CHAPTER TWENTY THREE

"What does it look like I'm doing? Making myself useful," Ruby said, stacking three glasses on top of each other in a way that looked a bit precarious, although Joe was smart enough to know he shouldn't say anything. "You should try it sometime."

 

The last thing in the world he'd expected to see when he'd grabbed his helmet and left his apartment that morning was her, wearing one of Regan's checked button-downs, sleeves rolled halfway up, casually unbuttoned to just above the tops of her breasts. Looking more refreshed than she had in days, she was leaning over a cutting board peeling a lemon, humming to herself--all utterly and unconsciously sexy.

 

He'd stopped short and asked the obvious question, hoping his confusion wasn't showing.

 

He dangled his helmet from the strap casually as he pulled on his riding gloves. "You really think I don't know what hard work means?"

 

"I don't know," she glanced casually up at the clock. "You roll out of bed around ten-thirty."

 

"Ruby, I don't exactly work a normal schedule--" he stopped himself. He was letting her get to him. "But that's not the point. You're making assumptions about me."

 

"Joe, if I am, that's because I don't know anything about you, except what I've picked up from others. You never tell me anything." Her tone was brisk and businesslike.

 

"That's not true. I told you about Kyle."

 

"Only because I forced your hand."

 

When he'd lived with Colt, he'd worn his hands raw pumping tires and waxing chrome. He’d had foster parents who seemed to think the measly compensation they got from the state to take care of him meant they were entitled to use him for slave labor.

 

Not to mention that summer roofing job, or his work detail in the laundry room during his time in juvie. In fact, when he'd joined the Jockeys, it was the first occupation he'd ever had that actually let him use his brain. To think critically, to make decisions for himself and for others.

 

Up till then, only his standardized test scores, which nobody paid any attention to, had showed that he was capable of more than the little that was expected of him. The Jockeys, though, didn't care about that--they cared about results. And he'd delivered. There was a reason Kyle had made him vice president. For the first time in Joe’s life, someone had seen promise in him, encouraged and nurtured it. It was one of the many reasons Joe knew he'd found where he belonged.

 

And trying to find the words to explain all that to Ruby--would open the floodgates for questions about his childhood that he had so far strained desperately to avoid. Better to deflect.

 

"I'm going to come to my own conclusions, unless I hear it from you. You'd rather toy with me."

 

He glanced down. She was wearing the ruby necklace again. Of course she was. Now he was looking at her décolletage, the small dark beauty mark that peeked up above the gold chain, standing out against that strange, beautiful olive skin tone. He was going to have to tear his eyes away before she noticed and thought him a creep for staring.

 

"Toy?" He rested his elbows on the counter, telling himself that letting her have control over this small realm was a good thing.

 

It made her feel needed, and less like an interloper, or a burden. She hadn't had a lot of say over what had happened to her in the past few days. He knew he was partly to blame for that. Besides, for the first time in days, she actually looked somewhat well-rested-- serene, almost. "If I was toying with you, you’d be having a lot more fun.”

 

He was joking, of course. Sort of. He was also running late. He was supposed to be riding out with A.J., Rex, and Wings for their regular gig escorting an eighteen-wheeler from Oakland to Modesto. At some point, they would also discuss what should be done when Aaron Beeson got into town tomorrow; what they could demand from him without angering him further or having him interpret their request for an explanation as a threat.

 

Joe was only five minutes behind, but A.J. was already blowing up his phone, and his vice president’s mood wouldn’t be any better once he arrived. Needless to say, Ruby’s crack about him rolling out of bed had hit home more than she knew; not to mention her flippant responses made it seem as if she belonged there and he was the interloper. Yes, he probably deserved everything she was dishing out, but it still annoyed him, especially the fact that she was rested. As expected, his sleep last night--except when Ruby had made a brief appearance in his dream--hadn't exactly been high in volume or quality.

 

“You’re toying, Joe. You are. You’re playing your silly little game because you think I'm just like every other girl you've ever known. That all it will take is a little convincing, a little reminding by your friends about how sexy Joseph Ryan is and how stupid I'd be to resist the man that any other woman would kill to have.” She held a knife in her right hand, its tip resting on the cutting board, casually twirling it between her fingers before putting it down suddenly. “Well, there's only one stupid thing I could do in all this. And I didn't do it last night, and I'm not going to." She started for the back room.

 

"As if the fact that nothing happened last night was only because you didn't want it?"

 

"What?" she whirled around, eyes flashing.

 

"Hey, I was in your bedroom. I chose to leave."

 

Ruby's mouth dropped. "Joe, to think you once had me convinced you didn't have an arrogant bone in your body."

 

"It's not arrogance," he said, looking at the floor briefly. "It's just a fact. If I'd wanted you last night, I would have had you." Harsh, maybe, but he knew he needed to take control of this situation. Ruby's idea that she had was in control of this conversation had to be done away with.

 

"Do you even remember what we talked about last night? As I recall, it was mostly my pants and how they made you want to grab my butt so badly you were losing your grip on reality. By the way, I'm still wearing them." She held the glass in two hands and rested her elbows on the bar, waiting for Joe's eyes to stray to where he could almost catch a glimpse.

 

"You bitch." He hadn't meant to say it; it had just slipped out. It wasn't angry; more exasperated, admiring of her brazenness. Luckily, she didn't seem to mind. She knew she had the upper hand, anyway.

 

“So, if it’s true and you can have me whenever you want me,” she challenged, “Just when is our appointment? I’ll pencil it in.”

 

He flipped up his helmet and adjusted the strap. “When it’s time,” he said turning around only to glance back at her, “you’ll know.”