Reasons last night was a terrible idea:
For starters, Ryder is my brother’s bookie, or whatever the word is for someone who takes debts and makes loans and kicks down doors to get his money back. Which means any connection we have isn’t just between us—it involves Jamie, too. And wasn’t the whole point to untangle Jamie and me from Ryder and his world, not to get more ensnared?
And he’s basically my boss at the present moment, which means he has the power to fire me at any time, which would mean Jamie’s no closer to being out of debt, which goes right back to that other thing about the point being to get Jamie out of this mess, not deeper into it.
Also, being walked in on by Jackson wasn’t exactly my idea of great timing. Now it’s not like Ryder and I can just act as though nothing happened, which was my plan of attack post-encounter, because someone else knows it did.
Reasons last night was a great idea:
He’s hot and he has a tongue that can move like a butterfly and just thinking about it makes my breath catch in my throat.
Of course, the more I try not to think about Ryder, the more clearly my mind recalls him, every part of him in perfect focus from last night: his chiseled chest, bare in his unbuttoned shirt, the jut of his hips above his jeans, his big hands dragging across my body and disappearing between my legs. I can’t fight this.
I roll into the middle of the bed and turn onto my back, letting my fingertips graze over my t-shirt and across my breasts, lightly teasing my nipples, creating sparks of electricity that buzz into every part of my body. I close my eyes, recreating the darkness of his office as I dip my fingers into my mouth, then slide them into my panties, reliving Ryder's tongue lapping at me, consuming me. Arching my back, I rub my clit faster and harder, imagining my wetness on Ryder lips, the deep rumble of his moans, his hands on the inside of my thighs, pressing my knees further apart. I can feel his eyes on me, savoring me as I come in his mouth so hard I hear music.
Literal music, I realize. From my phone in my purse across the room on the floor. A marimba very festively alerting me that I have a text. I pull down my t-shirt and stretch up my arms as I put my feet on the soft carpet, trying to come out of my mental fog to guess who’d be texting me first thing on a Saturday. Definitely not Jamie. My mom doesn’t text. Can’t be Ryder—he doesn’t seem like the kind of guy who does a lot of follow up, no matter where his face has been on your skin. Besides, if it were him, I don’t know how I’d respond—I let my body get the best of me last night, but it won’t happen again?
I guess I could promise that. But I don’t know that it’s the truth. Something I learned the hard way in England is that if something happens once, it can happen again.
I pick up the phone and see that the text is from Savannah: Hair appointment at three in your hood. Meet for brunch before???
Yes! I text. Send me the addy. I’ll get dressed now.
Yea! I’m leaving gym. Come as you are. Sunrise Café?
I’m in PJs, I text. Just got up.
Seriously??? It’s noon! Jet lag or something more fun?
She’s right. 12:03 to be exact. Time flies when you don’t get home til 3am.
Buy me brunch and I’ll tell you all about it ?
“Wait, so you work there for free?” Savannah says after I catch her up on why I slept until half the day was gone. I even told her about the daily office work I’m doing, the books and balance sheets, leaving out last night’s office work.
Not that Savannah would have cared. Knowing her, she might have high fived me. But without knowing what Ryder’s thinking, whether I’m even going to have a job there on Monday, I guess I’m not sure if a high five is in order just yet.
Savannah and I sit at a window-side table at Sunrise Café, a place we used to come when she would visit from Austin during college breaks. She stacks a piece of bacon on her forked French toast then dips the whole thing in a side of orange juice. It’s a combo she’s loved as long as I’ve known her, and it kind of makes me smile to see that her eating habits haven’t become more refined, even though I can only assume from the oversized Louis Vuitton tote bag she carries and Lululemon workout clothes she wears, she can afford to eat anything she wants. Literally.