Chapter 16
Rather than turn left, in the direction of my house, I take a right, heading toward the outskirts of town. I’ve never been to the local garage, but I’ve driven past it a few times before. Fernwood is one of those towns tiny enough that it’s easy to have a general sense of where everything is, even the places you don’t visit often.
My speed slows as soon as I spot the illuminated sign ahead. Streetlights are few and far between, so Hank’s Garage shines like a beacon through the darkness around me.
I flick on my blinker and pull into the small parking area.
One end of the structure looks like a storefront with glass windows and a door that reads OFFICE. The rest of the building is separated by massive metal sliding doors, each bay with a number painted on it, stretching upward several feet. The lights are on in one.
I head for the normal-sized door next to the large garage one, which is propped open with a paint can. Peek inside.
Ryder is bent over the front end of a car that appears several decades old, tinkering with something beneath the open hood. He’s wearing a white undershirt that’s stretched tight across his back. It does nothing to conceal the flexing of his muscles as they shift and bunch while he works.
If I was a little more secure about where we stand, I’d wolf whistle.
He’s alone. The whole space is open, two other cars inside the garage. One of them is up on a lift.
Shelves cover the back wall, every inch of them filled. There are orange plastic bottles, metal spray cans, stacks of rags, disposable gloves, clear containers, drills, and a lot of twisted metal I’d guess are car parts, but I couldn’t even attempt to name them. A radio croons in the background, spilling out lyrics to a leisurely country song that seems out of place under the harsh fluorescent lights.
“Hi,” I say.
Ryder’s shoulders tense a split second before he straightens and turns around to face me.
I ogle the roped muscle lining his forearms unashamedly as he wipes his hands on a rag and then tosses it away, leaning back against a headlight. “Hey.”
“This your car?” I ask, taking a few steps forward to look more closely at it.
I don’t know much about any vehicle, including my own. But I’d rather focus on the car than try to get a read on how Ryder feels about me showing up here.
“Right now, it’s a hunk of metal on wheels. But, yeah, eventually. If I can get it to run.”
“It’s cool. Vintage.” I walk forward to run my fingers along the fender, focusing on the scratched paint job because I could really use a distraction from the dangerous flips my stomach keeps doing. “I like the roof.”
When I turn around, Ryder’s staring at me. “What are you doing here, Elle?”
“I was in the neighborhood.”
Ryder makes a disbelieving sound in the back of his throat, which is a little offensive. We’re not that far from my house. Ten minutes at most.
I rub at a smudge of dirt above the door handle, attempting to ignore the prickle of awareness that tells me he’s still looking this way. I round the back, continuing to study the car, like this side looks any different from the one I just appraised.
“Can I drive it?”
“It doesn’t run, Lo.”
My insides start a new acrobatic routine as soon as the syllable leaves his mouth. “No one’s called me that in a while.”
“Good.”
The dark possessiveness in his voice sends shivers down my spine.
I swallow, my throat so dry that it makes no difference, then pop the driver’s door open. It smells like tobacco and old leather inside—a scent I associate with my grandfather’s study. The seat is cracked, worn, and surprisingly comfortable. I relax into it, running my index finger in circles around the steering wheel.
A creak is followed by a slam as Ryder climbs in next to me.
“Did you have fun at the pond?” I ask.
“Uh-huh.” He’s fiddling with the chair controls, a high-pitched squeak as it slides back and allows his long legs to stretch out.
“Surf sucked.”
Ryder barks a laugh as he shifts in his seat. “Yeah, it sure did.”
I glance down at my lap, rubbing my palms against my pink cotton dress. It tugs the fabric higher up my thighs. “So, Reese is a …”
There’s a pause, during which I’m too cowardly to look over. I focus on fixing my bunched dress instead.
“Friend.”
“Oh.” I find a stray thread on the hem of my dress’s skirt and tug at it.
She likes Ryder. That much was pretty obvious when she glared at me at the pond. But Ryder’s much harder to read.
“You jealous?”
Ryder doesn’t ask it like a taunt. It’s a genuine question, like he’s really wondering. Like he’s as uncertain of what we are as I am. And I don’t know why. I didn’t abandon him freshman year with no warning and no explanation. He broke my heart, not the other way around.
The thread snaps, and I watch the pink string fall into the footwell. “Why would I be? We were nothing.”
“We were nothing,” Ryder repeats, his tone flat. “Is that really what you think?”
“It’s what you think.”
“No, I don’t.”
My teeth dig into my lower lip. “Don’t lie to me.”
“I’ve never lied to you, Lo.”
The air around me feels like it’s contracting. Turning tangible. I can feel this moment taking place like it’s a memory I’m already in possession of. Solidifying around me. I’ll lie awake later, replaying each word.
“I couldn’t tell you I was leaving,” Ryder continues. “And I know that’s really shitty. If I could go back and …” He exhales. “Toward the end of freshman year, Cormac’s dad came back. He and I … we didn’t really get along. So, my mom decided to ship me south for the summer. A few months turned into a couple of years. And then it just …” His head tilts back, his hand lifting to rub across his face.
“You didn’t think you’d come back.”
“Yeah. I didn’t think I’d come back.”
He doesn’t elaborate on what changed, and I don’t ask.
“But you are back.”
One corner of Ryder’s mouth lifts. “Nice of you to notice.”
“Yeah.” I tap my finger against the steering wheel. “Yeah, I’m having trouble not noticing actually.”
My entire body is buzzing with electricity as I stare straight ahead at the huge closed door, way too aware of the fact that we’re alone and inches apart.
This overwhelming feeling is only familiar because I’ve experienced it around him before. And I wrote it off as my age mostly. The giddiness of first love that wasn’t unique to Ryder. But I think it is unique to Ryder—and not only because he claimed all my firsts.
I shouldn’t have shown up here. I should have left a long time ago. But I don’t climb out of the car. And neither does Ryder.
“Come here,” he says softly, shattering the silence between us.
I roll my head to look at him. The feelings in my chest expand as soon as I get a glimpse of his face.
It aches in a beautiful, devastating way, seeing him look at me so tenderly. Like this moment matters to him too. Like I matter to him.
I abandon my shoes in the footwell and pull my feet up. There’s no center console, making the maneuver out of my seat a little easier. The bucket seats are larger than the ones in my car, but it’s still a tight fit. The top of my head bumps the roof of the car, my hair falling forward to curtain both of our faces. I grab Ryder’s shoulders automatically for better balance, my knees landing on either side of his hips. His hands skim up the sides of my rib cage. My nipples pebble, anticipating his touch, but he passes by my breasts to tangle his fingers in my hair and move the strands out of my face.
And we just … stare at each other. Same as we did in my car, before he drove me home.
There’s nowhere to hide, this close. The garage lights are bright, but his eyes still manage to look shadowed and mysterious. Mine are probably broadcasting exactly how I feel about being on his lap. Ryder’s solid, and so is the seat under him, but I’m experiencing the dizzying sensation of vertigo. I’m holding my breath, each movement feeling precarious.
I lift my hand to touch his hair. “It’s so short now.”
Ryder’s eyes hood as I stroke the prickly strands. His Adam’s apple bobs before he says, “It got pretty long in Florida. I wanted a change.”
“Are there pictures of the long hair era?” I ask.
One corner of his mouth lifts, creasing his cheek like a comma. “Might be some of me surfing.”
He sweeps my hair out of my face again, and then his hands fall to my hips. I shift an inch, seeking, biting my bottom lip when I find what I’m looking for.
Ryder inhales sharply, his hands falling away as I rock our pelvises together. Fever creeps across the surface of my skin, a heady mixture of desire and excitement humming urgently.
“I want to see the photos.”
His eyebrows are pinched together, the tendons of his neck corded and taut. If I glanced down at his hands, I think they’d be curled into fists.
It’s a rush, watching him react to me. I caught him checking me out at the pond, but I wasn’t sure how much that had to do with me. He’s a guy and I was a girl in a bikini. This—the tortured, aroused expression on Ryder’s face—doesn’t look like simply biology.
“You’re sitting on my phone.”
“Should I move?” I ask, switching to swiveling my hips.
Ryder lets out a low, husky groan that has me clenching around nothing. I’m drunk on him. The clean, soapy scent of his skin. The unmistakable bulge pressed against my thigh. My stomach swoops as I imagine it filling me, the hesitation I started to associate with sex glaringly absent.
“Elle …”
“Lo,” I correct. “I love it when you call me Lo.”
His eyes darken to graphite. His hands find my hips again, his grip tight enough that I can feel it this time. “You’re playing with fire, Lo.”
I lean closer, well aware the change in position means I’m grinding directly on top of his erection. “No. I’m begging you to burn me.”
Another groan that vibrates against my body and ignites my insides.
I feel alive for the first time in so long. Like I’m participating in life instead of observing it as a bystander.
My breathing is rapid and ragged, my lungs struggling to keep up with the powerful flames scorching my skin.
Our lips are only a couple of inches apart. A gap that would only take a second to close. But I don’t lean forward. I wait for Ryder to make the next move, ignoring the voice in the back of my head whispering caution. Last time was a lot of thrilling moments and secret kisses. And it ended with me charred and alone.
His fingers find my chin, tilting it up as he scans my face. “I missed you,” he murmurs. “I missed our something.”
My lips curve up automatically, right as he kisses me. I’ve been anticipating it ever since I climbed into his lap, and yet Ryder still manages to catch me off guard.
I freeze as soon as I feel the soft press of his mouth against mine, the light touch somehow a shocking jolt. My heart takes off at a sprint, a speed so fast that it seems impossible he can’t hear it. He kisses me once, twice, three times, then pulls a couple of centimeters away. I suck in a greedy breath of oxygen, less embarrassed when I hear Ryder’s inhale sounds unsteady too.
Ryder glances down at my heaving chest, a satisfied smile curving up the corners of his mouth. “That feel good?”
All I can do is nod, too overwhelmed by the sensations swirling inside of me. We were kids, pretending to be adults, the last time we fooled around. We’re still kids, I guess. But this feels more intense. I’m more aware of its fragility maybe. I’ve learned, over the past two years, that this feeling is rare. That it matters who is touching you, not just that someone is.
I squirm, trying to force more friction.
Ryder’s chuckle is dark and dangerous and hungry as he tugs my underwear to the side and sinks a finger inside of me.
My back arches as I adjust to the invasion. He pumps in and out of me a couple of times, then spreads the wetness around my opening. My knees threaten to buckle when he circles my clit.
I breathe his name, all my senses a slave to the surge of pleasure rushing through me that’s stronger than anything I’ve ever experienced before.
“Fuck, you’re wet,” he tells me, sounding very smug about that fact.
“You’re hard,” I remind him, dragging my hand down his chest and cupping the outline of his erection.
Ryder huffs a laugh that sounds more pained than amused. “Trust me, I’m aware.”
My fingers creep under the hem of his T-shirt. I trace the elastic waistband of his shorts, back and forth. His hand is still busy between my legs, making it very hard to think straight, much less talk.
But I manage to say, “I want to have sex.”
His eyes, which were focused on the spot where he’s touching me, snap up to mine. “Now?”
I’m too impatient to tease him or finesse a more subtle seduction. I just nod. “Now.”
Ryder’s head tilts back, his gaze flicking from my face to the roof of the car as he weighs a response. “I’m not going anywhere.”
“That’s not what this is about. And … it doesn’t have to mean anything. I just want to.”
His eyebrows bunch together as our eyes meet again. “You just want to.”
I nod, holding his stare. It feels like there’s a spotlight beaming down on me, making me sweat.
Ryder sees too much. He always has.
I want him, and I can’t stay away from him. I’m also scared he’ll break my heart—again. Right now, those two urges—pursuit and caution—are superseded by lust.
Ryder believing all I want from him is a physical release is my best attempt at getting what I want while preserving a little dignity. Yeah, he apologized. And I don’t need him to chase me. But I’m not brave enough to venture out on a limb alone. He’s never said he regrets ending things. Never sought me out. Never told me he wants more.
My fingers slide under his waistband, the elastic stretching easily. Coarse hair brushes my fingertips, and a swell of anticipation washes over me.
This—us—feels like an inevitability. At least, I hope it’s an inevitability. Ryder still looks conflicted, and I can’t figure out what the root of his hesitation is. I’m sitting on the evidence that he wants this too. We’ve done it before. And I’m sure he’s more experienced than me. Certain he left behind some Florida flings who loved his long hair. I didn’t think he’d have any reservations about no-strings sex.
“Please.” I reach the hard length of his cock inside his shorts, too dazed to feel embarrassed by the naked need in my voice.
I’m drunk and dizzy and so turned on that it’s difficult to focus on anything, except the throbbing between my thighs. He’s not touching my clit anymore, his hand pressed against the curve of my hip instead.
“Please fuck me.”
I feel the burn of embarrassment this time. I don’t swear very often, so I usually feel like a fraud when I do. I’m not the sexy, mysterious bad girl I always assumed was Ryder’s type. The most rebellious thing I’ve ever done was having sex with him at the end of our freshman year. Not that rebellious since I never told anyone it happened.
And I’m used to rejecting advances from guys, not begging for them.
Ryder still looks uncertain, even as his erection thickens in my tight grip.
I don’t regret not sleeping with Archer. But his fixation on sex makes Ryder’s behavior more confusing. Am I acting too eager? Why can’t Ryder act like a normal teenage guy when it comes to sex? When it comes to anything?
This moment, which started out feeling so soft and special, is slipping away. Shifting into something cheap and empty. Making me feel vain.
Not every guy wants you, Elle.
Not enough at least.
“All right then,” I say, withdrawing my hand from his shorts and sitting up as much as the small space will allow. Somehow, I forgot we were in a car in a garage. That’s how much power Ryder has over me. Yeah, it’s thrilling. It’s also terrifying. “Not like I can’t get it somewhere else.”
Ryder’s expression hardens and darkens. “If you wanted it somewhere else, you wouldn’t be in my lap, rubbing your pussy all over my dick.”
I swallow hard, the filthy words and flinty tone captivating me the same way his tenderness does.
Yeah, we’re older.
His hand moves to cup the place where I’m empty and aching. “Seems like you’re here because those rich assholes can’t satisfy you.”
“What makes you think I wasn’t hooking up with Twos while you were gone?” I snap.
Ryder rolls his eyes. “Because I would have heard about it.”
“How do you know?” I ask. “You didn’t say anything.”
A muscle jumps in his jaw. “Neither did you.”
“Because you left, Ryder. What was I supposed to tell people? No, I don’t know why Ryder James mysteriously disappeared. But before he did, we used to kiss a lot. Yeah, that’s exactly what I want everyone knowing. You took off and moved on like I was just a toy you got sick of playing with.”
Ryder looks away. “I thought you wanted us to be a secret.”
He made me forget we were sitting in a car again.
My molars grind when I recall our exact position. I’m still worked up and turned on. Combined with the confusion and sting of rejection, I’m so frustrated, I could scream.
I blow out a breath, then fumble with the door handle, almost falling flat on my ass when it gives way. I right myself quickly, forgetting I’m barefoot until I feel the cool concrete.
I round the front of the car as quickly as I can without actually running, grabbing my shoes out of the footwell and then slamming the door shut. Ryder has emerged from the car, his arms spread across the car’s roof and open door in a deceptively casual position. Or maybe he really is that unbothered. We fought plenty when we were fourteen and fifteen.
“You’re leaving?” he asks.
I avoid looking toward the low rumble of his voice as I slip my shoes back on, trying not to think about what the large, dark stain on the concrete is. I’ll shower and scrub my feet when I get home.
Ryder sighs. “Lo …”
“Don’t call me that.”
“You just told me to call you that.”
My cheeks burn with the reminder. “I changed my mind.”
“Just about that?”
“If you think I’m having sex with you now, you’re crazy. That was a limited-time offer.”
Ryder scrubs a palm across his face. “Look, I was just trying to?—”
“Stop, okay? Whatever you were trying to do, just stop. I shouldn’t have come here. You’ve done nothing but avoid me since you got back. Message fucking received. Bye, Ryder.”
As soon as I’m out of the doorway, I start running.
Worried he’ll chase me.
Hating he won’t.