“It’s not even nine,” Lucah said.
Ryder shrugged and went to get his coat. “Yeah, but I want to get to bed early,” he said.
Rory gave me a WTF look, and I shrugged. I had no idea what he was talking about.
“Uh-huh,” Lucah said, but he didn’t seem convinced at all. “Well, that’s good, I guess.” He couldn’t really find fault with that.
“Thank you for a lovely evening and for the delicious meal, Sloane.”
“You’re welcome,” I said, and he gave me a wink before he headed out the door.
“Who the hell was that, and what did he do with your brother?” Rory asked.
“I have no idea,” Lucah said, and they both turned their attention to me.
“Hey,” I said, putting my arms up. “I’m just as baffled as you are.”
I hadn’t told Lucah about having tea and cronuts with Ryder, and he definitely didn’t know we were going to the art show the next night. I felt bad for putting Rory in the middle, but it was better he didn’t know. He was stressed enough already.
“I’d think he was using again, but I have no proof. He’s acting very strangely though. I wish I could call his therapist and ask him, but Ryder’s an adult, so he can’t give me any information.” He sighed and gathered up his and Rory’s dishes to bring to the sink. I sat down on the stool at the breakfast bar and leaned my head on my hand.
“Maybe he’s turning over a new leaf?” I said.
“Maybe. But I doubt it. I know my brother. He’s definitely up to something. When he was younger, he used to be perfectly behaved and helpful right before he got himself into a huge load of trouble. If he ever volunteered to do the dishes, Mom would know he was up to no good.” That sounded about right. Their brother, Tate, had given Lucah an album of family pictures, and Rory had showed it to me. There were a few of Ryder and he had that mischievous gleam in his eye from day one.
“Well, I don’t know anything,” I said.
“Hm. Maybe I should stop by his place?”
Rory shook her head. “You’re letting go, remember? It’s time for him to swim on his own,” she said, rinsing the plates before stacking them in the dishwasher. Lucah sat down next to me.
“More wine?” I asked. I had a few extra bottles for emergencies. He definitely looked like he needed it.
“Please. Good thing I don’t have to drive,” he said as I refilled his glass.
“We only have to stumble down the hallway,” Rory said with a grin.
“How’s April doing?” I asked, trying to change the topic away from Ryder by asking about Tate’s wife, who was pregnant with her third child. She already had two little girls and the new baby was somewhat of a surprise. I couldn’t even imagine having three kids under the age of five. I’d probably kill myself. I’d met her little girls, Gracie and Fiona, once and that was enough. I’d never fantasized about having kids. They seemed like way too much work and money for very little reward. And what if your kid turned out to be a serial killer? I’d like to avoid that if I could.
“She’s good. They’re finding out what it’s going to be soon. I know Tate is pulling for a boy, but April thinks it’s another girl.” Three girls, all two years apart in age. That was going to be so much fun when they were teenagers. Talk about hell.
I shuddered at the thought and Rory laughed.
“Don’t worry. I’m sure you won’t be forced to babysit.”
I could barely handle those kids with their parents standing a few feet away. One of them had nearly ripped my earring out of my ear. “Thank God for that,” I said, and Lucah smiled.
The dishes were put in the dishwasher, and then Lucah and Rory retreated to their apartment.
Once I was alone, I went to my closet and tried to pick out an outfit for the art show. It wasn’t a date, but I still wanted to look nice. I always wanted to look nice. I never left the house unless I was dressed to impress. Not even if I felt like shit.
I was going for casual. I didn’t want him to think I’d tried too hard with my outfit. I usually wore dresses, but decided to go with jeans instead. Nothing said casual like jeans. I had a new pair I’d made not that long ago that hadn’t made it out of my house yet. I pulled out some cute tops to pair with them and then grabbed some short boots. Simple enough. It was chilly enough to need a sweater, so I found a bulky one that definitely said casual.
I laid everything out and realized it was too casual. I looked like I was just lounging around the house. An art gallery opening was a nice affair.
“Shit,” I said, putting the clothes away again. This was going to require some more thought.
Why was it so easy to dress someone else, but when I tried to dress myself I had a hard time? What was that saying about those who can, do, and those who can’t, teach? I had that.
I went to take a shower and caught sight of my roots in the mirror. My hair was naturally a dull brown, but I dyed it black, and I was definitely overdue. Deciding it was a good way to spend the rest of my evening, I got out the dye supplies and an old towel, and got to work. I also trimmed my own hair. It was just easier that way. Then I didn’t have to worry about a stylist fucking it up. I only had myself to blame if something went wrong.
I told myself I wasn’t fixing my hair for Ryder. I was doing it for me. Because of my roots. Not for him.
I was excellent at lying to myself.
By the time Friday night rolled around, I felt like I was losing my mind. I’d gone through five outfit changes and finally settled on what I would have worn if this had been a date. A floor-length white dress that was Grecian-inspired and had black beading around the top which accentuated my chest. I paired it with black satin heels and added a black sparkly flower that held up part of my hair.
I had to cover it up with a wool coat, but I knew I’d still get the effect when I took the coat off. Ryder was waiting outside for me, wearing a flannel coat, hands in his pockets. It was dark, but I’d know him anywhere.
I walked up slowly, and when he spotted me he smiled.
“Hey,” he said. Oh shit, it was awkward already.
“Hey,” I replied, and we stared at each other for a second. I might have gone a bit too overboard on the makeup, because he was definitely staring a lot at my face.
He blinked a few times. “So, shall we?” he asked.
The building was made of old bricks and very unassuming on the outside, but it was lit well from within, and had a giant window that looked out on the street. Inside, various people milled around. I saw some with champagne flutes. Good, there would be booze.
“Sure,” I said, and he held the door open for me.
The gallery itself was perfect for displaying the art, with blond hardwood floors, white walls, and simple lighting.
The art was . . . crazy. Chaotic. Bright.
“Wow,” I said, looking at a piece near the front that was a sculpture made out of bicycle parts. It was so large you could walk under and around it to see it from different angles.
A man wearing a suit and carrying a tray offered us champagne, and I had to fight the urge to double fist, but I took just one glass.
“What do you think?” Ryder asked as we walked by a giant piece that, on closer inspection, seemed to be made from pages of magazines. Some of them were the kind with nudity. They were slapped on a canvas in a haphazard way. On further inspection, though, it did make sense. Sort of.
Soft piano music played, at odds with the cacophony of the art.
The next few sculptures were made from old cans, bottles, and wine corks. And then we got to one that I had to look at twice.
“Are those?”
“Yep,” Ryder said, reading the card under the canvas.
It was a collage. Of condom wrappers. Ripped condom wrappers.
“I wanted to use old condoms, but figured that might not be sanitary,” a voice said behind us as we leaned in close to inspect the condom collage.
I turned to find a guy with an impressive black m
oustache that must have been waxed recently, platinum blonde hair, and a septum piercing in his nose.
“Hey, man. The place looks fantastic,” Ryder said, giving the guy a hug. “Sloane, this is the artist, Gilbert Cunningham.”
Gilbert held his hand out. “Gil,” he said as we shook. He had the undeniable air of cool that only a few people can pull off. It was a mix of confidence and knowing exactly who you are and what you want the world to see about you.
“Nice to meet you, your stuff is great.”
He nodded his head in my direction. “Why thank you, lovely lady. You never know how your work is going to be received. It’s nice to hear someone else gets it.” Well, I didn’t know if I “got it,” but it was cool.
Someone called Gil’s name and he excused himself.
“You’ve got cool friends, Ryder. I like him.” We wandered some more around the gallery then finally made it to the food table. I was starving.
“I always wished I was good at art, or at something,” Ryder said, popping a stuffed mushroom into his mouth.
“But if you’re really good at something, then you kind of have to do it. There’s not a whole lot of choice.” I’d always loved clothes and fashion, and known that was what I’d go into when I grew up. But I’d always wondered what I would have done if I wasn’t good at that. That would have been exciting. An adventure.
“But if you’re good at nothing? Now that’s a bitch,” Ryder said, stealing the last mushroom off the tiny plate I’d been holding.
“You’re not good at nothing, Ryder. I’m sure you have many talents that you just haven’t discovered yet.”
He wiggled his eyebrows at me. “Oh, yeah? You want to try discovering with me?”
I was taken aback by the comment and gave him a puzzled look. “I thought you weren’t going to be like that tonight. That’s something a person on a date might say,” I said, grabbing a few more of the mushrooms.
“Huh. Guess I couldn’t do it anymore. That dinner the other night? That was brutal.”
“Oh, really? So that was all an act?”
“Yup. How’d I do?”
I snorted into my champagne. I was starting to get a bit tipsy. “Well, seeing as how your brother didn’t buy it for a second, I’d say you need more acting lessons.”
“Really? Shit. Guess that’s out as a career choice.” Definitely. He ran his hand down the side of his face, one finger tracing his scar. I’d never asked him about it. There were a lot of things I never asked Ryder about.
“Yeah, it was a nice try. But you definitely failed. So I wouldn’t even bother in the future.” Plus, I liked him flirting with me.
“Oh, I see. So you like when I flirt with you?” Crap. I didn’t mean to make it sound like that.
“No, but you not flirting with anyone is weird. You flirt with everyone.”
He threw his head back and laughed. “Yeah, I do.”
I shook my head at him and stuffed my face with tiny hors d’oeuvres as we wandered through the rest of the gallery. I liked going through twice so I made sure that I saw everything. Plus, I wanted this to last as long as possible, this not-a-date thing with Ryder.
We made three rounds of the gallery, stopping to chat with Gil about his work. He talked about how he found all the objects for his show at junkyards and told stories about his adventures in dump picking and dumpster diving. He was called away again, and I wondered if we should call it a night.
“Hey, so there’s this really cool bar just down the street from here. They serve desserts and booze, and it’s really cool inside. A guy I work with sometimes tends bar there. Want to go?” Booze and cupcakes? Fucking fantastic.
“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.
“You’re staring at me again,” I said.
“I know. I can’t help it. You’re an interesting and extraordinary person.” Well, I wouldn’t go that far.
Our cupcakes arrived and distracted both of us.
“Fuck me gently with a chainsaw, this is so good,” I said as I took a bite of the Oreo cookie. All of the cupcakes here were filled with extra frosting, so it oozed out when you bit into it.
“Holy shit,” Ryder said, taking a bite of the Red Velvet. He got frosting on his nose, and I laughed.
“You’ve got a little something on your nose,” I said.
“Get it for me?” he asked. I thought about wiping it with a napkin, but used my finger instead.
“Thanks,” he said.
“No problem.” We went back to our cupcakes, and I considered ordering more because they were just so damn good.
“Life will never be the same,” I said. “This is all your fault. Now I’m going to be addicted to this place, and I will have no money because I spent it all on cupcakes. I’m going to get so fat. Are you happy now?” I asked, scraping the last of the bits of cupcake off my plate. I thought about licking the crumbs, but that seemed like a bad idea in public.
“You know, I think they deliver,” he said, wiping his face with a napkin.
“Shut the fuck up right now. You are kidding.”
He held up the menu and pointed to the part that said they delivered anywhere in the city.
“You bastard,” I said, grabbing the menu from him and typing the number into my phone so I could use it to call anytime I wanted cupcakes, which would be always.
“How about I buy you another round? Drinks and cupcakes.”