Please note, as this scene was cut during revisions it has not been edited, so there will be a few typos etc.
Sloane was still annoyed about her “encounter” with Ryan Bower the next day. Against community values, indeed! He had no idea how hard she’d worked to entrench herself in this town. How much time she gave to helping others and how much passion she had for her work—both of the paid and volunteer varieties.
In an effort to combat her bad mood, Sloane rifled through her wardrobe for the brightest, most cheerful dress she could find. Her wardrobe resembled a box of crayons, with items of every color meticulously hung in a ROYGBIV gradient. Sure, she wore “normal” things like jeans and T-shirts, but even those were infused with her unique sense of style. She collected vintage items featuring anything Jurassic Park, listened to every episode of the I Know Dino podcast and made an effort to visit every museum with a dinosaur section whenever she travelled.
Obsessed? Maybe a little. One guy she’d dated for a hot second had thought it was weird, but Sloane knew a thing or two about making people remember her. You see, the dinosaur thing had started out as a strategy when she was eight years old. Her family had moved to another country for her mother’s job and Sloane found herself, yet again, having to make friends.
She was used to people forgetting her name and not recognizing her if they bumped into one another on the street. Why would they? She’d been boring back then—shy, timid, mousy hair. Forever the awkward new kid.
But one day something magical happened. Her dad had bought her this really cute sweater with a dinosaur egg and a baby dinosaur poking out the top, and when she’d gone to school the other girls had crowded around her saying how they loved dinosaurs, too. That day they had remembered her name.
Sloane realized then the power of dressing to stand out, the power of making people unable to forget your name. Did that result in some folks thinking she was a bit strange? For sure. But did people forget the woman who walked into a coffee shop wearing a dress covered in velociraptor footprints? No, they did not.
And being remembered was important to Sloane.
She plucked a plain white T-shirt and a full skirt in hot pink with a single embroidered dinosaur—of questionable anatomical accuracy—on the bottom. Then she stuffed her feet into a pair of white sneakers and drew her hair back into a ponytail.
Outside it was warm, with the only sign it was fall in the beautiful visuals. Temperature-wise, Summer must have missed today’s memo to GTFO. It was a good thing the library had air-conditioning. But Sloane wasn’t due at the library yet—she’d decided to get up early and head to her favorite cafe for a coffee and some reading time. They had these comfy, squat chairs in one corner which were perfect for curling up with a book, and she might be lucky enough to claim one.
Ten minutes later, she parked her car on Main Street and walked down the smaller tree-lined street—Harrison Beech Way, named after the college it encircled— to where Kisspresso Cafe was located. Even before she got to the door, the cafe had put a smile on her face.
The outside was painted white, but the front door was a shade of pink so bright Sloane would bet her last five dollars that it could be seen from space. A blackboard was propped against the wall, advertising their current seasonal specials—a caramel pecan latte and a spiced hot chocolate. Hmm, they both sounded good. Maybe she’d indulge today and swap her regular drink for one of the sweet, flavored varieties.
Sloane pushed open the door and glanced in the direction of the comfy chairs on the far side of the cafe. There were three in total and one was still free. Yes! Something told her that today was going to be a good day. Screw Ryan Bower and the gloomy, grumpy cloud he tried to throw over her yesterday. She was going to do what any good Swiftie did, and shake it off.
After getting her caramel pecan latte, Sloane went to claim the last remaining comfy chair before anyone else could snag it. Book Club duties called and she really needed to catch up on Silver Pleasures, otherwise she’d end up staying up late the night before the meeting to finish it. Not that she had a problem forgoing sleep for reading, mind you. Such was the life of a bookworm.
But as she walked over to the comfy chairs, a feeling of awareness prickled along her skin. Spidey senses, as her Mom once called them. That was something they had in common. Maybe the only thing they had in common.
As if sensing the same shift of energy that she had, the man already settled into one of the comfy chairs raised his head. He had a baseball cap pulled down low, but now that he was looking at her there no denying the wild, intense blue gaze of Ryan Bower.
“You,” she said, wrinkling her nose.
“You,” he replied with a similar expression of distaste.
But Sloane wasn’t about to let Mr. Grumpy Guts rain on her parade two days in a row. She’d come to Kisspresso Cafe with a plan: cushion under her butt, warm drink in her belly, book in her hand and dirty images in her head.
“You might want to vacate the premises,” she said drily as she plopped down into the last remaining comfy chair. She could easily have picked up one of the white painted chairs dotted around the small, round tables or take a seat at the communal bench in the back. But why should she give up what she wanted? “I’m about to pull some questionable materials out of my bag and it might offend your delicate sensibilities.”
“You read that stuff in public,” he said with a raise of his eyebrow. “Dressing like that, why am I not surprised?”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” Dammit, she knew she shouldn’t bite. But there was something about this man that was like a splinter under her skin. He was impossible to ignore.
“Well, nobody dresses like that if they’re not looking to make a statement.”
“Like what?” He was offended by her outfit, too? Seriously?
Ryan’s eyes swept over Sloane with the kind of lazy, thorough assessment that sent goosebumps rippling over her skin. Despite his eyes reminding her of a flash of blue lightning in the middle of a storm, they had none of the chill of rain or wind. Oh no. They were molten hot.
“It’s so…fanciful.” He said the word like it tasted dirty in his mouth.
“Fanciful?” She snorted. “Well, you’ve got a problem with my reading materials and my outfits. Want to throw anything else onto that list?”
The corner of his lip ticked up just a hint, enough to know that he was totally and utterly baiting her. And she’d walked right into it like a cocky little mouse going after a wedge of cheese, thinking there was no way the trap would catch her.
“Your name might be another one. Sloane. What kind of a name is that, anyway?” He could barely keep the laughter out of his eyes. Oh yeah, he was definitely trying to wind her up.
“Better than Ryan,” she retorted. “Hello every male born in the 80’s.”
“Are you calling me basic?” He stretched his arms along the back of the chair like a lion claiming his space. It was unabashedly and potently male.
And one hundred percent irritating.
“If the bargain basement shoe fits.” She lifted one shoulder into a shrug. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have some reading to do.”
She set pulled her book out of her bag with one hand and deftly flipped it open, while sipping her caramel pecan latte. But the words seemed to wriggle and jump in front of her eyes and she couldn’t get into the story. Damn him. Two days in a row he’d cast a shadow over her. Two days in a row she’d been sucked in by those mesmerizing eyes. Two days in a row she’d let him get under her skin.
This was uncharacteristic for Sloane, she never let anyone ruffle her multi-colored feathers.
But there was something about Ryan Bower that made her sit up and take notice, and she had not taken notice of a man in quite a while. Risking a glance, she peered over the edge of her book and found him staring right back at her.
“Struggling to concentrate?” he asked with an arrogant smirk. He had one of those small coffee cups, the kind made to hold a tiny, potent shot of liquid masochism.
He was probably thought milk was for cheaters. Lord, wait until she told him her coffee came with shots of caramel pecan syrup, vanilla syrup and a sprinkle of praline on top. Part of her wished she’d opted for the whipped cream as well, just to stick it to him.
“I’m not used to people staring at me while I read,” she replied.
“Do you find it rude?” He placed his coffee cup—now empty, obvs, because it only contained a fairy’s fart worth of liquid to begin with—down on the small table next to him.
“I find it curious,” she corrected. “You seem to have a great amount of disdain for me and my reading material and yet you’re watching me like I’m some tiger behind a glass wall.”
“Tiger, that’s an interesting choice,” he mused. “You see yourself as a big cat.”
“Well, I’m certainly not a mouse.” Those days were long gone.
“That’s for damn sure.”
Was it her imagination or was there a gleam of appreciation in Ryan’s eyes? More than likely it was her imagination playing tricks on her.
“You know, you might benefit from reading this book,” she said, pausing to take a sip of her of-so-sweet coffee. “I can lend you this one when I’m done. I’ll set you up with a library card and everything.”
“Hard pass,” he replied with a snort. “I don’t need any inspiration in that area.”
“That’s probably an assessment for your partners to make, not you.” Sloane tried not to giggle as Ryan’s easy, arrogant smirk slowly faded away.
He was probably used to people bowing down to him because he was a capital B big deal in the world of sports. But Sloane was immune to the hero worship practiced by most people around her—the closest she ever came to working out was lifting a heavy stack of books at work. As for spectating, she’d never understood the appeal of watching other people run around a field or a court, chasing after a ball.
“I’ve never had any complaints,” Ryan replied smoothly, though there was a slight edge to his expression. Maybe she got under his skin as much as he got under hers.
“Still, never too late to teach an old dog new tricks right?”
“That an invitation?”
Sloane pulled a face. “Sorry, you’re not my type.”
Total and utter lie. Grump personality aside, Ryan was categorically her type—she loved tall men, especially ones built like him. All lean muscle and broad shoulders and strong arms. Delicious. Plus, she had a particular weakness for blue eyes.
“Let me guess, you prefer a quiet, nerdy type. Maybe he works in a museum, bonus points if it’s the dino bone area.”
“Dino bone area.” She rolled her eyes. Way to take an entire field of scientific study and reduce it to such pedestrian terms. “You should visit the museum once in a while. I think you’d fit right in there, being a caveman and all.”
“Actually, non-avian dinosaurs died out almost 65 million years before any signs of the first modern humans appeared,” Ryan replied smugly.
Sloane blinked. She knew that, of course. The caveman comment had simply been a smartass retort, in which she’d decided to let factual accuracy fall by the wayside in order to take a verbal swing. Ryan Bower had officially impressed her.
“I’ve been to the museum a time or two,” he said. “And I may have been subscribed to Dinosaurs! Magazine when I was a kid.”
Color her impressed. Not that she would let Ryan know that, mind you. “Nice try, but you’re still not my type.”
He chuckled. “No? You’re looking for a man who can fulfill all your dirty girl dreams, huh? Or are you a little too attached to your fictional boyfriends?”
“Hardly. But at the very least I’d prefer a man who wasn’t offended by a steamy novel.” She took a long sip of her coffee, annoyed that it had started to go cold while she verbally sparred with the man who was quickly becoming a thorn in her side. “How’d you hurt your knee anyway? Vanilla sex with the lights off?”
Ryan frowned. “How did you know I hurt my knee?”
“Last time I spoke to your mom she mentioned one of her sons had a knee injury and I figured the only reason for a major league baseball player to be home in October is because of injury. Add to that the fact that you’re like a bear with a prickle in his paw, and I figured this trip home wasn’t for the best reasons.”
“Maybe my team didn’t make the post-season.” Ryan’s smile was all but gone now. Clearly she’d hit a nerve with the knee comment. Oops.
And she knew that was a lie. Last night, she’d let her curiosity get the better of her and had looked him up online. There was a lot of talk about his injury, and speculation that he might be forced into early retirement. He seemed to be a beloved member of his team, someone with a good reputation for hard work and a positive attitude.
Sloane had wanted to snort at that. Didn’t seem to fit the man she saw in front of her, though she could understand why he might be feeling grumpier than usual. His team had made the playoffs and they were tipped to go all the way.
Guilt swished in her gut. Bringing up his injured knee was a dick move.
“Maybe,” she echoed, deciding not to poke him anymore. She hadn’t meant to pour salt in the wound, but he’d been winding her up so much she’d spoken before thinking about the consequences.
Clearly it was enough for Ryan to be done with the conversation, because he pushed up from his chair and stood, his long frame casting a shadow over her as she almost drowned in this burning gaze of his wild, blue eyes.
“Enjoy your reading,” he said, his expression unreadable.
“I will.”
She couldn’t help but stare as he left Kisspresso Cafe, drawing looks from every single person as he went. Whether it was because he was startlingly good-looking or because he was sports famous, she wasn’t sure. Or maybe it was simple that the air seemed to snap and sizzle around him, like the guy had his own magnetic forcefield.
Regardless, Sloane knew one thing for certain: guys like Ryan Bower best admired from afar. And right now, with everything she had on her plate, she was better off giving her attention to fictional men, rather than real ones.