If?
She dashed the last half block to her car, the blood singing in her ears. What if? Ryker Bensen was a man. There would be sex.
Chapter 8
‡
Ryker locked the back door of B. Dazzled, pocketed the key and retrieved his bike from the garage. The mornings were getting downright chilly. His thermal hoody made getting around on bike tolerable if he didn’t peddle too fast.
He clicked the plastic connector chinstrap of his helmet and pulled on his gloves. Today was his last day on the job. The past week had flown by in a blur. Bailey was a sweet—if distracted—landlord. She—or, maybe, her mother—provided a double bed, sheets, blankets and pillows, and a comfy recliner where he could work on the laptop Bailey was lending him. The second “spare” bedroom had been converted from a storage room to a photography studio. He’d been pleasantly surprised by how quickly his shipping containers arrived. Mom even included an extra box, which he had yet to open. Her note alluded to “things you probably should have.”
He didn’t trust her to know him well enough to have any idea what he “should” have. For now, he stashed it in the corner of one of his freight boxes. Out of sight and out of mind—just like he was to her.
As he had every morning that week, he paused a moment to look at the sky and smile. Somewhere nearby, Mia Zabrinski was waking up—or, knowing how she drove herself, she’d been up for hours. He’d given up trying to get her out of his head. He simply couldn’t not think of her. He’d tried. When the money from Flynn appeared in his bank account, he’d treated himself to a night at Grey’s Saloon where he’d flirted with several cute girls and played pool with one who gave him her number and said, “Call me. Let’s have some fun.”
Fun. The concept didn’t register on his scope of reference. His beautiful Colette would never have fun again, so why should he?
But Ryker knew life didn’t work that way. It was time to re-engage with the world—as he knew Colette would want him to do.
Which is why he planned to use some of his paycheck to take Mia on a date…if she’d agree to go out with him.
“Bring it on,” he said with a grin as he pushed his bike through the gate.
Bailey and her “minions,” as her gregarious, chatty workers called themselves, would be here soon. He’d only bumped into the four women a few times. As pleasant, gregarious and motherly as they were, he’d felt like a new pet goldfish under scrutiny in a sparkly fishbowl. This job got him out of the house before the jewelry crowd arrived.
Maybe he’d try to find another steady gig.
He wove gracefully around parked cars, barely avoiding a cat that would have given up one of his lives if Ryker had been in a car. He turned on Fifth, slowing to cross the tracks—a treacherous task on a bike. If he lived here permanently, he’d make building dedicated bike lanes one of his first initiatives.
Traffic picked up as he neared the school, but he was early enough to be able to spot the Raines Photography van in the high school parking lot without a problem.
“Morning. Punctual. Like that,” Bob Raines, his temporary boss, said when Ryker glided to a stop beside the impossible-to-miss vehicle. Bob liked things organized and on schedule. He tended to talk in Twitter-speak. Short. Succinct. Verb-challenged.
Ryker chained his bike to a nearby rack and removed his helmet.
“Clean-shaven, too, I see. Good and bad.”
“What do you mean? Yesterday, you called me scruffy.”
Bob handed him a clipboard. “True. Better for the teachers. Worse for the girls.”
Ryker ran his hand over his smooth jaw. The whole time he’d spent shaving, he’d pictured himself kissing Mia, rubbing his smooth cheek against her tender skin, trying to imagine what she’d gone through with her surgery and cancer treatments. Last night, he’d read a few breast cancer survivors’ journals online to get some idea of her ordeal.
“Worse? How?”
Bob yanked a tripod out of the van and passed it to Ryker. “Watch ’em go all Bieber on you.”
Bieber? Ryker had a vague idea who Justin Bieber was, but he’d didn’t get what Bob was implying until the man added, “Giggles. Blushes. Flirting. Adds time to every single shot.”
Three hours later, Ryker understood. Teenage girls…who knew? As a herd, they reminded him of gazelles. He’d observed a hundred or so females grazing with grace and casual indifference until a cheetah appeared in the distance. Suddenly, the dynamic changed and Ryker was lucky he wasn’t trampled in the resulting stampede. He felt the same jolt of panic when the first group of high school kids showed up for their moment in the spotlight.
As Bob’s assistant, Ryker was in charge of coordinating the individual headshots so the right name made it to the right package for payment and eventual distribution. The boys goofed off a little bit in line, but nothing a casual “Really, dude?” couldn’t control. But the girls…crap. They danced nervously as soon as they got close to the lights and camera. They started preening and fidgeting. Some posed like actresses on the red carpet.
Others, like Mia’s daughter, stepped up and handed him the manila envelope without the least bit of flirtatious banter. The only way he could tell she recognized him was the slight blush in her pretty cheeks—her mother’s cheeks—and the serious tilt of her brows. She wanted to know what he’d been doing with her mother.
Not as much as I want to do, he thought.
Since the line had stalled as Bob dealt with a drama queen who demanded a glam shot, Ryker had time to break the ice. “Sorry about the other day by the tracks.”
Her slim shoulders rose and fell.
“Has your mother forgiven you for skipping school or are you still in the dog house?”
“Our dog sleeps inside.”
He liked her answer. Just a hint of attitude.
“What kind of dog do you have?”
“Labradoodle.”
He had no idea what that was. One more thing to look up on the Internet.
“How do you know my mom?”
“We own the same piece of land. Didn’t she tell you?”
Her frown was pure Mia. “She doesn’t tell me anything…except when it comes to her medical problems. I’m an expert on that.”
He glanced at Bob to see if he’d settled the dispute. Nope. Still going on.
“That’s unusual. My dad had a heart condition he never told anybody about. Not even my mom.”
“Did he die?”
“Yep. Too young. Really sucked.”
Her momentary look of distress made him kick himself. He quickly added, “If he’d been more open, like your mom, he might still be alive. But, if he were, I wouldn’t be here. My life would have been completely different.” He shrugged. “You learn to deal, right?”
Bob whistled to get his attention. “Next.”
Ryker made a be-my-guest gesture. “Nice meeting you…” He consulted his list. “Emilee Kingston.” A member of Spirit Club, French Club and Twisted, whatever that was. Three social groups meant he’d see her again.
Normally, the thought of dating a woman with kids—particularly teens—would have sent Ryker scrambling for a flight to Mozambique. Instead, he was planning a conquest. He didn’t understand why exactly, but he wasn’t leaving Marietta without two things: his name on the deed of his father’s land and Mia Zabrinski celebrating her body, her life and her sexuality…with him.
*
Mia glanced at her phone. Not to check the clock but to remember what day it was. Five days had skipped by in a blur. Time no longer made sense to her. She used to be able to work the clock to her advantage. Her keen sense of timing and ability to cut through crap to get things accomplished had made her an asset to her boss, the DA. In the frantic, too much work, too little time atmosphere of the DA’s office, Mia got things done.
Now that she was out of work, she found herself easily side-tracked by silly jobs—like brushing the dog, which was supposed to be Emilee’s job. Unfortunately, the mindless distraction encouraged her brain to wander way, way, way off topic.
Twice today she’d had to tackle her imagination when it pondered what Ryker Bensen was doing. She hadn’t seen him since Saturday when she helped him move in the rain. A muddy unpleasant task that she’d had to rush through because Emilee had informed her the night before she had to go to Livingston for a girl’s volleyball tournament. Because Mia had been too sick and too lethargic to make up her mind about moving last summer, the kids had registered for school too late for Emilee to join the volleyball team. Paul had suggested Emilee attend all the games to show her support. “The coach might even let you practice with the team if she knows you’re committed.”
Since team sports were a great way to make friends and get involved with a new school, Mia couldn’t say no.
While they were moving Ryker had filled her in on his new job working for the school photographer this week. They were starting with the lower grades and working their way up to the junior high and high school. Would he meet her kids? Emilee he might recognize from the train tracks incident, but he hadn’t seen Hunter. Had she told him the kids’ last name? She couldn’t remember. They hadn’t talked about her children. For some reason, she’d gotten the impression the topic was verboten. She couldn’t say why. What that told her is she didn’t know Ryker Bensen at all. And, yet, she couldn’t stop thinking about him.