Page 21 of Power Play

Bliss beams. “That’s my man.”

“Briggs?” I ask.

“Diogenes.”

I laugh. “Why?”

“He lived without shame, insulted powerful men, and behaved like a stray dog in public.”

Briggs throws a napkin dispenser toward the bar. It lands several feet short and nearly hits a passing server.

Ryan nods toward him. “Exhibit A.”

“Rider?” Aura asks.

Ryan looks toward Rider, who sits quietly beside Cade with his beer between both hands. “Marcus Aurelius.”

Rider notices everyone staring and frowns. “What?”

“Nothing,” Ryan calls back.

His attention returns to me. “You’d be Kierkegaard.”

“I don’t know enough about him to decide whether I’m offended.”

“Intelligent, anxious, obsessed with choices, and capable of turning one decision into a lifelong spiritual crisis.”

Bliss points toward him. “He’s known her for years.”

“I don’t turn every decision into a crisis.”

Ryan’s gaze drops deliberately to the condiments I aligned by height.

“That was one time.”

“You did it while deciding whether to wear gold or silver shoes to Cade’s birthday.”

“The dress had complicated undertones.”

“It was black.”

“Black still has undertones.”

His smile deepens, revealing the dimple that should be illegal on a face like his. It would be easier to dismiss him if he were only attractive. The problem is the way his mind moves beneath all that ink and controlled arrogance, quick enough to make philosophy entertaining and precise enough to identify the flaw I’ve been circling for weeks.

“You really think I’m Kierkegaard?”

“You spent twenty minutes deciding whether a black dress had warm or cool undertones.”

“That was an important decision.”

“You make every decision important.” His amusement fades as he studies me. “That’s why interpretation fucks with you. Nobody can promise you picked the right answer.”

I straighten on the stool. “There should be a right answer.”

“There should be an argument you can defend.”

“Those aren’t the same thing.”