[Ryan]

I’ve always had a thing for redheads. I blame Christina Feeney, the first girl I ever loved. Granted, it was the second grade, but a guy doesn’t forget a love like that. The tightness in my chest. The way my heart beats like I’ve just finished a twenty-mile run. She started it and I react the same way to every girl I’ve ever tried to talk to since I was eight years old. I swear to God I’m going to have a stroke just thinking about talking to a girl.

I wipe my sweaty palms on my jeans. Can Emma tell how nervous I am? Is she just as nervous? She keeps darting her eyes to the door, like she’s waiting for her chance to escape. I admit, this is not how I thought this night would end, with me bringing a girl home, especially someone like Emma Rae. I’ve never done this sort of thing before and have no idea what I’m doing. I don’t want to get it wrong.

“Can I get you something to drink?”

“Holy shit, yes.” She follows that up with a quick smile as she takes a seat at the counter. “I mean, please.”

As I open the fridge and peek inside, my gut twists. I hate being a starving college student with a minimum wage job. I have a whopping two beers, a box of baking soda my mom bought when I moved in over two years ago, and a couple slices of pizza I should have thrown out a month ago.

I emerge with the last two beers and offer her a hint of a grin to hide my nerves. “Sorry, fresh out of cherry syrup martinis.”

“Maraschino,” she reminds me, and then rolls her pretty eyes when I laugh. “You know, you should be shitting bricks, you were so nervous. You could barely talk to me at the bar. Why aren’t you nervous now?”

“Who said I wasn’t nervous?” She thinks I’m not nervous? Granted, I’m not nearly as nervous as I was back at the bar. That was different. I wanted to impress her, wanted her to like me. None of that matters now. She’s going to turn me into someone who’ll impress girls like her, someone girls like her will want to do. Literally.

If she can pull this off and turn me into some sort of player, maybe I’d have a chance with her. Every guy I’ve ever seen with girls who look like Emma fits the bill. The proverbial tall, good-looking, asshole. For the next month, I have every intention of showing her exactly what she’s missing by judging a guy by his cover. There’s so much more to someone than what’s on the surface.

Take my brother, for example. He’s the biggest asshole I know, yet girls flock to him. None of them stick around for long, but that doesn’t seem to matter. He’s always got a line of women vying for his attention even though he treats them all like shit. It boggles my mind.

Maybe I’ll be the first Delta dick to not actually be a dick. At least the first in my family. It’ll be another thing my dad is disappointed in with me. His words ring in my ear.

“When are you going to start acting like a man?” he told me at Christmas. “You’re a Ryan. That puts you at the head of the table. You should be working toward a degree in business, not computers. My sons will have corner offices on the top floor, not share a desk in the basement with the rest of tech support. Take Derek. He was the president of his house when he was in college and is well on his way to following in my footsteps. Why can’t you do the same?”

My dad always compares me to my older brother. It used to bother me. God, how it bothered me. Now I’ve heard it so many times it’s lost its effect. I get it. I’m a disappointment. To my dad. To my brother. That’s another reason I’m willing to do this transformation with Emma. Maybe by turning into a version of Derek, my family will start treating me like I’m a part of it.

“You don’t act nervous.” Her voice pulls me out of my bitter memory.

“Because the pressure is off,” I explain and twist the top off the beers before handing one to her, playing down my nerves. “You’re here to turn me cool, not judge me because I’m not.”

“Good point.” She nods for emphasis.

“Besides, it’s not like you’d ever sleep with me.” I hold my breath and watch her, waiting for her reaction to my comment.

She doesn’t even falter as she glances around the mod. “That’s not off the table.”

I almost swallow my tongue as I choke on my beer. Just like that, my chest is tight as panic squeezes my midsection. I know nothing is going to happen. She’s a solid nine. The hair puts her above a ten in my book. She’s worlds above me.

Who am I kidding? Even if this insane plan works and she turns me into a player, I’d never be high enough on the hotness scale to get with her. I have to remember that. This whole fake relationship is just that—fake.

Then why am I so goddamn anxious I have to concentrate to breathe? It was her comment. Why would sleeping with me be part of the deal? Not that I’m against the idea, but the thought of it leading to us having sex has my heart struggling to beat.

“Did I shock you?” she asks as she sips at her beer. “You haven’t said anything since I dropped the sex bomb.”

“I…uh…” I swallow and have to take a pull off my beer to wet my throat. Shit. I’m back to stuttering. I suck in a deep breath and slowly let it out to settle my nerves. Girls who look like her don’t come home and sleep with guys who look like me. Period. Does she know who I really am? That my father’s net worth has more zeroes than Hello, World! in binary? Is that why she insists on calling me by my last name?

That’s stretching it a bit. I approached her, not the other way around. She doesn’t know my family any more than I know hers. I need to say something to break this tension nearly suffocating me. “You make it sound like a scene out of Risky Business.”

She gasps as something flashes in her eyes. “Did you just call me a prostitute? Are you shitting me right now?”

“I was only joking.” Panic immediately hammers my pulse.

“Screw you, asshole.” She jumps off the stool and grabs her purse. Color splashes her cheeks.

Oh, man. I just screwed up royally. I take a step in front of the door to block her from leaving. She gives me a look that has me worried she’ll break one or more of my bones if I don’t move. I put my hands up. “I’m sorry. I’m just so bad at this.”

“No shit.” She crosses her arms under her breasts and I’m distracted by how her nipples press against her shirt. “Eyes up here, Romeo.”

Jesus. I really am an asshole. Maybe I’m more like my brother than I thought. I rivet my gaze to her face. Her eyes darken as fury swirls in them. She’s ready to attack. I take a cautious step toward her. “Please. Can we start over? I really need your help.”

“Are you going to make another really bad movie reference?” She thins her lips.

“No,” I answer quickly. That’s one scary look. Careful to not push her over the edge, I slowly take her purse. She lets me. I don’t so much as breathe until I set the bag on the couch and lead her back to the stool at the breakfast counter. Only when she sits and wraps her slender fingers around her beer do I finally breathe again. “You’re just so beautiful. When you mentioned sleeping with me, I panicked.”

“I didn’t say it was part of the deal. It’s just not off the table. Unless you get any weirder on me, then I may just stab you in the throat.”

I fight not to crack a smile. “I’ll work on lowering my weirdness factor.”

She snorts and this time I do laugh. “Not too much. Your weirdness is kind of cute. Okay, let’s set some ground rules. I’m turning you into a total dick. You do realize that, right? You’ll be able to get any girl when I’m done with you, but it comes at a price.”

“What sort of price?”

“Knowing she’ll hate you when all’s said and done. Do you have any certain girl in mind?”

I stare at her. Her question catches me off-guard. If I had the choice of any girl, it would be the one narrowing her eyes at me right now. I don’t want her hating me, so I quickly push that idea from my head. Dropping my gaze, I answer, “No.”

“Good.”

I bring my attention up, not bothering to hide the shock. “Good?”

“Ryan, you’re going to love them and leave them wanting more. That’s the very definition of a player. You’re playing the field. You can’t go after anyone you have feelings for. It will get too personal. You can’t love them and keep them or you’ll never be labeled the Delta dick we’re transforming you into.”

That’s fine with me. I don’t want to be a Delta dick, not really. My dad is the one who wants me to be something I’m not. My brother won’t even associate with me. I highly doubt me being a complete tool will make a difference on that front.

Still, I need this. I need to prove I’m a Delta. I have a family legacy to uphold, and every Delta has a reputation to create. Man, if my dad could only hear my thoughts. He’d be so proud. “I’m going to be a Delta dick. Got it. What else?”

“You’re taking me to the DASH. That’s all this is. One friend scratching the other friend’s back.”

I study her eyes. “So we’re friends?”

“Not if you make another hooker reference.”