a reason I was single. A reason I didn’t have a girlfriend to complain about my job. And it was because every single person I got close to ended up disappointed in me.

There were only so many times you could hear people say the same thing over and over— you’re so unserious—you need more direction—what do you actually want to do with your life—do you plan on skating by on smiles and washboard abs forever —before you start to think they might have a point.

After Molly had dumped me, I’d just stopped trying. It had never been hard for me to meet someone at a bar and take her home, on nights when I needed a release. But I was always clear that it was just for one night.

It was easier not to get hurt this way.

The problem was, no matter how right my exes had been in the past, I hadn’t actually grown or changed. I’d always assumed I’d figure something out by the end of college. But here I was, months from graduation, and I hadn’t figured out a damn thing. I wasn’t very academic. Last summer’s internship was supposed to turn into a job offer, but they’d ended up letting me go early—and I couldn’t even blame them.

But Quinn was the opposite of me. He was smart, and educated, and fully employed at a real, actual adult job. He didn’t just graduate college, he’d graduated law school. There were a few plaques in his living room thanking him for his service on big projects.

He would never be interested in me, not once he knew me better. And I didn’t need to be kicked while I was down.

I wasn’t sure if I liked Quinn as a friend or as something more. But I did know the surest way to lose Quinn as a friend was to let this go any further. Because once he knew me better, the attraction would fade—and it was always so awkward, trying to be friends with someone you used to hook up with.

If I wanted him in my life—and I did—then this couldn’t happen again.

With a silent sigh, I pulled away from him and pulled my boxers back into place. I slipped out of bed as slowly and quietly as possible. I froze, halfway to the bedroom door, when he rolled over and mumbled something in his sleep. But he didn’t wake up, and I was able to sneak out the door.

That was an ugly word. Sneak. But it was the only honest way to describe what I was doing. I dressed hurriedly in the living room, then found a notepad and pen in the kitchen.

Early class, had to go. Last night was fun, but should probably be a one-time thing. See ya. —R

I debated adding a smiley face to the message I’d scribbled. It felt sort of rude, not leaving one. But I also wanted to make clear that things were going to stay strictly platonic between us. Could you leave a platonic smiley face?

I decided not, just to be safe, so I set the pen down, scanned the apartment a final time, and slipped out the door.

I didn’t have an early class, but I did have a meeting with my advisor at eleven that I’d been dreading for days. I couldn’t put it off any longer, though. So after a stop at home and a trip to the gym, I headed back to campus.

My advisor, Dr. Sathers, had her office on the fifth floor of a massive brick building on the western side of campus. Her office door was covered in cartoons from the New Yorker . The one right next to the knob showed two people talking in an office cubicle. ‘ I wish I had a salary that disgusted people ,’ one of them said.

I didn’t like how much that resonated with me. I made decent money from Heartbreakers, but I would have loved to have some other option. Even with a small salary. Just something to prove I wasn’t totally incompetent.

I knocked on the door.

“Come in,” said Dr. Sathers. I opened the door to see her look up from her computer and wave me inside. “Hi, Ryder. How’s it going?”

“Pretty good, pretty good,” I said, giving her my most relaxed smile. Like I’d scheduled this meeting just to check in and shoot the shit. Like I wasn’t sweating enough to slide out of my clothes and melt into a puddle on the floor.

We talked about nothing in particular as I set my backpack down and got settled. I tried to project an air of calm. I’d always liked Dr. Sathers, and I hoped the feeling was mutual.

“Are you looking forward to graduation?” she asked.

“Yeah, definitely.” I attempted my relaxed smile again, but I was too anxious for it to work properly. “I mean, kind of, anyway.”

“I haven’t seen much of you this semester,” she said. “Usually my students check in sooner. Does that mean you’ve already got a job offer lined up?”

“Um, about that. That’s actually what I was hoping to talk to you about. The thing is, I keep not getting replies when I send in my applications. And I was wondering if you would be willing to write me a recommendation letter? I really think it might help.”

Usually, jobs just asked for reference names and numbers, not letters. But I was getting desperate, and Dr. Sathers had worked for a massive lobbying firm before moving into academia. Her name still carried a lot of weight.

“Ah,” she said, giving me an appraising look. “I was worried you might ask me that.”

Fuck. My stomach sank through the floorboards, and I devoutly wished I could follow it.

“Worried?” I asked, wincing.

“I’m going to be perfectly level with you, Ryder. You’re engaging and personable, very charming. I like you. But I have strong reserves about putting my name behind a recommendation for you. You’ve gotten a C and a C-minus in the two classes of mine that you took. Your GPA isn’t strong.” She paused. “And I heard from Wadsworth & Lowe about what happened last summer.”

“It was a mistake,” I said, though I knew it wouldn’t make a difference. No matter how accidental my actions had been, I’d cost the company a huge reputation hit. I’d been let go immediately, and I couldn’t blame them. “It was just a mistake.”

I knew how lame my excuse sounded, but it was all I could offer.

Dr. Sathers gave me a sympathetic smile. “The problem is, word travels fast among companies of that size, and mistake though it was, no one is eager to take on a candidate with a blemish on their record like yours.”

“Wait,” I said slowly. “Is that why no one is getting back to me? Do they all know my name already? Is there some kind of spreadsheet of screw-ups that companies all have access to?”

Oh, God. That made so much horrible, fucked-up sense. No wonder I hadn’t gotten a single interview, and barely even any acknowledgements of my applications. Fuck, I was such an idiot. An idiot for fucking up in the first place, and a whole second level of idiot for not realizing it would have consequences.

I didn’t want to sink through the floor anymore. I wanted to evaporate. To become a fine mist of particles that disappeared into thin air.

“Nothing as formal as a spreadsheet,” she said. “But right now, your name is too fresh in everyone’s memories. When I didn’t see you earlier this semester, I hoped that was a good sign, that you’d found a job anyway. But at this point in the year…”

She trailed off and spread her hands helplessly. “My best advice is to look for a job in another sector. Something away from the business world entirely. You’ve got plenty of other assets.”

“Like what?” I asked. I hated how pathetic my voice sounded, but I couldn’t help it.

“Like I said earlier. You’re charming, friendly. Maybe find a job in sales. Or something else people-facing. Then give it a few years. Let some time pass. People’s memories will grow fuzzy and someone else will fuck up after you. I think you’ll have better luck then.”

“Jesus. You’re telling me to sell used cars?”

“It doesn’t have to be that. What about personal training? You seem fit and athletic. Or perhaps modeling or acting. Maybe some kind of influencing? I’m sure you’d be great at that. You just have to play to your strengths.”

It wasn’t enough to evaporate. I needed to go back in time and stop myself from being born. My academic advisor was telling me I was too stupid to get a real job. She was literally telling me I was just a pretty face. Modeling ? I hadn’t realized she’d thought so little of me.

“I can tell this isn’t what you want to hear,” she said briskly. “But I don’t believe in beating around the bush. And I can offer you this. Get a job, get a few years of experience under your belt, and then come back and talk to me. Maybe I’ll be able to help you out then. Okay?”

She said it like it was a question, but she didn’t even give me a chance to reply before she stood and said, “I’m late for a meeting, but do let me know what you find, okay? Keep in touch after graduation. Please.”

I did my best to keep a smile on my face as I grabbed my bag and let her usher me out the door. My life was just one fuck-up after another. I didn’t know why I was even surprised anymore. I should have known I wasn’t going to get the kind of help I wanted. I hadn’t done enough to earn it.

“Yeah,” I said. “I will.”

“Promise?”

“Promise.”

I gave her a wave, then headed for the stairs, feeling lower than I had in months.