The Mix-Up (Southern Hearts Club #3) - Melanie Munton Page 0,61

him to pop out behind every corner with a thoughtful gesture or a kind word.

It’s my own personal horror flick.

Things only get worse later that afternoon. After Ross calls to tell me he can’t be my date to the annual Aid for Veterans Benefit Dinner that night on the base. The Major invites us every year, and we’re happy to go because it’s a great cause. And every year, Ross and I always go together. Because if I bring my own date, the Major will feel obligated to grill him, no matter how insistent I am that the relationship isn’t serious. Been there, never doing it again. If I don’t bring a date, then the Major will use it as an opportunity to throw every swinging dick in a uniform at me in hopes that just one will make good husband material. Ross is an old hand at running interference for me at this thing.

But he decides to bring a date of his own this year.

Leaving me to the wolves.

My accusations of treason are only half-assed because he actually sounds interested in this woman. I know he wouldn’t bail on me simply to get laid, so it must be more than that. And who am I to stand in the way of a possible connection in the making? Even if I wanted to go with a date, it’s such short notice that I don’t bother trying.

Sure enough, the Major pimps me out to every young officer in attendance that night. If I wasn’t so eager to hear the keynote speaker talk—a bona fide hero with an incredible story—I would have done an about-face and marched my happy butt right out of that ballroom. My life is not about to become An Officer and a Gentleman. But here’s the kicker…many of the men he introduced me to were actually quite attractive.

There were just two problems.

One, I could never date a guy who’s too intimidated by my father to behave like his normal self around me. Each one of them acted too petrified to look at me anywhere but directly in the eyes. For tough military guys, they seemed like a bunch of sissies.

And two, none of them kept me on my toes…like Ryder does.

That’s when I decided to get drunk. Once I started imagining Ryder’s face in place of every man’s I met. So, I relied on my trusty ‘ol vodka gimlets to make all those faces too blurry to even distinguish identity.

And on top of that hell fest, my favorite vibrator broke. After stumbling home from the dinner with Ryder still on my mind, I needed release in a bad way. I hadn’t been able to stop thinking about our one glorious night together. The expertise with which he dominated our love-making—

No, not making love. You fucked. A few times. Spectacularly and brilliantly, but it was still just fucking. No love involved.

Anyway, I thought I could take care of my little problem with a quick tickle from my eleven-inch pickle. And I blew out the damn motor. Or whatever the hell those things run on. There were fresh batteries in it and everything.

How pathetic is that?

I broke my vibrator over my boss.

Needless to say, I’m in full hangover-bitch mode by the time I drag myself into work on Friday. Noting the way I’m stomping around and banging my shit all over the place, my co-workers give me a wide berth for fear of losing a limb if they venture too close.

All except for boss man, that is.

“Aw, did the sun rise without Queen Gretchen’s permission this morning?” his too-deep voice rumbles. “Or did someone just forget to take her Xanax?”

My eyes dart to Ryder’s.

That’s the first time all week he’s spoken to me like the Ryder of old. Pre-sexplosion Ryder. All week, he’s bitten back the snark and general jackassery. Is it possible he’s actually picking up on things I don’t want him to? Like my thoughts and feelings?

Leaning against my cubicle wall, his gaze is sharp as it takes in my strained features and tense muscles. I know that look. It’s the same one he wears when he’s reviewing data or assessing our monthly financial report. He’s reading me, analyzing me, and applying that knowledge to determine the best strategy moving forward.

Despite his too-focused scrutiny, the familiarity of his attitude relaxes me.

Somehow, he knows I need him to be the version of himself I’m most comfortable with. The a-hole boss with an ego the size of Alaska and a