“Casey.” Ryder rests his hand on her frail shoulder, sending her a quick look of reprimand. “Remember your words.”
“But she did, Ryder. She talked about your balls.”
“She was talking about my football,” he corrects smoothly, a grin sliding across his lips as he kneels beside her. Eyes soft, he swipes a tear from her cheek and gives her nose a little pinch.
She giggles and pinches his nose right back.
“This is my friend Amber,” he continues, “and though she hasn’t played with it yet, she loves my football more than she’s willing to admit.” He looks at me, amusement dancing over his face. “Isn’t that right?”
“Yes, Ryder,” I grit out with what I know he’s aware is the fakest smile I can muster.
“You wanna know why Amber’s here, Casey?” He looks at me, his amusement exploding by the second.
I narrow my eyes, convinced he’s about to sink me.
He turns his attention back to his sister. “I think you’ll really like it.”
“Yes!” Casey squeaks. “Tell me!”
“Amber stopped by because she’s having lunch with us, and she’s hanging out with you, me, and SpongeBob all . . . day . . . long.”
Bouncing up and down, Casey claps. “She is?”
“I am?” I get to my feet, my need to put my fist through his balls growing. “I don’t recall making these plans.”
Ryder rises and pinches my nose. “Aww, peach, ya don’t remember? Let me refresh that memory of yours. You called me last night and talked for hours about how excited you were to chill with me and Case here.”
I look at Casey, and the genuine excitement in her eyes causes my heart to stir. I tentatively touch my knuckles to her cheek, and she smiles. Everything inside me screams that there’s no way I can let this child down.
“Right.” Smiling, I nod. “Now I remember.”
“Yay!” Casey snatches my hand, her words racing from her mouth as she leads me into the apartment. “Do you like peanut butter and Fluff? Are you my brother’s new girlfriend? Can you paint my nails?”
“Case, you’re gonna scare the girl away.” Ryder closes the door, a victorious smirk on his face. “Amber tends to . . . flee when put under pressure.”
I shake my head, wondering how sick he really is. “You’re out there,” I whisper. “Like, mental hospital out there.”
“Mm, see what you do to me?” He pinches my nose again, giving it a light shake. “You have me sinking to the lowest depths of morality.”
“At least you’re aware you’re not beyond using an innocent child to get what you want.”
“Only for you,” he points out, wiggling his brows. “Consider yourself special.”
I scoff, convinced he’s delusional.
“How can I scare her?” Casey asks with a pout. “They’re just questions, Ry. Mrs. Langley says to ask lots of them.”
“Yeah, Ry.” I make a mental note of her nickname for him, knowing I’ll use it in the near future. “Just ignore your brother, Casey. He’s not right in his head.”
Casey giggles and drags me across the living room. My eyes skirt over a multistained Berber carpet hidden beneath an array of roughed-up garage-sale-find-looking furniture. A beat-up plaid couch sits against the far wall. Flanking it, a makeshift end table—made from a blue milk crate and round piece of glass—adds a hint of modern flair to the space.
Riiiggghhhttt . . . That took a ton of imagination.
I sink onto the throwback 1970s couch and take in several posters, every single one highlighting a barely clothed model on a Harley or classic car. I know it’s a bachelor pad, but considering both Lee and Ryder make decent money pushing for Brock, I’m shocked they’re living so far below their means.
“There’s no way you’re related to Martha Stewart,” I quip, unable to keep the comment to myself. “Not even close.”
“Who’s Martha Stewart?” Casey asks, sidling up next to me.
“Someone your brother’s in desperate need of.”
Ryder chuckles and moves into his kitchen that, on its best day, could hold three people crammed shoulder to shoulder. He snags an apple from the counter and makes his way back over to us. After handing it to Casey, Ryder turns his blue eyes on me, a crooked grin breaking out across his face. “Nope. No relation. Now, are you ready for our date with SpongeBob?”
“As I’ll ever be,” I answer, matching his idiotic grin.
He plops down next to me and flips the television to what I assume is the appropriate station. A whacked-out sailor pelts out a tune, and Casey squeaks in excitement, my presence old news as she hones in on a sponge with eyes and his sidekick starfish.
Ryder nudges my arm.
My breath catches the second my gaze connects with his.
“So, ya plan on telling me why you felt the need to slap me again?” A curious smile crosses his lips, his voice a whisper. “Or are you gonna make me hold you down in a compromising position to get the info from you?”
I stare into his eyes, hating the way my body responds to his slightest touch. Especially when I’m supposed to be mad. It’s the universe’s way of laughing at me. “You like talking shit to Hailey about my life, Ry?”
His brows pull together. “What do you mean?”
“I ran into her today, and she knows everything about what happened to me. Very few people know the full story, and now Hailey’s one of them.” I pause, trying to gauge his reaction. His face is peppered in confusion. “Was I a topic of conversation after you finished bagging her? Huh, Ry? Did it piss you off that much that I picked Brock instead of you?”