Ryder laughed. “Ten feet? Well, tell Shaq that I hope he doesn’t get stuck in any of the plastic tunnels.”
“His name isn’t Shaq. It’s Dr. Lyons.”
“You call him Dr. Lyons? That’s creepy. That reminds me of this book I read where this girl was having sex with her teacher and kept calling him Professor Hunter.”
“Ew,” said Frankie. “I didn’t realize they had sex with the teachers in Harry Potter.”
Ryder and I didn’t bother correcting her. Clearly she wasn’t a Potterhead, and thus not worth talking to.
“Seriously though…do you really call him Dr. Lyons?” asked Ryder.
“No. I call him by his first name.”
“Which is…?”
I have no idea.Which was weird.I should probably find that out on the date.Or was it too late to ask? Whatever. It didn’t matter. I wasn’t actually going to go on the date with him. Because by then I would be married to Ryder. Er…dating. Dating Ryder. Not married to. Because I had only known him for two days, and wanting to marry someone after two days would be super creepy. And I wasn’t. And now Ryder was staring at me because I was just standing there awkwardly thinking about marrying him. Icleared my throat. “His name is none of your business. All you need to know is that he’s super handsome.”
“And ten feet tall. Which means you’ll need a pair of heels.” Ryder disappeared through some double doors on the other side of the store.
“How am I doing?” I asked Frankie.
“Amazing. But I do have a few notes…”
“So you mean I’m doing awful?”
“Don’t bring that negative energy in here. But if you want some advice…maybe try making him a bit more jealous. Rather than making him think that you’re into lanky pedophiles.”
“Handsomelanky pedophiles,” I corrected.
“That’s not much better. Dr. Lyons isn’t real, is he?”
“Oh, he’s real. Well, kind of. I have a date with him this weekend. But he’s not lanky or a pedophile, despite what my best friend thinks.” I giggled to myself about Chastity’s mix-up with pedophile and pediatrician.
Frankie gave me a weird look.
“Oh, no. My friend doesn’t really think he’s a pedophile.”
“Well that’s reassuring,” said Ryder from behind me. “Otherwise I would have felt obligated to warn Chuck E. Cheese. Now try these on.” He pushed a box into my arms. No, not any box. Awhite leather shoe box. WithOdegaardwritten in blue script on the lid.
I wasn’t really into fashion, but I knew that Odegaard was known for their shoes. It was the shoe brand of the rich and famous. It was impossible to scroll through Best Dressed lists without seeing the wild designs and signature blue bottoms. Chastity had one pair from before her family went bankrupt, and she never wore them. She just kept them in a locked glass case.
“This is too much,” I said, pushing the box back to him.
“You didn’t even look at them.”
“I didn’t have to. I can see that they’re Odegaards.”
“Well of course they are. We’re at the Odegaard boutique…” Ryder opened the box. And I had to admit, the shoes were freaking awesome. But they weren’t for me. I’d worn heels the other night, and it wasn’t lost on me that Ryder had avoided kissing me at all costs. Because I looked bad in heels, just like Joe had always told me. That was probably why Ryder had picked out the most expensive shoes in the world. He thought putting $3000 shoes on me would help distract everyone from my weird knobbly knees. “Don’t you have anything a little tamer? I don’t look good in tall shoes.”
“Says who?” Ryder asked.
“My husband. Er, ex-husband.” It still felt weird to say that.
“The one who you walked in on shagging the instamodel?”
“That’s the one.”
Ryder frowned. “Was he blind?”
