Ryan opened up several drawers and cabinets as he searched for what they needed. She’d figured out the lay of the land while cleaning, but Ryan should learn it as well, so she kept quiet and watched, amazed at how quickly he found a corkscrew and two wine glasses. After he poured, he carried over a glass to her. “Here you go. I’ll get the salad from the fridge.”
She sipped her wine and grimaced. He wasn’t kidding when he said it wasn’t quality. It tasted dry and bitter, but alcohol was alcohol and she deserved a glass. Luckily, Ryan had his back to her and missed her reaction. It also afforded her another opportunity to check out his ass as he retrieved the salad bowl from the refrigerator. He turned, catching her staring. “Hungry?” He brought their dinner to the table and sat next to her, thankfully not mentioning her ogling.
She still blushed. She should be famished, but right now, her mind wasn’t on food, but on how much she’d like to strip him naked and eat him for dinner. “Yes.” She scooped salad onto her plate and dug in, pretending to enjoy it.
He eyed her then followed suit and took a bite. “Great salad.”
She appreciated him lying to spare her feelings. The simple salad consisted of lettuce, cucumber, and tomato. Nothing too exciting, but he ate it enthusiastically. He sipped his wine and spit it back into the glass. “My God, this is awful.”
A giggle slipped out before she could stop it. “No, it’s not that bad.”
Swirling his glass, he shot her an evil grin. “There’s only one way to drink wine this bad and that’s to chug it. Bottoms up.” In ten seconds, he finished off the glass and wiped his palm across his mouth. “Your turn.”
“I’m not much of a drinker, but what the heck.” She took a breath and looked down into the glass, wondering why the white wine appeared pink. Tipping back her glass, she drank it all in one horrifyingly awful gulp.
He poured them each another glass. “Now it won’t taste as bad. It’s an old college trick.”
The wine had already gone to her head making her feel warm and tingly. Or maybe it was Ryan. She stabbed a tomato spear with her fork. “Sounds like you learned a lot in college.”
“It had its uses.” His eyes softened. “College isn’t for everyone. As you can tell, it’s a lot of partying and making bad decisions. Put it this way, you saved yourself four years of hangovers.”
“I got to drink champagne at some of the after parties, but I never got drunk. I couldn’t afford the calories.”
He frowned. “That’s ridiculous. You have a great body. I mean—”
Her pulse raced from his compliment. “I know what you meant. And thank you.” Tonight’s dinner consisting solely of vegetables wasn’t new to her. As a dancer, she had to keep her weight at no less than ten pounds under what the doctors’ charts recommended as healthy. She didn’t miss starving her body or going to bed with a rumbling tummy. And what a difference dressing made on salad. Yum.
He added more salad to his plate. “Was it difficult to give up dancing professionally?”
She took a swig of wine. “It wasn’t exactly my decision. Once you have the kind of injury I have, your body is never the same. Sure, I could continue, but to what end? I don’t want to have to rely on pain relievers and cortisone shots for the rest of my life. And to be honest, my career wasn’t going any place.”
Ryan’s lips parted to speak, but she didn’t want to hear another person tell her she gave up too soon. She held up a hand to silence him. “I’m realistic. I’m a wonderful dancer, but one of many in New York. The injury and George’s phone call were the impetus I needed to make a significant change in my life. As I’ve said, I’d like to open my own dance school at some point. It would take time to build a clientele, but I’ve waitressed before, I can waitress again.”
He shifted in his seat and appeared uncomfortable. “Two million dollars would buy one hell of a dance studio.”
With two million, she could practically start a chain of dance schools. But that wasn’t what she wanted. How could she explain to someone who grew up in a house with two loving parents what it was like to not know if you’d have a bed to sleep in that night? “It would, but money isn’t what I’ve searched for my entire life. My career is nothing if I don’t have a home.”
“You could buy another house,” he suggested, obviously trying to sound casual.
He was still trying to encourage her to sell. Would she ever convince him how important it was to her to own this house?