He sized the guy up and immediately found him lacking. What was Viola doing with this slimy loser? By the gray in his black hair, he figured Jon was older than the rest of them by at least twenty years. He wore a navy business suit with a crisp, white buttoned-up shirt, and he completed his conservative ensemble with a blue-and-white striped tie, dollar sign cufflinks, and loafers with tassels. For dancing at a club. What a tool.
“Jon, I’d like you to meet my sister, Portia. Portia, this is Jon.”
Portia casually removed Ryan’s arm from her waist and offered Jon her hand. Instead of shaking it, he kissed it as if she were the Queen of England.
Tool.
“And this is Dillon,” Viola said with a wicked grin.
A less smarmy version of Jon joined their little circle and smiled at Portia. He was a couple inches taller than Ryan, dark-haired, and around their age. He wore jeans and a long-sleeved green shirt, looking casual but put-together, the deadly combination guys utilized to pick up women at the bar. You had to look good, but also look like you didn’t put too much effort in it.
Ryan hated this guy.
Portia, apparently, did not.
She smiled broadly. “Dillon. It’s nice to meet you. I heard you’re considering moving to Michigan. I recently moved here, too, so if you have any questions, I’d be happy to help.”
Dillon shook her hand then faced Ryan. “I’m Dillon.”
“Oh, sorry,” Portia said, turning pink. “This is Ryan.”
Ryan accepted Dillon’s hand and squeezed. Hard. “We live together.”
Portia gasped and went from pink to red. “We don’t live together. I mean, yes, we do live together, but we’re just roommates. We’re not . . .” She looked to Ryan for help in clarifying the situation.
He’d clarify it all right. Reassuring her with a wink and a nod, he stated the truth, “We do share a room. And of course, we’re sleeping together.”
Portia slugged him in the stomach. “We are not sleeping together.” She moved into her nervous default dance position and made figure eights with a pointed foot. “There’s only one bed and I couldn’t let him sleep on the floor after hearing the scurrying, because what if it was a rat? And he ordered a bed online, but it hasn’t arrived yet so we’re sharing a bed, but we’re not sleeping together. I didn’t know . . . rather . . . Viola didn’t say . . .”
“Lola,” her sister corrected, chastising her for using her proper name, but also attempting to save her from her bumbling. “Ryan, I wish you could join us, but our reservation is for four. You understand.”
Dillon waved his hand. “Oh, we can fit one more in. Why don’t you join us?”
Now, Ryan really didn’t like him. No doubt Portia thought Dillon was good looking, but he’d taken off his gloves and shown he was nice, too.
“I’d love to. Thanks, man,” he said, tilting his head in acknowledgement.
He wouldn’t leave Portia alone for a minute with this guy. It was time to show her they belonged together.
Chapter 13
But love is blind, and lovers cannot see
The pretty follies that themselves commit . . .
William Shakespeare, Merchant of Venice, act 2, scene 6
Portia sat patiently in the second row of Jon’s Expedition while Dillon and Ryan fought over who’d sit in the third row, both attempting to play the gentleman card and allow the other the pleasure of sitting beside her. Dillon finally relented, but Ryan sat behind her, leaning over her shoulder for the entire twenty-minute drive to dinner.
Dillon seemed like a nice guy, and normally she’d have found his dark features and charm attractive, but she didn’t feel one iota of spark tonight. Then her gaze slid to Ryan, and her pussy woke up like she’d attached it to jumper cables and given it a jolt. She didn’t think it would’ve even mattered if Ryan had stayed home tonight. Those parts wanted him and him alone. No substitution would suffice.
They showed up for dinner with reservations for four and had to make room for Ryan at the round table, squashing Portia between him and Dillon.
She was on a double date all right. With Dillon and Ryan.
The restaurant itself was beautiful, decorated with pale yellow walls and black and white photographs of Italy. Jon even made sure to mention how difficult it was to get a reservation, and judging by the men in suits and women’s fancy dresses, Portia understood this was a place to see and be seen. She felt underdressed compared to the elegant women around her, an insecurity lingering from growing up poor and oftentimes attending schools with wealthy kids who didn’t worry about where their next meal came from. Her sister caught her eye and shook a finger at her. Portia didn’t have to say a word for Viola to know what was going through her mind. She put her negative thoughts behind her and focused on enjoying the present moment.