“I thought I told you, women aren’t allowed entrance in most of these establishments unless they work there, which is not part of the contract I sent you,” I say and look around the inside of his car. There’s a minibar, a TV screen, and probably a year’s supply of condoms. I mean, I don’t see any, but it would just make sense. I bet his dates are quite impressed by a car like this.

  Ryker doesn’t answer. Instead, he tries to annoy me with his stare. I assume that’s what he’s doing because it’s something I’d do. Apparently, neither of us has fully grown out of elementary school yet. I respond appropriately and reciprocate. We stare at each other for what feels like a small eternity. At some point I suspect Ryker must have purposefully turned on the heating because I am beginning to sweat and I kind of wish I was wearing something with a lot more cleavage (not only for temperature reasons but) because that pig probably wouldn’t be able to resist peeking, and then I’d win our little staring contest.

  Eventually, the car comes to a stop. We sit for another minute before Ryker finally succumbs to his primal instincts anyway. He gives me a long look-over before exiting the car, leaving me behind without a word. I wait for him to open my door in case I need to accompany him, but when he doesn’t, I just sit back and let out the longest sigh I’ve ever sighed. I didn’t even notice I was this tense until now. Not all that surprisingly, my thighs are burning up and I don’t even need to touch myself to feel how wet I am. From a stupid staring contest. Ridiculous.

  “You okay, Miss?” Miles lets down the partition between us. “There’s water in the bar if you need any.”

  “Oh, thank you,” I answer. “I’m good, but I did actually want to apologize.” I lean forward to the lowered window and rest my arms on it.

  Miles turns around with his eyebrows raised. “What for?”

  “Well, to begin with, for Mr. Grayson being your boss. Must be rough.”

  He laughs out loud before I can continue.

  “And then for the couple from hell yesterday. It was kind of my doing that you had to drive them around town.”

  Miles chuckles again. “Oh, don’t you apologize for that. We actually had a blast. I mean, I did. Him not so much. I kept driving in circles until the husband got very annoyed with me. So I kicked him out and then went to a Burlesque show with his date. She was much more agreeable once he was gone.”

  “Good for you.” I nod.

  “Yeah, and Mr. Grayson isn’t so bad either. He’s actually… how do I put this?”

  “A robot whose programming got messed up a little?”

  Miles grins.

  “A patient with a medical condition called Resting-Grump-Face-Syndrome?”

  He laughs again. “My initial theory was that he secretly sucks on a lemon every five minutes, but⁠—”

  The door swings open and Ryker slides back into his seat.

  “But what?” I ask. “But he’s actually much worse than I can imagine? But you need me to help you escape? But I should save myself as long as I still can?”

  Ryker drops a giant bag into my lap. “Don’t believe a word he’s saying,” he grumbles, scowls at Miles, and raises the partition again.

  Typical.

  “I think he was just about to sing high praise on you, actually.”

  “Even more reason not to believe him.” Ryker nods down at the bag. “Put that on.”

  Here we go, Mr. Do As I Say in his natural commandeering tone.

  Well, at least that’s a lot less unnerving than him being delighted.

  I do wonder what happened to Ryker that he became like this. How did he become this grumpy, obnoxious, I-only-smile-once-a-year-even-though-I-have-the-most-amazing-smile-in-the-entire-world guy?

  I reach into the bag and pull out an absolutely ridiculous-looking dress. Only, it’s not really a dress. Sure, it’s got puffy shoulders, a massive skirt and a nice tempered waistline, but it also has tacky tulle and more glitter than a disco ball. It’s a costume.

  “Well, if that isn’t Cinderella’s dress,” I conclude. “Which you want me to put on? Listen, Mr. Grayson. By the way, do I have to call you Mr. Grayson now that we work together?”

  Ry-Ry doesn’t respond. He’s busy settling back in and checking his phone.

  So I just continue, “I’m happy that you know what you’re into, but I’m not really interested in playing a part in your weird role-play fetish.”

  His jaw tightens noticeably before he answers in the flattest voice he can muster, “Bibbidi-bobbidi-boo. Put on the fucking dress… please and thank you.”

  I try not to laugh and fail miserably. By now I’m not even surprised anymore he knows that song or that he comes up with his own rhymes on the fly. It takes me a minute or two to gather my wits. “We’re not really going to some weird sex party though, are we?”

  “Is sex all you can think about whenever you see me?”

  I hold in for a second to process what he just said, then erupt in laughter once more. Judging by his tone, he wasn’t even trying to make a joke, but he can be quite funny at times. Sex is definitely not all I can think about when seeing him. I mean, sure, I might have imagined what it would be like to go through the Kamasutra once or twice with him, but that’s neither here nor there. And it’s certainly nothing he needs to be aware of.

  I still feel the need to set the record straight. “I do not. I mean, I imagine things, but after those, doing it would be out of the question. Necrophilia is not my thing.”

  Ryker smirks, then wraps his arm around the headrest behind him while turning towards me and zeroing in on my eyes. “Please,” he says in a deceptively soft voice and nods at the dress again, “put it on.”

  He really does have all the weapons in his arsenal: good looks, more money than anyone should ever have, and, apparently, even normal-person manners if necessary. Of course, I would be a fool if one simple please was enough for me to fulfill his request.

  Definitely a fool, I think and roll my eyes partly at him, partly at myself when I pull my hoodie over my head to get changed.

  Ryker’s gruff voice sounds muffled under the fabric in which I have gotten myself tangled up in a second later. “What are you doing, Miss de la Vega?” he asks.

  “Putting on the dress,” I explain, finally manage to pull my head out and sit there in my sports bra.

  It’s my good sports bra, so who cares?

  Ryker nods and smirks again. “I’d love to let you continue.” He sighs. “Unfortunately, that would be wrong.” He averts his gaze. “You’re supposed to put the dress over your normal clothes. It’s still a little cold outside. You can’t just walk around in a dress.”

  Now I am even more stumped than before. So it’s definitely not a weird sex party in some kind of dungeon. It’s a costume party… outside? In early spring? Luckily, it’s not as chilly as it was yesterday.

  The car comes to a halt and I watch Ryker take off his suit jacket, shirt, shoes and pants. He’s wearing spandex underneath. Well, not spandex. He’s wearing ski-underwear underneath. Black, and tight, and snug, and very revealing. Again, I can’t help imagine being the one to take off the rest of his clothes, to be the one touching those rough muscles that lie beneath, to grind myself on top of him with his tongue teasing my own.

  Alright. If I wasn’t a wet mess before, I definitely am one right now.

  The partition lowers itself and Miles passes another bag to Ryker, who leans forward and basically forces me to cock my head so that I have a good view of his ass too. I should let Miles know to turn on the air-con against this smoldering heat in here.

  Damn it.

  Am I lusting after a man in freaking spandex?

  “Stop that,” Ryker grunts as the partition goes back up. He slips into some sort of royally-looking outfit that includes purple pants, heavy boots and a thick white overcoat with golden frills.

  “Stop what?” I try to claim ignorance.

  “Looking at me like I’m the ride at the amusement park that you’re going on next. I am not.” And with that, he exits the car and leaves me to myself.

  I am sweating.

  From doing nothing.

  No, worse. From ogling. From ogling Ryker Grayson.

  Pathetic.

  Quickly, I slide into the dress and exit as well. “Are you sure you’re not the next ride?” I ask, louder than intended. “Because I do feel like I’m close to puking already.”

  In response, Ryker pokes me with a long stick. Although it’s not just a stick, it’s a grabber. Like one of those you’d use to grab your soda when you’re lying on your sofa and the can is too far away.

  “Tally-ho, then,” he declares in a fake accent, and waits for me to take the grabber. “You wanted to see what I am doing today. Well, now you not only get to see, you get to be part of it.” He pulls a plastic bag from his pocket and unfolds it with one swift motion. Then Prince Grayson struts off. He isn’t walking like a normal person; he is strutting. There’s no doubt about it.

  This isn’t Ryker anymore. This is just bizarre.

  Uncertain about my next course of action, I simply follow him.

  What else is there to do?

  We enter a park. In the crown of a nearby tree, a bunch of birds sing their little hearts out. It sounds like they’re pretending to be miniature opera singers, and I half expect them to come flying down wearing little top hats as well. Instead, I bump into Ryker once again, who must have stopped walking. He nods towards the ground where a cigarette butt is lying next to a plastic cup. Using the grabber, I pick both up and throw them in the bag that Mr. Tally Ho is holding open.

  When we turn a corner, it’s like we’re walking from a park into a zoo… for humans in costumes. A monkey is walking alongside a banana, a dog is fleeing from a cat, a Minotaur is holding hands hooves with a surprisingly sexy cow, and all of them have their grabbers and bags and are picking up all the litter they can find on the way.

  “I still don’t understand what’s happening here,” I say at one of the most bizarre sights I’ve ever seen. “Why are you dressed like Prince, and why is that quarterback throwing empty plastic bottles instead of a football?”

  Ryker holds the bag open once more and waits for me to discard of an old magazine that’s stuck in some bushes. “First of all, I am not dressed like Prince, I am dressed like a prince. You know, generic fairytale royalty. And secondly, we call ourselves The Litterati. As in Litter and Illuminati. Each week, we meet at some other place in the city, dressed up however we want, and pick up as much trash as we can without anyone knowing who we actually are.”

  Once again, I find myself dumbfounded. This is not what I was expecting when I set out to investigate Ryker Grumpyson this morning.

  I do sort of expect a parole officer to jump out of a bush and check if Ryker is taking part in his court-mandated community service, but nothing of the sort happens. Instead, we just stroll around, look at the silly costumes, and do something good for the environment.

  When we pass by a gazebo, Robin Hood shoots a foam arrow our way. The royal trash can next to me catches it just before it can hit me in the chest. I think he even almost smiles at the assailant, who approaches us with a gigantic grin himself. The two men hug.

  “So we meet again, The Prince Formerly Known As Ryker. Purple suits you. Now we’re just missing the rain,” Robin teases.

  “Watch it or I’ll put on my Sheriff of Nottingham costume next time,” Ryker grumbles in response, not entirely able to let go of his smirk.

  Robin grins as well, pats Ryker on the back, and turns his attention to me. “Well, well, well,” he says, eyeing me up and down. “You must be the fair maiden I have been meaning to rescue this entire time.”

  I might blush a little, although that could just be due to the fact that it’s slowly getting colder.

  “She’s already been rescued.” Ryker cuts in with a rumbling voice.

  “That’s debatable,” I respond. “But also, I don’t need any rescuing. Especially not from you. And, also, before I forget, no prince would say ‘Tally-ho’.”

  Robin shoots glances between the both of us and eventually extends his hand to shake mine. I use the opportunity to inspect Mr. Hood a little closer. He smells as incredible as he looks, not at all like an outlaw who lives in the woods without running water. His smile is so perfect he should probably be required to carry a permit for that kind of panty-dropping weapon, and his hair is so silky I half expect him to run his fingers through it in slow motion.

  He smoothly pulls me in, puts his arm around me, and leads me away. “You’re actually the first date he has brought to any of these,” Robin whispers, only for me to hear. “He must be quite fond of you. I’m Ben. What’s your name?”

  “Oh, it’s the opposite, actually,” I whisper back. “He hates my guts and this is his way of torturing me. And it’s Sienna, the tortured.” I shake a little as the cold finally creeps through my puffy dress and hoodie. “You’re his friend, I assume?” I still keep my voice down.

  Ben answers with a nod and a smile. “I’d like to think so.”

  “Great, well maybe you could tell me his most embarrassing secrets so I can use them against him once the time comes?”

  15

  RYKER

  That’s really not how this was supposed to go.

  I mean, I didn’t plan any of this. I couldn’t have known how this would go, but it should definitely not go like this. Now she’s making friends with my friend and whispering, well, not so much behind my back, but rather right in front of me. On top of that, his hand is resting on her shoulder, where it has absolutely no business of being. She’s probably cold by now, too, and while I do want her to suffer, hypothermia is probably not the way to go.

  I take off my jacket and in one swift motion remove Ben’s arm, replacing it with the thick fabric of my coat. At the same time, I push her to the side to make some room for (Jesus and) myself in-between the two. That should keep her from getting sick.

  Ben looks at me and grins. I know what he’s thinking, but that’s only because he’s a bit of a fool when it comes to things like this. He’s a dreamer, a romantic, someone who’s living in his fantasies half the time. Which, I’m sure has its advantages, but he’s wrong about this.

  “Anyway,” I address my friend, “don’t you have some other maidens to rescue or at least some trash to bag?” I take the little foam arrow that I caught earlier and poke it against his chest.

  “Alright,” he says, “I can take a hint.”

  “Not a hint if I say it without beating around the bush.”

  He laughs and goes in for another hug, and I can practically feel how he’s winking at Sienna.

  “Now beat it,” I tell him and send him on his way.

  He nods at both of us and displays the infamous Ben-smile. “It was a pleasure meeting you, Sienna. And you, Mr. Kiss, I’ll see you next Saturday, right?”

  I nod as well and then steer us in the opposite direction towards the little pier in the pond, where a lot of trash tends to accumulate in the water around the wooden pillars. Then I look back at my friend, who is still smiling and giving me a thumbs up.

  It’s not like I am jealous of Sienna flirting with other people. She can flirt with whomever she wants. Obviously. But we are here for a reason and that reason is not charismatic men, or annoyingly brilliant smiles, or having a good time. Besides, she is on the clock right now and I need to figure out a way for this to be torture for her. I have an objective after all.

  Sienna wiggles her arms through the sleeves of my jacket and continues to detect cigarette butts like a nicotine addicted bloodhound. A few minutes later, she’s engaged in a grabber-sword-duel with a medieval knight. It’s actually sort of cute. When we got here, she was a little perplexed, but now she fits right in.

  A squeal lets me know she has found another piece of garbage next to a tree stump. I observe as she clumsily drops the trash twice before finally placing it in the bag. Her nose is so red by now, even Rudolph would be jealous.

  “We should probably head back,” I say and reach for the grabber.

  Her hand slaps mine, and her nose and brows do that scrunchy thing they do when she gets irritated. “Have we picked up all the trash yet?” she asks rhetorically, shakes her head, and hops off towards the pond.

  “You’re gonna get sick,” I shout after her, “and I will not pay you when you can’t come into work.”

  She shrugs and, with a smile on her face, clicks the grabber into the air in response.

  Yeah, she’s definitely enjoying herself now. She’s having fun. That’s really not what I had in mind. I need to come up with a proper plan for how to handle this situation.

  I watch her skip through the meadow. She really is deceptively cute. Emphasis on deceptive.

  What would be the best way to get back at her?

  What would she hate the most?

  A poke to my chest with the grabber interrupts my thoughts. She scowls my way as she waits for me to open the bag.

  That’s it!

  Me!

  She hates me the most.

  A smile spreads over my face, which elicits another scrunched up nose from Sienna.

  “Weirdo,” she mutters and quickly hops off again.

  There’s absolutely nothing she would hate more than… spending a lot of time with me.

  Yes, she would loath that.

  I get the sudden urge to rub my fingers together while laughing like a cartoon villain.

  Yes, you just wait.

  I will force you to listen to me read boring business proposals out loud for hours.

  I will make you sit through the dullest of dinners with me.

  I might even make you⁠—

  Another poke to my chest puts a swift stop to my daydreams. She discards of a dirty candy wrapper, her nose still glowing.

  “We’ll go to the pier and then back, alright?” I grumble more than anything in an attempt to be taken seriously. Naturally, Sienna ignores me and continues skipping through the park.

  In my pocket, my phone vibrates not for the first time today. I have 13 missed calls and a few new messages from Barb.