Realistically, though, the guy probably thinks Ryder is hot because, as we’ve already established,he is.
Mia hands the man his drink, which looks like a whiskey neat, and he turns to scan the room. His gaze lands on us, and he pauses, looking at us long enough that it feels deliberate. And now I get why Ryder felt so on edge last week. There’s somethingoffabout the way the guy’s looking at us. It’s not a friendly gaze, or even curious. It’s the kind of look that makes your stomach tighten even if you can’t explain why.
“Uh, Loge,” Ryder whispers.
“I see him,” I confirm, as I watch him get closer and closer to our table. “I’ll deal with this.”
He’s tall, probably around our height. He’s got a broad chest and shoulders; the kind of build that makes you wonder if he played football. He’s wearing a worn leather jacket, andthere’s something about the way he moves that immediately puts me on edge.
He stops at the edge of the table with his whiskey in hand. “Mind if I join you?” he asks.
“You always invite yourself to other people’s tables, or is tonight special?” I ask, tilting my head.
His lips twitch like he finds this funny. “Thought I’d introduce myself.”
I glance at Ryder, who is looking only at me, and I don’t want to make him more uncomfortable, but maybe this will help both of us feel more at ease if we exchange a few words. Feel him out.
“Okay,” I grumble. “And you are?”
“Kyle,” he offers.
“Logan,” I reply.
Then he turns expectantly toward Ryder and offers him a big smile, which I certainly didn’t get.
“And you’re Ryder, right?”
My head snaps in his direction. How does he know who Ryder is, and what kind of person doesn’t just ask someone’s name, even if they do already know it somehow?
“Uh,” he hesitates. “Yeah.”
“How do you know his name?” I question, completely uncaring if I come off as rude. The only person I care about at this table is Ryder.
“Oh, the bartender told me.”
“Hm,” I hum.
He nods at me, and I can’t help but wonder if there’s more to it. Maybe he already knows who Ryder is and is trying to play it off like he doesn’t.
Ryder does have a public Instagram account for his narration, and he has a decent following. All of his accounts aretied to his name. Even if he doesn’t post his face all that often, it’s out there. We’ve joked more than once about listeners falling in love with his voice. Hell, I’ve seen the DMs.
So maybe this guy isn’t just some rando who wants Ryder. Maybe he’s a fan and trying to hide it, which almost makes it worse.
“You two live around here?” he asks, looking at Ryder, sliding his drink onto the table like he plans to stay a while.
“Yep,” I say before Ryder can respond, not wanting him to feel pressured into talking to this guy. “Grew up in the area. Small town, everyone knows everyone.” I try to insinuate to him that strangers stand out here.
Kyle shrugs, unbothered by my comment. “I like places like this, easier to meet people.” His eyes drift back to Ryder.
“What brings you here?” I ask.
“Construction.”
I see Ryder nod slightly, but he hasn’t said a word since confirming his name, and I know it’s time to wrap this conversation up. Ryder usually isn’t this quiet, and his disinterest in joining the conversation tells me everything I need to know—this isn’t helping.
“Well, cheers to that,” I say, lifting my beer in a half-assed toast. Trying to make him realize it’s time for him to go.
But he doesn’t lift his glass from the table, and he doesn’t leave. He just watches Ryder for a second and says, “You ever get the feeling you’re supposed to meet someone? Like you’re in the right place, at the exact right time? Almost like your meeting is fate?”
