“Or that. Feel free to lie to me.” I wave a hand at her. “I’ll bake my patented chocolate cake.”
“The one containing rocks?”
“Rock sugar. And the cookies that I—”
“He’s coming! Bry, don’t look, he’s coming this way.”
I turn around to see. Yes, Ryan is heading this way.
Turning back to Simone, I sniff frantically at my arm. “Do I still smell? Simone?”
But she’s backing away, leaving me alone.
With Ryan who is now standing in front of me, tall and muscular and drop-dead gorgeous in his sweaty T-shirt and exercise leggings.
His green eyes are fixed on me. “Brylee.”
“Stay away from me,” I say dramatically, flinging out an arm and almost hitting him in the face.
He takes a step back, wary. “Um. Sure.”
I peer at him from under my lashes. “You can’t win me back that easily.”
He huffs what sounds like a laugh. “Okay. Got it. Look, there was something I wanted to ask you.”
“Oh?” How disappointing. That’s all? “Well, shoot.”
He leans against the leg press machine I last used. “It’s about a friend of yours.”
“What friend?”
“Riddick? He said you’re friends.”
Oh God. “How do you know Riddick?”
“It doesn’t matter.” He folds his arms over his chest, and gah, those biceps. “Have you seen him these past few days?”
“No, I haven’t.” I think of his mother at the hospital, and my chest feels suddenly tight. “Why?”
“I met him the other day, and he was looking for his brother. I helped him look. Didn’t find him. He wasn’t that well.”
I can barely breathe. Tears sting the back of my eyes. “God, was he sick?”
“It was his back. Affected his leg. He was limping quite badly.”
I remember him limping. “Sounds like a pinched nerve. He should rest—”
“I told him that. In fact I gave him a back rub, too.” Color is rising to his cheeks, making his eyes seem greener. “But he’s a stubborn son of a bitch, and even if he has an office job, he should have stayed in bed.”
“He doesn’t have an office job,” I say colorlessly. “He works in a warehouse.”
Ryan straightens, scowling. “If he went back…”
He doesn’t finish the thought, but I shiver anyway.
“Can you take me to where he lives?” I ask. “I want to check up on him.”
He looks at me. It’s a long, searching look and I squirm a little. “He’s your friend, but you don’t know where he lives?”