“Well, I’d love to. I was intending to go, but we can go together—” Ryder pursed his lips, eyebrows drawing together. “Not as work, though, if you don’t mind. I’ll get us tickets, and we’ll just go as people. Fair?”
Hm. Well, now he was worried that he’d thrown a wrench into Ryder’s private plans. “Oh, I hadn’t intended for you to be working at all. It was just an impulsive thought on my part, and it certainly wasn’t my intention to impose. We could go another time when you have more notice. I—I thought it might be fun, and I might learn a little more about you and your long career. Perhaps there’s a better time for you.”
“Did I say something that meant no? I said I’d love to, and that I’d like to go together as folks, and that I’d get our ticket…”
He huffed a laugh. “No, not specifically, but I suddenly realized I was imposing myself into your life, and maybe you’d prefer that I didn’t.”
“No. Not at all. Everyone should get to see a good bull riding. I’ll make arrangements for us.”
“Excellent. Please use my card for tickets and hotel rooms and whatever else we need.” He sat with his tea and took a sip, letting it warm him all the way through.
“How do you want to get there? Plane? Train? Automobile?”
“Oh, my driver can take us. It’s only a few hours. Just a little shorter than the ride into the city, in fact.” Ryder could tell him everything he needed to know on the drive.
“I love that idea. No having to fight for parking. This event’s at a casino, so it’s always a challenge.”
“He can pull right up. We’ll look important.”
“Excellent. I’ll take care of everything. It should be fun.” That was a pleased smile, warm.
Ryder always seemed happiest when he had a project. Something to accomplish. “I’m very much looking forward to it.I haven’t done anything new to me in many years. I hope you will tell me everything I need to know.”
“You’ll be fine. You’ll have a great narrator, trust me.”
“I do trust you.” He grinned. “And I like that. My narrator.”
“Yes, sir. I’ll explain the sport, introduce the people, and tell you which bulls are rank.” Ryder grinned for him, those demon-dark eyes sparkling.
“They rank the bulls? Interesting.”
“They do, the better the bull, the more rank they’re considered. The best ones are in the short-go. That’s the final round. The event is three days—Friday night, Saturday night, and Sunday afternoon.”
“Oh wonderful. By Sunday, I might feel like I understand the sport a bit.” He was genuinely excited about going, which also made him realize how disappointed he would have been if Ryder hadn’t wanted him to come along.
“I’ll help. I want you to meet my brother, too. He’s a hoot.”
“I am always happy to meet family. I think this is going to be quite the event.” And so far out of his comfort zone it might as well be Mars, but Charles felt as if it was going to be good for him to do something different. Something he and Tad would never have done.
“It’s a good one. Not as good as a Dallas or a Houston—the bulls don’t have near as far to travel to those, but good nonetheless.” Ryder kept talking as he puttered around, doing odds and ends that made the apartment more comfortable—straightening a pillow, closing a curtain, opening a window.
He sipped his tea and watched. All of this seemed rather out of character for the bull riders in his head—tough as nails, covered in dirt—looking at this man he’d never guess what his former profession was. “Would you care to share one of those croissants you bought?”
“I bought them to share, of course. I got a ham one too, because I was curious as all get out. Like the ham and cheese is baked in, not a sandwich. Hot or not?”
“Ham and cheese should be hot. Chocolate should be warm.” He was an expert on pastries; they were his favorite indulgence.
Although that key lime pie that Ryder had snuck into this study? That might be a very close second.
“Do you want both or just the sweet?” Ryder grinned at him. “They’re as big as your head.”
“Oh, just the sweet for me, and only half. I don’t need a whole one.” He knew that bakery. They made sweets big enough to feed three people.
“Then we’ll share. I just couldn’t resist that scent.” The whistling disappeared into the kitchen.
Such a sweet boy.
Man. Young man?