Sweet Thing (Naughty Things 2)

“Eighteen,” I say.

“Oh, dude. No. No, no, no. Don’t go there. That’s a child. And yeah, they look good, but there’s nothing there, Ryker. It’s just fluff.”

“Yeah.” I sigh, leaning back in my chair. “You’re probably right.”

“I am right. I tried to date a girl who was twenty once and it was fun for like… two days. Then she just went all stupid on me.”

“Stupid how?” I ask.

“You know… ‘You’re too old,’” he says, mimicking a girl’s voice. “‘I can’t be seen with you in public. People will talk or think I’m your daughter.’”

“Hmmm. How old were you?”

“Shit, I was only thirty at the time.” He shakes his head at me. “Thirty-five and eighteen, Ryk? It’s never gonna work. Just get rid of her. Let her down easy, but yeah. Get rid of her.”

I nod. “Sure. Yeah. I’ll do that.” But I don’t have to do that because she already got rid of me.

“OK, well, I just came in here to tell you I’m having a meeting with the bankers Friday afternoon to put together the next loan package for the current resident rehabs.”

“Cool,” I say, barely caring. Why is this girl on my mind? Why do I care?

“Cool,” Ozzy says. “You’re coming though, right? To the meeting? Because this is a new bank and they’ve already raised questions about how much we’ve borrowed for this project. I know we’re extended, but we’re not overextended. We can manage one more loan. Besides, we can’t get the neighborhood on our side unless we show them we’re on their side. We need this loan package.”

“Sure,” I say. “I’ll definitely be there.”

“So what are you doing tonight? You wanna come have drinks with Sheila and me?”

“Who’s Sheila again?”

“The one I met on Wednesday,” he says getting to his feet.

“Right. No, I think I’m gonna go play some skins tonight, actually.”

“Creative Co-op,” he says, shooting me with his finger. “Such a good move. They’re gonna love us. There’s not gonna be any bad press with this gentrification.”

I don’t say anything, just stare at him.

“Gotcha,” he says. “You’re in a dick mood so that’s my cue to leave. Catch you tomorrow, Ryker.”

I wave at him as he leaves. Watching him through the open door of my office as he talks to the staff and gathers his stuff.

Nothing up there but fluff, he said.

It’s probably true, too. Hell, Aria even told me she’s looking to date someone her own age. And she’s thinking about college and prom.

I should just forget about her. Pretend it never happened.

But that night, when I go in to the Creative Co-Op, I can’t pretend I’m not disappointed that she’s not there. Because I’m totally pretending to be working on something so she can get a glimpse of me. Or whatever…

I play the drums well into the early morning hours and tell myself I won’t drive by her place to see if the light’s on. But I do. And it’s not.

I go into the co-op every night after too. Hoping she’ll be there. But the only person I see is the ballerina, who might have a thing for me because she hangs out and talks to me in her leotard and tutu and flirts, and giggles, even when I make it very clear I’m not interested.

I drive by Aria’s house on my way home each night and by Friday I’m driving by in the mornings and taking a late lunch so I can catch her coming out of class at the college.

Not once do I even get a glimpse of her.

But that afternoon I have a reason to call her.

My test results came in. Clean, just like I promised. And I don’t want to slide them under her cube door. Because I really don’t think she’s even been in to the co-op since she walked away on Monday.

She doesn’t pick up my call. Sends me straight to voicemail. I sigh as the beep sounds. “Hey, Aria. Hope you’re well. Just wanted to let you know my tests came back clean. So no worries, OK? And I’ll be at the co-op tonight. My regular time. So if you want to see them…” God. I feel so stupid right now. “You know what to do.”

I end the call and slide my phone across the desk, glancing up at the clock.

It’s fucking Friday afternoon and I have no date. Last Friday I met her. One week. I’ve known this girl one week.

And she’s the only thing I can think about.

“Ready?” Ozzy says. “The car is waiting.”

“For?” I ask.

“Jesus Christ,” Ozzy says. “What the hell is your problem this week? Drinks with the banker? Ringing any bells?”

“Ah, yeah. Right. That. Yeah, I’m ready. Let’s go.”

CHAPTER ELEVEN – ARIA

“Who was that?” my father asks, after I send the incoming call to voicemail. I’ve been spending all my time with him this week. Letting him pick me up from class to take me out to dinner, then dropping me off at home after. Trying to forget about Ryker North and his hot fingers between my legs.