“Maraschino,” she reminds me, and then rolls her pretty eyes when I laugh. “You know, you should be shitting bricks, you were so nervous. You could barely talk to me at the bar. Why aren’t you nervous now?”
“Who said I wasn’t nervous?” She thinks I’m not nervous? Granted, I’m not nearly as nervous as I was back at the bar. That was different. I wanted to impress her, wanted her to like me. None of that matters now. She’s going to turn me into someone who’ll impress girls like her, someone girls like her will want to do. Literally.
If she can pull this off and turn me into some sort of player, maybe I’d have a chance with her. Every guy I’ve ever seen with girls who look like Emma fits the bill. The proverbial tall, good-looking, asshole. For the next month, I have every intention of showing her exactly what she’s missing by judging a guy by his cover. There’s so much more to someone than what’s on the surface.
Take my brother, for example. He’s the biggest asshole I know, yet girls flock to him. None of them stick around for long, but that doesn’t seem to matter. He’s always got a line of women vying for his attention even though he treats them all like shit. It boggles my mind.
Maybe I’ll be the first Delta dick to not actually be a dick. At least the first in my family. It’ll be another thing my dad is disappointed in with me. His words ring in my ear.
“When are you going to start acting like a man?” he told me at Christmas. “You’re a Ryan. That puts you at the head of the table. You should be working toward a degree in business, not computers. My sons will have corner offices on the top floor, not share a desk in the basement with the rest of tech support. Take Derek. He was the president of his house when he was in college and is well on his way to following in my footsteps. Why can’t you do the same?”
My dad always compares me to my older brother. It used to bother me. God, how it bothered me. Now I’ve heard it so many times it’s lost its effect. I get it. I’m a disappointment. To my dad. To my brother. That’s another reason I’m willing to do this transformation with Emma. Maybe by turning into a version of Derek, my family will start treating me like I’m a part of it.
“You don’t act nervous.” Her voice pulls me out of my bitter memory.
“Because the pressure is off,” I explain and twist the top off the beers before handing one to her, playing down my nerves. “You’re here to turn me cool, not judge me because I’m not.”
“Good point.” She nods for emphasis.
“Besides, it’s not like you’d ever sleep with me.” I hold my breath and watch her, waiting for her reaction to my comment.
She doesn’t even falter as she glances around the mod. “That’s not off the table.”
I almost swallow my tongue as I choke on my beer. Just like that, my chest is tight as panic squeezes my midsection. I know nothing is going to happen. She’s a solid nine. The hair puts her above a ten in my book. She’s worlds above me.
Who am I kidding? Even if this insane plan works and she turns me into a player, I’d never be high enough on the hotness scale to get with her. I have to remember that. This whole fake relationship is just that—fake.
Then why am I so goddamn anxious I have to concentrate to breathe? It was her comment. Why would sleeping with me be part of the deal? Not that I’m against the idea, but the thought of it leading to us having sex has my heart struggling to beat.
“Did I shock you?” she asks as she sips at her beer. “You haven’t said anything since I dropped the sex bomb.”
“I…uh…” I swallow and have to take a pull off my beer to wet my throat. Shit. I’m back to stuttering. I suck in a deep breath and slowly let it out to settle my nerves. Girls who look like her don’t come home and sleep with guys who look like me. Period. Does she know who I really am? That my father’s net worth has more zeroes than Hello, World! in binary? Is that why she insists on calling me by my last name?
That’s stretching it a bit. I approached her, not the other way around. She doesn’t know my family any more than I know hers. I need to say something to break this tension nearly suffocating me. “You make it sound like a scene out of Risky Business.”
She gasps as something flashes in her eyes. “Did you just call me a prostitute? Are you shitting me right now?”
“I was only joking.” Panic immediately hammers my pulse.
“Screw you, asshole.” She jumps off the stool and grabs her purse. Color splashes her cheeks.
Oh, man. I just screwed up royally. I take a step in front of the door to block her from leaving. She gives me a look that has me worried she’ll break one or more of my bones if I don’t move. I put my hands up. “I’m sorry. I’m just so bad at this.”
“No shit.” She crosses her arms under her breasts and I’m distracted by how her nipples press against her shirt. “Eyes up here, Romeo.”
Jesus. I really am an asshole. Maybe I’m more like my brother than I thought. I rivet my gaze to her face. Her eyes darken as fury swirls in them. She’s ready to attack. I take a cautious step toward her. “Please. Can we start over? I really need your help.”
“Are you going to make another really bad movie reference?” She thins her lips.
“No,” I answer quickly. That’s one scary look. Careful to not push her over the edge, I slowly take her purse. She lets me. I don’t so much as breathe until I set the bag on the couch and lead her back to the stool at the breakfast counter. Only when she sits and wraps her slender fingers around her beer do I finally breathe again. “You’re just so beautiful. When you mentioned sleeping with me, I panicked.”
“I didn’t say it was part of the deal. It’s just not off the table. Unless you get any weirder on me, then I may just stab you in the throat.”
I fight not to crack a smile. “I’ll work on lowering my weirdness factor.”
She snorts and this time I do laugh. “Not too much. Your weirdness is kind of cute. Okay, let’s set some ground rules. I’m turning you into a total dick. You do realize that, right? You’ll be able to get any girl when I’m done with you, but it comes at a price.”
“What sort of price?”
“Knowing she’ll hate you when all’s said and done. Do you have any certain girl in mind?”
I stare at her. Her question catches me off-guard. If I had the choice of any girl, it would be the one narrowing her eyes at me right now. I don’t want her hating me, so I quickly push that idea from my head. Dropping my gaze, I answer, “No.”
“Good.”
I bring my attention up, not bothering to hide the shock. “Good?”
“Ryan, you’re going to love them and leave them wanting more. That’s the very definition of a player. You’re playing the field. You can’t go after anyone you have feelings for. It will get too personal. You can’t love them and keep them or you’ll never be labeled the Delta dick we’re transforming you into.”
That’s fine with me. I don’t want to be a Delta dick, not really. My dad is the one who wants me to be something I’m not. My brother won’t even associate with me. I highly doubt me being a complete tool will make a difference on that front.
Still, I need this. I need to prove I’m a Delta. I have a family legacy to uphold, and every Delta has a reputation to create. Man, if my dad could only hear my thoughts. He’d be so proud. “I’m going to be a Delta dick. Got it. What else?”
“You’re taking me to the DASH. That’s all this is. One friend scratching the other friend’s back.”
I study her eyes. “So we’re friends?”
“Not if you make another hooker reference.”
7
[Ryan]
She stands and walks around the small living room. I try not to stare at her ass but fail. I may be a nerd, but I’m still male and her curves are amazing. “How is it you get to live in a mod? I thought they were reserved for seniors.”
I’m not about to share my dysfunctional family dynamics with the person turning me into the very thing I’ve spent my life trying to avoid becoming.
“Delta made an exception for me.”
She gives me a look. I’m not sure if she’s jealous or pissed. Or both. “They don’t want you in their house.” It isn’t a question.
I lose what little smile I have as I turn away. How’d she know that? Guilt and shame weigh me down, lowering my shoulders. “Not exactly.”
“Then how’d you swing it? Got dirt on Brad or something?”
“My dad made a call.” I gauge her reaction. If she knows who my dad is, she doesn’t let on. It convinces me she has no idea I’m Stuart Ryan’s son.
“What, is he like the president or something?”
“Or something.” I’m not about to tell her who my dad is. Brad knows, as do the Delta officers, but no other students know. I want it to stay that way.
“Okay, okay. Touchy about the dad. Next subject. Let’s get to work on turning you from zero to hero.”
This woman is brutal to my ego. “Why do you keep calling me a zero?”
“Oh, come on. It’s just something I say. Don’t take it so personal.”
I give her a sideways look. “Kind of like when Brad told you your friend was the hot one. That didn’t bother you at all?”
“You heard that?”
“Yeah, I heard that.” It took everything not to jump across the bar, over the table, and beat Brad unconscious for that comment. The guy is blind for thinking Emma’s friend is hotter. Emma clearly tops the hotness scale. Her friend is too…much. Not Emma. She’s exactly…much.
She rolls her eyes to blow off my comment, but I see right through her false bravado. Her eyes soften, sadden. I want to take back what I said but can’t. Instead, I’m forced witness all those emotions pass through her expression before she settles into her role of pretending not to care. “Okay, fine. I’ll give you that one. But he said it to piss me off. I’m not calling you a zero to make you mad.”
“Then why call me that at all?”
“It’s a frame of reference. Jeez. Are you going to continue to act like a whiny little bitch or are we going to do this?”
I can’t help but chuckle. “Did you just call me a whiny little bitch?”
“That I did.” She laughs. “We’ll be fixing that, among other things. Attitude is everything.”
I nod and push my nerves aside. This is what needs to happen. I have a father, grandfather, and big brother constantly telling me I’m not good enough. My brother is convinced I’m adopted. They’re athletic, all-stars in high school, all-conference in college. I was captain of the knowledge bowl team in high school and am the floor supervisor for one of the computer labs at BU. Being forced into the Delta house is my dad’s way of fixing me, as he says. Like I said earlier, if I earn a spot inside the Delta house instead of tossed into the backyard, my dad will stop riding my ass. My brother may even pat me on the back when I come home for spring break. I hate how their approval matters to me, but it does. They’re family. It just does.
“What is it?” she asks and rests a hand on my shoulder.
Aside from the gamers I talk to online during my Saturday night gaming session and my coworkers, I don’t talk to anyone else. None of them know about my family. I’m not about to say anything to a pretty girl I took home from a bar. “I’m nervous.”
“I promise to be gentle.” She pats my arm and moves away to grab her beer. “How’d you get to be a Delta anyway? I thought they were really picky on who they let in. No offense, but you really don’t seem the Delta type.”
Time to come clean. Sort of. “I’m what they call a legacy. My dad was a Delta. His dad was a Delta, as was his dad. Even my brother was a Delta, just not at BU. Of course, they were all massive jocks. I’m, well, not. But the rule is, once a Delta, always a Delta. I’m a fourth-generation Delta. That’s like royalty in this house.”
“And yet they have you living in the backyard,” she points out, acid dripping from her tone. “I don’t care that your daddy made a call. Something’s not right.”
“Why are you so mad about this?”
“Because it pisses me off that you don’t see it.”
“See what?”
“Exactly.” She thrusts her fingers through her hair and I’m mesmerized at the way she pulls it off her face. How do girls do that, render us guys completely helpless with nothing more than a hair flip? “Okay, because I’m your friend, I’m just going to come out with it. They don’t want you, Ryan. The truth hurts, babe.”
She says it like I don’t already know that. What kind of idiot does she take me for? I’m not blind. Or deaf. But I’m a Ryan, and my family would flat out disown me if I didn’t at least try to fit in. Hell, they may disown me anyway for majoring in computer engineering instead of business.
I don’t want to think about that right now and focus on why Emma Rae is inside my mod. “How exactly are you going to turn all of this into something girls want?”
“First, don’t call us girls. Call us ladies. Or women. We stopped being girls when we got our period.”
I cringe and shudder.
She rolls her eyes at my reaction. “What is it with guys and periods?”
“We don’t have them.”
“Well, duh. But you don’t have to act like I just described something out of a Final Destination movie.” She touches her hair again and I want to touch it, too. “Moving on.”
“Thank God.”
“Oh, stop being such a baby. Okay, we’ve already got the name out of the way.”
“Wait,” I speak up. “Why do I have to go by my last name? What’s wrong with Harold? That’s the same name as a British prince.”
“If you were English royalty, you could get away with it.”
“What about Harry Potter?”
“Not helping your case.”
I sigh in frustration.
“What’s your middle name?”
“Bartholomew.”
“Harold Bartholomew? Did your parents want you to get beat up a lot? It’s like they picked the two worst names to call you. Why not give you a girl’s name to really make your life hell. What’s your full name?”
I hesitate, knowing what’s coming when I tell her. My mind drifts back to the woman outside the club. She knew my name. How’d she know my name? Why does Emma want to know my full name? She’s already decided to call me Ryan. I have to admit, I don’t hate the idea.
“Harold Bartholomew Francis Ryan.” I’m embarrassed as shit and drop my shoulders when she laughs, which immediately shuts her up. “And yes, it got me beat up. A lot.”
“Then we stick with Ryan.”
“Ryan it is.” At least then people wouldn’t give me that look when they hear my last name, not if they think it’s my first name. We have Hawks Stadium, courtesy of the Ryan Foundation. And several grants for football equipment, as well as funding for the next several years for some of the top disease research scientists in the world.
My dad, Stuart Ryan, is the head of the board that runs it all.
Could I get girls by dropping that little bomb? Sure. Are they girls I want? Hell, no. Why would I want someone only interested in my status? Or the amount of money in my family’s bank account? Now that I’m going to be a true Delta, I’ll have to become shallow, so maybe it’s time to let the news out. My brother has been using it to get laid for years, so it obviously works.
“Earth to Ryan.”
I snap out of my thoughts. “What?”
“What were you just thinking about?”
I’m not about to tell her. “What’s next?”
She nods, closing the subject. At least she doesn’t push the issue. “How blind are you without your glasses?”
I join her at the counter and make sure I’m stationary before I remove my glasses. “Hold up some fingers.” When I see a blur of what I think may be a peace sign, I blurt out, “Two.”
“Try again.”
Nothing changes from what I can see, so I wait.
“Well?”
“Did you change them?”
> “Yes. Can’t you see my fingers?”
“No. And,” I say and slip my thick specs back on. “I couldn’t even see your hand, let alone which fingers you had up.”
“Wow, you really are blind. Do you have contacts?”
“Yeah, but I don’t like wearing them. I have this thing against sticking stuff in my eye.”
She gives me a knowing smile and damn if it doesn’t make me smile in return. “If you want to stick anything else into, well, anything else, lose the glasses.”
I can’t breathe. “Are you saying what I think you’re saying?”
She rolls her eyes and laughs at my expense. “Do I have to explain everything? I’m trying to get you laid, Ryan.”
“Right. I knew that.” I didn’t really know that. Well, I sort of knew that. Why do girls—ladies—insist in talking in code? Why not just come out and say it? Not for the first time, I question whether this is a good idea.
“Sure you did. Now, do you have a pair of scissors?”
“Why?” I lean away from her, not trusting that look glimmering in her eyes.
“Because I want to run with them.”
“In that case.” I jump up and grab a pair out of the drawer in the kitchen, and slide them across the counter toward her. “Knock yourself out.”
Without warning, she yawns and it pops her jaw. “Come here. I’m going to cut your hair.”
“Not after you’ve been drinking cherry syrup.”
She lifts her beer. “I’ve moved on. Now get over here.”
“No way. Not until you sober up.”
“It’s not like I’m falling down drunk.” She yawns again and blinks wide. Damn, she’s fading fast.
“You’re barely keeping your eyes open.”
“Fine.” She sets the scissors on the counter. “Let me pierce your ear then.”
I cover my ears and literally feel the blood drain from my face.
She laughs. “Oh, my God. You look like you’re five right now.”
I love her laugh. It’s husky, like she pulled the sound from the depths of her soul. “No piercings, not even when you’re sober. I draw the line at needles.”
Reluctant Hero (TREX Rookies Book 1) Page 5