Ryker's apartment brought new meaning to the word boredom. There was nothing, I mean nothing, to do. No TV, no magazines, no books. Just me and my cell phone after I cleaned up the two dishes I'd used. The man was the epitome of a minimalist, and with nothing in the apartment, being a neat freak didn't take a lot of effort, either.
I'd entertained myself on my phone for as long as humanly possible and started to get restless. When I glanced at the time, I groaned. It was barely eleven in the morning, and I still had seven hours to fill before Ryker came to relieve me. With nothing to do other than cook and eat, I went back to the kitchen to see what I could rustle up for lunch. I didn't know how I'd missed them before, but there on the counter, like a glowing, neon sign, gleamed a set of
