“Sure,” I said, not wanting to sound too eager, which wasn’t easy. I didn’t know if Ryder should really be going into a bar. His face fell, and he handed me my coat then put his on.
“Yeah, sure. No problem. You’re probably right.”
Shit. I didn’t want him to think I didn’t want to hang out with him. “No, it’s not that I don’t want to. I just wasn’t sure how you’d feel about going into a bar.” I hated saying that, but it had to be said.
“It’s fine. I’ll just have water or soda. I was never much into booze anyway. And I’ve already had one glass of champagne. I was always more of a social drinker.” He sounded convincing, and from what I’d seen, he was a social drinker. I was the one who suggested shots at the ball and he’d just agreed.
“Okay, cool. Lead the way then.” We headed outside, and I pulled my coat close to keep me warm. The wind howled between the buildings, stirring up trash and tossing it around.
The bar was hopping, and we had to squeeze through the door to even get in. It was so loud I had to yell at Ryder to show him where two barstools were being vacated so we could grab them.
He lunged in front of a few people and got the stools. “Score.” He smacked his hand on the bar, and a woman in a frilly dress with her hair done like a 40s pinup girl with red lipstick to match skipped over.
“What can I get you?” she asked, and handed us menus. Ryder hadn’t lied to me. It was literally a bar and a bakery in the same building.
“I’ll have a club soda, and she’ll have . . .” Ryder trailed off, pointing to me.
“Bellini,” I yelled over the noise. It seemed appropriate since I’d been drinking champagne earlier. I liked to try and keep to the same kind of alcohol. The ball was an exception that I didn’t want to repeat.
“Be right back,” she said, and headed off to make my drink. I studied the menu in the dim light.
“This place is awesome,” I said to Ryder. Old phonographs adorned the walls, and the lights looked as if they were made from old copper pipes twisted around one another.
“I knew you’d like it,” he yelled back. “I’ve never eaten here, so I can’t speak for the food, but it looks pretty amazing.” A waitress with a tray of spectacular confections walked by.
“I. Want. Everything.” Seriously. The whole freaking menu.
“Well, you figure out what you want, and I’ll get your second and third choice, and we can share. If you’re cool with sharing with me, that is.” He gave me a sideways grin that made me forget for a moment about cupcakes.
“I can share,” I said. Actually, I was terrible at sharing, but I was going to make an exception.
The bartender came back with our drinks and set them in front of us. “What can I get you?” she asked.
I ordered the Oreo cookie cupcake, and one called Peanut Butter Heaven. I made Ryder order the Red Velvet and the Triple Chocolate (which was chocolate cake, filled with chocolate with chocolate frosting. Guaranteed to cause a Chocoma).
“I’ll get those right in for you,” she said, and headed to punch in our orders.
“Thank you for that. Was there anything you wanted?” Shit, I should have asked, but I was too involved with figuring out what I wanted. Oops.
“I’ll just eat whatever you don’t want. I’m not picky.” That was true. He never turned down anything I made for dinner, and he always finished everything.
“You’re one of those guys,” I said.
“What does that mean?”
“One of those guys who will pretty much eat anything that’s dead or seriously slowed down.”
He laughed and the sound rang out over the noise around us. “I guess that’s true. But your food is better than most food. I’d eat anything you made.” God, that sounded seriously dirty, but that was probably just me.
“Well, I’ll take that as a compliment,” I said, sipping my bellini. It was damn good.
Ryder sipped his club soda. “Ah, it’s not the same, but it’ll do. I’ve got to get used to living the sober life. I won’t even let myself smoke. It’s fucking hard.”
“Yeah? How’s everything else going?”
He set his drink down and made a face at it. “It’s going. Work is shit. Therapy sucks. Actually, it’s not that bad. I mean, I hate talking about myself and my inner feelings and all that, but it’s good. It’s like I always have this stuff bouncing around in my head and I have to get it out or else it poisons me. You know?”
I nodded. “Sometimes I can’t sleep at all, and I spend the whole night making the bad thoughts in my head into dresses. I’ve never made them, I just draw them. When I was a kid, I used to draw my nightmares. It made them lose their power to scare me.” Ryder studied me for a long time, and I tried not to fidget.