Can’t Touch This

CHAPTER NINE

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Vesper

I WAS SICK.

It sucked.

But what didn’t suck was Ryder Carson.

He fed me—delicious warming soup.

He entertained me—making jokes when Visa finally came out to say hi.

He kissed me—okay, just a quick peck on the forehead—after he’d cleaned the dishes and straightened out my lounge until I screamed at him to leave the mess alone.

But it was still a kiss.

He liked me.

He told me himself.

And, as I lay in bed, stuffed up, achy, feverish, cursing my nose and head, I smiled.

Because for the first time in forever.

I liked a boy.

I wanted a boy.

And he wanted me.