Wicked Sexy (Wicked Games #2)(57)

“Well then,” I say, a brick inside my stomach. “I guess it’s time to go.”

We stare at each other silently across the room, until Tabby nods.

“Yeah. I guess so.”

She turns to leave. I have no choice but to follow.





Twenty-One





Tabby




After a tense elevator ride during which we both said nothing and tried to pretend nothing had happened, we come downstairs to find Ryan doing pushups in the middle of the lobby floor.

Connor stops several feet away and crosses his arms over his chest. “Working off some steam, brother?”

“Fifty,” Ryan grunts. He’s breathing a little harder than normal but doesn’t look as if he’s exerting himself all that much. I’d bet good money he could easily do another fifty more without breaking a sweat. With a pointed look at Connor, he says, “I could ask you the same question, brother.”

He glances at me and then goes back to his pushups.

“Oh, for f*ck’s sake!” I say, aggravated because we’re so obvious. I set my hands on my hips and huff out a breath.

Ryan stops at the top of a pushup and gives me some major side-eye. “Exactly,” he drawls.

I throw my hands in the air. “That’s it. He’s your problem,” I say to Connor, and storm off.

Yes, I’m acting nuts. You would be too, if you’d just had the best sex of your life and accidentally said the “L” word to your enemy/f*ck buddy in the middle of an FBI investigation into the man who wrecked your trust in humanity and murdered your last living relative.

I really need to rethink this whole no-drinking thing.

I go outside to the valet stand and bark orders at the poor guy on duty to get our Escalade from the garage. When he asks me for my ticket, I snap at him just to bring whichever black Cadillac he finds first.

Then, from behind me, Ryan patiently says, “Here you go.” He presents his parking ticket to the valet guy, who scurries off in search of saner people.

Connor isn’t with Ryan. “Where is he?” I jerk my chin toward the sliding doors.

“Dunno.” Ryan folds his arms over his chest and looks down his nose at me. “Probably in there breakin’ a few heads to make himself feel better about whatever happened between you two upstairs over the last few hours.”

“I slept!”

Ryan snorts. “Yeah? Was that before or after you gutted him like a fish?”

I stare at him, feeling the blood pounding in my cheeks, wishing I had it in me to poke his eyes out with my thumbs.

But I don’t. I actually like the guy.

So damn inconvenient.

I cover my face with my hands and groan. Ryan slings his arm over my shoulders and gives me a little shake.

“Eh, buck up, kiddo. It’s good you’re both this f*cked up. If I thought it was only him, I’d have to shave your head while you were sleeping.” When I look up at him, he adds, “To start.”

Somehow it isn’t only his lack of a smile that indicates he isn’t joking.

“Normally I don’t like people who threaten me every time they see me, but for whatever reason, you’re the exception, Ryan T. McLean. He’s lucky to have you as a friend.”

“I’d die for him,” Ryan says bluntly, with zero self-consciousness. “He’s saved my life more than once. Even if he hadn’t, he also happens to be the best man I’ve ever known.”

I look away, my eyes prickly. “He basically said the same thing about you.” When my throat loosens enough for me to talk again, I murmur, “It must be something.”

“What?”

I quickly swat at my eyes. “To have someone who’d die for you. How many people can say that?”

There’s a long silence. I feel Ryan inspecting my face, but don’t look over at him because I’m afraid what my expression might reveal. Finally, he leans in and says softly, “You can, you hardheaded woman.”

My heart in my throat, I glance up at him. He looks both disappointed and angry, a combination that makes gazing into his baby-blue eyes almost unbearable.

“That’s not…you’re being—”

“Shut up,” he sighs, and gives me another shake. He drops his arm from around my shoulders and stretches his head back. Under his breath, he mutters, “Fuckin’ women.”

At the same time the valet guy pulls the car around the corner and to a stop at the curb, Connor walks through the doors of the lobby and joins us. He nods at Ryan. He doesn’t look at me.

It’s all I can do not to reach for his hand, because what Ryan said keeps echoing over and over inside my mind, a record stuck on repeat.

You can.

I don’t know whether that makes things better, or so much worse.



When we get back to the COM center at the studio, I make a beeline for my computer. O’Doul’s agents are taking a meal break, milling around a table someone has set up with platters of food. They fall into silence when we walk in. Everyone turns to look at us except Rodriguez, who sneers in my direction and turns away.

O’Doul quickly ends the phone call he was on. “Gentlemen.” He nods at Ryan and Connor, and then looks at me. “Miss West.”