Sun-kissed (The Au Pairs 3)

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underneath ryan's perfect exterior lies the soul of pigpen

RYAN ASSURED MARA THAT AFTER A COUPLE OF DAYS, SHE

wouldn't even notice the rocking of the boat, but Mara woke up from her afternoon nap feeling cranky and like she hadn't slept at all.

She'd spent the morning at the Hamptons office, tracking down background information for the Sydney Minx piece and calling in gift bag requests for Sam. Her editor demanded a gift bag from every event featured in the magazine even if she hadn't attended it personally. Sometimes, Sam called in gift bags from as far away as Europe if she heard the contents were particularly choice.

After work, Mara returned to the Catalina for a short nap before the evening's festivities. When she awoke, she realized she had only a half hour to get ready for the fashion show.

She walked out to the living room and found all of Ryan's gear haphazardly strewn around the room. His boxes had arrived by UPS truck from Hanover that morning, and the living room

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looked like a branch of the Sports Authority. There were a wake-board, several snowboards, tennis and badminton rackets, lacrosse and hockey sticks, basketballs, golf balls, footballs. Ryan had once told her calling him a "jock" was an insult. The proper term, he'd explained, was athlete, since jock connoted a level of brutal small-mindedness to which Ryan certainly did not subscribe. His best friend from prep school was gay. All right, Mara thought, looking at all the sports paraphernalia. So he wasn't a jock ... but he was certainly athletic.

One of the boxes was open, and Mara saw that it contained all manner of clothing, from clean T-shirts to dirty socks and towels to suit jackets that were still on hangers and wrapped in dry-cleaner's plastic. It appeared that Ryan had just tossed anything and everything into the nearest box without bothering to separate anything. Nestled in the pile of clothing, Mara saw CD jewel cases, cigarette boxes, an ashtray (dirty), a beer mug (clean), and even a trash can, complete with balled-up scraps of his term papers. Mara shook her head--she hadn't known Ryan was such a slob. Ryan had promised to get his stuff in order, but he'd apparently abandoned the project to hit the waves. Typical.

He sauntered in just as she was trying to excavate her second suitcase from underneath yet another one of his surfboards.

"Let me get that," he said, easily pulling up the board so she could reach for her bag.

"Sweetie, do you think we could kind of--well, clean up here a little bit?" Mara fretted.

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"Sure, sure," he said, coming over to kiss her. He was wet with sand and smelled like the sea. His dark hair was plastered slick against his forehead. Normally, the sight of him in his black wet suit would have made her melt--but she was more interested in finding her invitation to the party and the list of people she had to get interviews with for her story.

"I can't find anything in this mess!" she complained. There were a ton of empties around the room from a night when his friends had stopped by. Mara's Martha Stewart fantasies of elegant entertaining had been quickly shattered, since the boys had preferred to eat cold pizza and drink cheap beer.

"Why are you getting all worked up over this fashion show?" Ryan asked.

Mara was beginning to get the impression he thought her job was pretty trivial, especially since several of the girls in his circle had penned the column in the past. It bothered her that he didn't understand that it was a big deal for her.

"Ryan, I'm not sure where the boutique is. And I don't even know how I'm getting there. Are you going to come with me?" she asked.

Ryan sank down onto the couch. Even though Mara didn't own it, she felt irritated to see the water from his suit seep into the Italian leather, where it would definitely leave a stain. It bothered her that Ryan wasn't even aware of things like that--the couch probably cost thousands of dollars, but what was such a small amount to a guy who already owned everything?

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"Can I meet you there?" he asked, hooking a hand behind his back and unzipping the suit. "I need to shower and change."

"I guess I could get a ride," Mara conceded. She quickly dialed Lucky, who was fortunately not too far from Sag Harbor and was able to swing by.

"Cool," Ryan said, planting a kiss on her forehead before he walked, whistling, into the shower.

Mara shrugged as she unzipped her suitcase. He was the love of her life, but sometimes it was maddening how careless he could be. . . . Mara was s

tarting to discover that the path of love wasn't always smooth.

Sometimes, it was littered with dirty beer cans.

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working hard or hardly

working?