Ryder

Simone drops my hand and scurries toward a table strewn with paint jars, brushes, and mini easels. Her class starts in two minutes. The nine-year-old skids, pivots, and rushes back to me. She throws her arms around my waist. “Thank you for taking me. I’ll make a Picasso now.”

I ruffle her hair. “Of course you will. His blue period was the best.”

“Do you want a painting of a blue horse for your kitchen, then?”

She’s obsessed with horses and with painting. “Let me tell you a secret,” I whisper. “I’ve been hoping for a blue horse for a long, long time.”

A huge smile spreads across her face. A front tooth is missing. “Then you should have a blue horse. You should always get what you want.”

“Isn’t that the opposite of what they teach you in school? You get what you get, and you don’t have a fit?”

“I think you should get what you want. I should get what I want, too. And I would love for us to have an ice cream sundae after class. If I paint you a blue horse, can I have an ice cream sundae? I mean, can we split one?”

“Ah,” I say, stroking my chin. “Now that I understand you’re only thinking of my ice cream needs, I’ll consider it. But do you really think your daddy will be okay with that?”

“Which daddy?” She points at me. “If it’s your brother, my daddy, no. But if it’s my other dad, yes.”

“Too bad it’s my brother, your daddy, who’s picking you up when he finishes his workout.” Devon’s partner is working all weekend on a big case, so Devon’s single parenting today.

“Uncle Ryder,” she says, grabbing my arm. “You have to convince him. What if we skipped class so we can get ice cream?” She lowers her voice to a conspiratorial whisper, knowing my brother is a health nut.

“We would be in so much trouble.”

“You can’t get in trouble with your own brother.”

“Have you met your father? He would be furious. Plus, you love class. Go paint. I’m going to think deep thoughts somewhere in this store.”

She laughs and spins around, her silky hair like a dark flag trailing behind her as she runs the final few feet to the table and plops herself in a chair.

Her class is only thirty minutes, and even though I’m not artsy, there’s something irresistible about perusing the shelves at this shop. The hip notebooks. The freshly sharpened pencils. The soft bristles of paintbrushes. They whisper of creativity and ideas. I amble through the aisles then stop at the recycled paper notebooks when I spot a collection with cats and dogs in spacesuits on the front covers. The images are familiar. I furrow my brow, then I remember.

Nicole’s notebook that she carries around at work has astronaut dogs on it. The woman hasn’t been far from my mind over the last few days. I pick up the notebook and flip through the blank pages as if I’ll find the answer to her question in there. I’ve thought of little else since she asked me. I promised myself I’d make a decision today, so I texted her an hour ago to ask if she’s free tonight. Whether I’m in or out, I want to give her the courtesy of a decision sooner than later.

The question remains, though—am I in?

I swing my gaze to the art class in the corner, staring at Simone, her long brown hair spilling down her back. The tips of her hair are blue. She asked Devon and Paul if she could dye it. They said if she learned the names of the most famous artists and their most famous works, they’d take her to a salon for a proper blue-ing.

That girl is such a source of joy in their life. She’s sunshine. She’s happiness. And she came from a choice—a choice to open their home to a child who needed one.

I have the power to make that choice for Nicole. I rest my hand against a shelf and stare at the back of Simone’s head till my niece is a blur, and my gaze is elsewhere. It’s on the future. The weight of the request.

It’s awesome and scary. What if I make the wrong choice like I did by marrying Maggie? That decision to mingle my life with Maggie’s seemed so right at the time. What if I choose badly again, even if the decision feels like the right one now?

I set down the notebook and noodle on all the possibilities until my brother texts, asking if I mind if he stays another thirty minutes to lift weights.

---

Ryder: You need it, you scrawny bastard. No problem.

---

He responds with a raised middle finger emoticon.

When class ends, I inform Simone she’s getting her wish for ice cream. She beams and tells me my wish for a blue horse has come true, and she’ll finish the painting in the next class.

After a chocolate-sauce-drenched sundae, we meet up with my brother outside his building. His dark hair is sweat slicked, and he’s a few inches shorter than me, but still a handsome devil. He’s also ridiculously fit and muscular. Simone gives him a big hug.

“Hey, honey bun, can you head inside? Daddy will meet you upstairs.”

She nods and runs into the building.

Devon lifts his chin. “Have you decided?”

Nothing like an older brother to cut to the chase. I sought out his advice the other day, but this is the kind of issue that bears repeating, so I ask again, “What do you think I should do, Dev?”

“You know what I think,” he says, his tone as no-nonsense as the rest of him. “I want to know what you think.”

I lean against the side of the building. “I think . . . what if. What if I do this and something goes wrong? What if something happens and it all goes belly up?” I’ve tried to develop a rhino’s thick skin since Maggie, but I’ve got some tender spots still. “I don’t want to get blindsided again.”

“I hear you, man.” He claps my shoulder. “But that’s why you sign papers. You seal it airtight. No one is going to get blindsided when you lay out the terms. This isn’t a relationship. It’s a business deal.”

I laugh. He works on Wall Street, so deal-making is his bread and butter.

“I signed a marriage license, too, and then my whole life was a lie. What if this is the next one?” I ask, since I’m a persistent bastard, too.

“This isn’t the same thing. Besides,” he says, nodding toward his daughter, who’s waiting for the elevator, “look at my girl. I wouldn’t have her if someone else—some scared fifteen-year-old girl from North Dakota—didn’t give her up. She knew her girl would have a better life elsewhere, and she made that happen. Nicole’s not asking you to pledge your life to her like Maggie did. What Nicole is asking is, honestly, a lot simpler. It has a beginning and an end. If you think about it, she’s asking you to give her the same gift someone gave Paul and me.”

And my heart threatens to melt. “You little shit,” I tell him with a sneer. “When you say stuff like that, you make it almost impossible to say no.”

“Maybe you don’t want to say no.”

I go home, and after I walk Romeo, toss balls to him in the park, and feed him the most delicious kibble in the universe, so rich in nutrients it makes his handsome brown-and-white Border Collie coat glow, I flop on my bed.

Romeo hops up and scoots besides me. I rub his head as I think about Nicole. I’ve known her since I started at Hanky Panky Love. She’s always been my sexy co-worker, a fun woman. Now I’m seeing another side of her, one that’s daring in a whole new way. To embark down this path, and to woman up enough to ask me to man up, is bold.

It’s fucking hot, in fact. It takes guts to do what she did. It takes bravery. That’s so damn sexy.

I drag a hand through my hair.

Jesus Christ, this woman has always been gorgeous, and now, she’s even hotter. How is that possible? How the hell does asking me to jack off in a cup make her even sexier? But it does. Judging from my dick’s imitation of an iron spike right now, I evidently find this new side of Nicole intensely hot.

Why the hell am I so goddamn turned on thinking about masturbating?

“What the fuck is wrong with me?” I mutter. Romeo licks my face. Okay, my hard-on deflates a bit. “Do I want to say no?” I ask my dog.

He rubs his nose against my shoulder.

“What would you do, buddy?”

He pants.

“Good answer.”

He jumps off the bed, scampers to a corner where he herds his dog toys, and grabs a floppy giraffe. He vivisected the giraffe a week ago. Now it’s a damaged stuffy with a neck and one leg. But he loves it, and holy shit, he loves it a lot. So much that he’s jammed it between his legs and he’s humping it.

Yup, that’s my boy. He’s screwing a mutilated giraffe stuffy.

“Get a room,” I shout.

But he keeps going, thrusting and pumping.

I know the answer. I’ve known it since I left the diner. My brother’s comments only bolstered what my heart had already decided. I needed the time to make sure I wasn’t rushing into this decision.

Nicole is a brave, bold, beautiful woman who’s unafraid to carve out a life on her own terms.

I admire the fuck out of that.

And I also want to fuck her.