People in the crowd laughed as he goofed around singing the silly tune. But inside, I died. The words hadn’t been written to be funny. Ryder, ever the prankster, who never considered the feelings of others, had turned me into the joke of the town.
I looked around the crowd, all of whom were laughing. He never said where he’d gotten his lyrics, but it didn’t matter. All that laughter felt like it was directed at me.
Sinclair’s gaze shot to mine, clearly recognizing the words. Unable to deal with it, I ran off and vowed to hate Ryder Simms for the rest of my days. Ten years later, I haven’t recanted or relented that vow.
I pushed all of that away as I pulled in front of Ryder’s house. I sat for a minute in the car, wondering if maybe I should just concede that fake marriages could be hard and then I wouldn’t have to go through with this. But then I remembered that losing meant I’d have to give a speech. That wasn’t going to happen.
God, I was an idiot. Deciding I could avoid him because I worked days and he worked a lot of nights, and I could hide away in the guest bedroom as much as possible to avoid him, I shored up my courage.
I got out of the car and looked at the rundown old farmhouse in the middle of Nebraska farmland. My apartment was modern and convenient. Now I was moving back in time to a ramshackle house that was miles from any amenities.
Sinclair pulled up behind me as Ryder appeared on the porch with his signature no-care-in-the-world smile.
“Welcome home, wife,” he said.
“Fake wife to you,” I quipped.
He chuckled. Clearly, he still enjoyed tormenting me. “Can I help you with your things?” He took my box while I grabbed my suitcase.
I followed him through the house, down the hall with squeaky floor boards.
“Here’s your room,” he said, entering the small space and putting the box down on the bed. The room was clean and tidy, but tired looking. The bed was covered in quilts that were probably sewn by his great-grandmother.
“I think you’ll be comfortable there,” Ryder said.
Unable to conjure up my manners, I said, “Why do you think I’ll be comfortable here? I’m not a fan of Little House on the Prairie décor.” God, I was a bitch.
But Ryder, being Ryder, laughed. “That’s too bad.” He reached out, picking up a lock of my hair and rubbing it between his fingers. The gesture was familiar and intimate, shocking me.
“You’d look good in braids,” he said with his easy smile.
I wanted to jerk away. I really did. For some reason I didn’t. It might have been the magnet that was inexplicably pulling me toward him that was to blame.
“Getting settled?” Sinclair said appearing in the doorway.
Feeling like I’d just been caught kissing behind the bleachers, I turned away hoping that I wasn’t blushing.
5
Ryder
This bet was nuts, but being someone who liked to keep life interesting, I was all for it. Especially if meant getting up close and personal with Trina. The craziest part of this deal was that the practical, serious Trina was participating in it. She wasn’t a woman to do anything that she hadn’t already researched and plotted out on a chart. I half-expected to see some sort of schedule or honey-do list to show up taped to my refrigerator. She definitely wasn’t a woman who enjoyed life. I was certain her definition of fun was organizing her sock drawer or categorizing her books. Would she do it by genre or alphabetical order? Some com
bination of both, probably.
Despite this bet going against her nature and good sense, she did agree to it, and I knew that once she agreed to it, she would be too proud and stubborn to back out, which meant that now she was in my house. With her here, maybe I could find out why the heck she acted like I was the last man on earth she’d ever give the time of day to. What had happened ten years ago to turn her against me? Once I knew that, maybe I could change her mind about me.
But now wasn’t the time. Now I needed to let her acclimate to her new surroundings. She was like a skittish cat, and I need to move slow to help her feel safe and comfortable.
“I’ll let you get settled,” I said to Trina, leaving her with Sinclair. I headed to my kitchen, the only room in the house that had an upgrade since I bought it from my grandparents, who’d moved into an active senior community a couple of years back. The home was as old as dirt, and definitely needed some work, but it was sturdy and clean, and fit my needs.
I pulled out a pitcher of sun tea and some glasses.
“So, you’ve gotten what you wanted.” Sinclair stood in the kitchen doorway leaning against the door jam.
“What do you mean?” I loved Sinclair, but that didn’t mean I always liked it when she used her twin Spidey-sense on me.
“Play coy if you want, but I know you. I just hope this isn’t to get in her pants. I hope that whatever it is between you two is more than that.” She stepped into the kitchen.