I gulped down the cool night air as if I was oxygen-deprived. The two daiquiris I’d had at Mahoney’s West loosened me up everywhere and sent a heated buzz to all the wrong places. Ryder’s pickup lines were unoriginal, but his delivery of them made me laugh. And something about his disheveled appearance and crooked smile gave me enough courage to step out of the bar with him. My sound judgment was slipping through the pavement cracks with every wobbly step. “You know, I can’t remember the last time I grabbed a slice of pizza with a stranger,” I said, keeping my gaze straight ahead.

“I’m flattered.” Ryder kept up easily with my brisk pace.

Even though I wore heels, he was still a few inches taller than me. He had dark eyes that looked like miniature black holes, and even darker, shoulder-length hair. He was also at least ten, maybe fifteen years older than me and looked like a younger version of Johnny Depp. So much for the promise I made not to date again for at least six months. This wasn’t a real date, though. I only agreed to come because I was starving and he looked like Depp from Donnie Brasco. Roguish. Magnetic. Hot.

Ryder was a puzzle, though he pretended otherwise. His words seemed to betray him as just another guy eager to get into my pants…but his eyes…they betrayed something else. The way he studied me back at the bar, his eyes shifting from side to side, as if trying to catalogue every detail of my face…he wanted something from me. Something more than sex. Sure, we had some off-the-charts chemistry, but his intentions ran deeper than the superficial. After all, I’d been hit on by men too many times to count, especially on nights when I visited Mahoney’s West alone. Ryder wasn’t like the others, though he pretended to be. So what was his deal? The only reason I trusted him enough to leave the bar with him was because he was Kieran’s friend. Even though Kieran had been a wildcard for most of his life, popping in and out of Maxfield prison, he’d been straight as an arrow after he started officially dating Rachelle. I trusted Kieran. Kieran wouldn’t have introduced us if he thought we’d be a poor match. Right?

“You’re awfully quiet. Having regrets?” Ryder asked, shoving his hands into his jean pockets. His palms had been slightly clammy when I shook them, and his fingernails were filthy. What was his story?

I rubbed my goose bump-covered arms. “Just a little chilly.” I’d left my coat in the car.

“We’re almost there.” He nodded to a neon-lit pizza place up ahead.

“So…do you have any brothers or sisters?” I asked through chattering teeth.

“No. You?”

“Nope. So at least we have Single Child Syndrome in common.” I eked out a chuckle, but he didn’t reciprocate. “How about hobbies? Anything you—”

“Don’t really have any.”

“Oh. Okay.”

“I hope I’m not making you uncomfortable,” Ryder said. “I’ve had a lot on my mind these past couple of weeks. Sorry I’m not more of a conversationalist.”

“That’s okay.” I focused my gaze on the pizza place, which should’ve been getting closer and closer, but instead appeared farther away with each step. I felt light-headed and thirsty. The suave, cheesy pick-up artist I’d met back at the bar was gone, replaced by a brooding man who didn’t want to talk. Why did he ask me out, then? Ryder scratched his beard and hunched his back, slipping his hands in and out of his jean pockets.

“Tell me the truth, Ryder.”

Ryder’s eyes widened momentarily before softening again. “About what?”

“Why did you really approach me?”

“What do you mean?”

“To be honest, you wouldn’t be the first man to hit on me in order to win favors from my dad,” I admitted. At least two or three times a month, strangers approached me, pretending to want friendship or a date. Every single one of them would eventually let their masks slip, and I always found out, one way or another, what they really wanted from me. Sometimes being a Rayner in this town felt more like a curse than a blessing, especially when it came to interpersonal relationships.

“Kieran mentioned your dad’s name was Paul Rayner,” Ryder said carefully. “I’ve never even heard of your dad before. No offense, but…is he supposed to be a big deal?”

I almost wanted to laugh. My dad was one of the wealthiest men in America, and Ryder was trying to tell me he’d never heard of him? Who was he kidding? His obvious lie irked me, and I tried to hide my frown. “I hate dishonesty, Ryder.”

“I’m not lying, Cally. I never use social media, and I never watch the news. I’m virtually a hermit, living in my own personal bubble. I don’t even know the names of any popular celebrities at the moment. I also don’t own a laptop or a smartphone.”

“Forgive me for being rude, but I just don’t believe you. Maybe I’m just being cynical or paranoid, but I’ve heard that lie hundreds of times before.” The chances of Ryder not knowing my dad’s name was about as likely as him not knowing who Steve Jobs, Bill Gates, or Warren Buffet were. Why would he lie though? I contemplated just forgoing the quasi-date altogether. What had felt like flirtatious banter a few minutes ago now felt like manipulation. I should just fake cramps or a migraine and head home early. “Ryder…I’m—”

Ryder swallowed hard. “If you want honesty, I gave you honesty back at the bar. I told you you were too hot for words, and I wanted to grab a slice of pizza with you. But now that we’re outside, you’re interrogating me, questioning my intentions, and getting paranoid on me. It’s not sexy, and that’s the truth. You automatically assume that I’m using you to get close to your dad. That makes you sound really stuck up. I don’t give a damn who your dad is. Even if he was the president of the United States, using you for favors would never cross my mind. Think about it, Cally. What could I possibly want from your dad? Makes no sense.”

Ryder’s speech should have placated me, but instead, it set off alarm bells in my head. The fine hairs on my nape tingled. Why was he trying so hard to convince me he didn’t know my dad? Maybe I was acting a little crazy. Ever since I ended things with Anthony, my imagination had been working overtime, resulting in various obsessive and destructive thoughts. Last week, when the barista at Starbucks asked for my name, I thought he was hitting on me, too, trying to get closer to—maybe I was wrong about Ryder. But it was better to be safe than sorry. Better to nip it in the bud before whatever this was blossomed into something unmanageable.

I stopped mid-step. “I’m sorry, Ryder. This is making me feel uncomfortable. I…I have a migraine coming on. I think I’m just going to call it a night.”

“I—I’m sorry, Cally. Please, don’t go. I didn’t mean to make you feel uncomfortable.” Ryder reached out for my elbow, but I slinked away. What was this guy’s deal? What did he want from me?

“Good night, Ryder.” I turned around and began walking back towards Mahoney’s West. I’d parked around the corner from the bar.

“Can I at least have your number? Maybe we can start over? Try this again sometime?” Ryder called out.

“I…” This man was starting to give off vibes that made my skin crawl. Better safe than sorry, I repeated over and over in my head. “I don’t think so. I’m going to go.”

Ryder took a step toward me, and I began walking even faster. Ready to break out in a jog at a second’s notice. Why was he so desperate to keep in touch with me? My gut instinct told me to run. A moment ago, I’d felt like a woman stuck in a date gone wrong. Now I felt like prey. A field mouse scurrying away from a barn owl.

“I’ll…see you around,” Ryder said finally. “I’m going to try and get a job at Mahoney’s West. Maybe…maybe we can start over the next time we meet. I…the last thing I wanted was to upset you.”

I had my back turned to him, so I couldn’t see his face. But his words sounded earnest, softer…far less menacing than a moment ago.

I swallowed the lump in my throat and inhaled sharply. “Okay. Maybe I’ll see you around. Good night, Ryder.”

“Night, Cally. Drive safe.”