Chapter 20
Fat raindrops start falling from the sky as I take the turn that leads to the trailer park. I smile with a sort of grim satisfaction as one hits my cheek and rolls off my jaw. Dark clouds have threatened rain all day, and I should have put up the convertible’s cover before leaving for school this morning. Ryder will roll his eyes that I didn’t, and that will create this giddy bubble in my chest.
Happiness, I think.
I’m happy. And it’s not just Ryder, although he’s a large part of it. It’s making my own choices, of feeling like I’m the driving force in my own life again.
Damp dust swirls in the afternoon air as I navigate the bumpy road the best that I can. The rain hasn’t saturated the ground yet.
Ryder’s already outside when I park beside his trailer, talking to a guy with shaggy black hair who I vaguely recognize from seeing around school. I grab my backpack off the passenger seat and climb out of my car, masking my uncertainty with a friendly smile.
“This must be your plans.” The guy beside Ryder is talking to him but focused on me.
When our eyes connect, he smirks. There’s a predatory gleam to his expression that makes my skin crawl. That screams untrustworthy.
I fiddle with the zipper of my jacket as a small distraction. I came straight from cheer practice, only making one quick stop in town, and I wish I’d taken the time to change as interested eyes rove over my bare legs.
“Yeah. I’ll see you at work, Phoenix.”
They’re not good friends, based on the coolness in Ryder’s tone. Or maybe he’s noticed how Phoenix’s attention has stalled on me, which I’m uncomfortably aware of.
“All good. I’ll see you around. Nice to meet you, Elle.” He flashes another wolfish smile.
I force a nod. “Yeah. You too.”
Phoenix turns and continues walking down the road, his hands tucked into his pockets.
“You’re early.”
I drop the zipper and look at Ryder. It’s raining harder now, darkening the sleeves of my jacket. “Sorry.”
He lifts one eyebrow. “Not looking for an apology.”
“Friend of yours?”
“Nix doesn’t really have friends,” Ryder replies. “He has people he likes to hang around with and people who owe him favors.”
“Which one are you?” I ask.
“I don’t owe him a favor.”
I hike my slipping backpack up my shoulder. “You gonna invite me in?”
He glances at my car. “You gonna put your cover up?”
“Car could use a cleaning.”
Ryder rolls his eyes.
I smile, then hit the button on the key. “Done.”
The rain picks up even more as we walk toward the stairs that lead to the front door, saturating my scalp and spreading through my hair. The water feels refreshing on my face, although it’s probably making a mess of the makeup I’m wearing.
Ryder tries the door, then swears under his breath.
“You lock yourself out?” I ask, pausing a few inches behind him.
The tiny porch is barely big enough for both of our bodies.
“Not exactly. The shitty paint on the door sticks when it gets wet. Last time I broke the lock to get in … my mom wasn’t happy.”
“That’s … inconvenient.”
Are we stuck out here then?
“Surprised your place doesn’t have the same problem.” Ryder grins, then heads down the stairs.
“Ha-ha,” I respond, following him. “So, what are?—”
Ryder rounds the corner, so I quicken the pace. By the time I catch up to him, he’s reaching up to pull off a window screen. Rain is still falling steadily. Fast enough that it’s altering visibility, adding a haziness to the air. The shoulders of Ryder’s gray T-shirt look black.
He makes quick work of the screen, leaning it against the foundation, then starts jimmying the window frame.
“You’ve done this when the door worked fine, haven’t you?”
Ryder doesn’t turn so I can see his entire expression, but I catch the crease in his cheek that suggests he’s smiling. “Yeah.”
A few seconds later, he’s got the sash wide open. He tilts his head toward the window, indicating I should go first.
I eye the distance from the ground to the opening. I’d estimate it’s about five feet. Not an impossible distance. Not an easy one either. “I’ll wait for the door to unstick.”
Ryder chuckles. “Come on, Clarke.”
“I’m wearing a skirt.”
“I noticed.” His gaze sweeps down deliberately, his smirk suggesting he knows what effect it has on me. “Looks good on you.”
“Flattery will get you nowhere, James.”
He leans back against the side of the trailer, flashing that grin that should come with a neon-colored warning label. “Wanna bet?”
Not particularly.
Ryder’s smile grows in my answering silence. “C’mere, Lo.”
I never should have admitted how much I like him calling me that.
His hand lands on my lower thigh as soon as I’m close enough to touch. My breath hitches, and he hears it.
“Drop the bag and turn around.”
I heave a sigh and listen. A few seconds later, I’m being boosted, the window’s opening right in front of my face. Drops of water hit the backs of my legs as I wriggle through, landing on the floor in an uncoordinated heap. I sit up and survey my surroundings, experiencing a surprised jolt when I realize this is Ryder’s bedroom.
“Elle.”
I stand and reach for my backpack, pulling it through the window and then dropping it on the floor by the bed. It’s only a twin, and I’m having a hard time picturing Ryder fitting on it.
With impressive dexterity, Ryder vaults through the window as well. He leaves it open, the percussive tapping of rain against the metal side of the trailer the only sound in the room.
I pull off my wet jacket, then take a seat on the bed and reach for my backpack, simply for something to do that’s not staring at him or studying his bedroom.
“Whoa. Nerd alert.”
“Shut up,” I say. “You told me to bring homework.”
Ryder grabs a towel off the back of the door and rubs his damp hair. It’s starting to grow out a little. “And this is the one time you decide to listen to me?”
I roll my eyes as I pull out my sketch pad. “Whatever. This is due tomorrow, so …”
He approaches the bed. My entire body tenses in response, his proximity hijacking all of my senses so all I’m aware of is him.
“A house?” he asks, staring at the sketch.
“It’s a project for my Architecture class. We’re supposed to design our dream home.”
“This is your dream home?”
“I mean, I like it,” I reply. “It doesn’t actually exist, so it’s a pretty low commitment.”
I’m fighting the urge to close the notebook, noticing how closely Ryder is scrutinizing the drawing.
“You wouldn’t be able to use the screened porch most of the year,” he tells me. “It’s impractical.”
I smile. “Like owning a convertible?”
“Yeah. Exactly like that.”
My cheeks start to hurt. Anticipation is expanding in my chest, making my pulse race with recklessness. I slip off my shoes and tuck my feet on the bed, lying on my side and relaxing onto the mattress.
It’s erotically intimate, lying in the same spot Ryder sleeps in every night, surrounded by his scent.
He stares down at me. “Elle …”
“I’m tired. Long cheer practice.”
“Too much pom-pom waving?”
I reach for the pillow behind my head and toss it toward him. Ryder catches it easily.
“We work harder than the football team, which you’d know if you ever came and watched.”
“I went once.”
“And I sure hope the field didn’t block your view of the parking lot.”
Ryder snorts, then tosses the pillow back to me.
We stare at each other, neither of us saying anything, as the amusement slowly fades from the moment. Until I’m reacting to the intensity of it, my chest tightening like it’s being squeezed by a massive fist.
He breaks eye contact first, clearing his throat and then glancing down at the floor. Everything about his pose is deceptively casual, his relaxed lean humming with invisible tension, like a live wire. If we were still out in the rain, it seems impossible he wouldn’t crackle and spark, same as exposed electricity.
I sit up, reaching toward my backpack. “So … I have this vague memory of September 25 being your birthday.”
There’s a pause, which I fill by pretending I have to search for the carefully nestled box.
“A vague memory, huh?” His tone is inscrutable. Impossible to read, especially when I’m not looking at him.
I pull the white bakery box out and place it on the mattress, then glance up to meet Ryder’s gaze. “It’s a s’mores cupcake. It was that or lemon raspberry.”
“No plain vanilla or chocolate?”
“Of course not. Butter Batter doesn’t do single flavors.”
“Today’s the twenty-fourth.”
“You can eat it tomorrow, if you want.”
His exhale sounds amused. And then he’s kicking off his sneakers and climbing on the bed with me, careful not to jostle the box before lying down next to the wall. I scooch until I’m lying flat too. My left side is pressed against his, the bed not really wide enough for both of us. Heat radiates from every spot he’s touching me, blazing through my body like the sun’s warmth.
Ryder is looking at the box. “Thank you, Elle.”
“Mmhmm.” I grab my sketchbook and flip to a fresh page. Draw two horizontal lines, then cross them with two vertical ones. Leave the book lying on my stomach.
“What are we playing for?” he asks, reaching for the pencil and making a neat X in the top-right corner.
Rookie error. He should have taken the center spot, like I always do. And then I realize … that’s why he didn’t.
“What do you want, birthday boy?” I add an O to the center of the board.
He still hasn’t confirmed I got the date right, but I don’t think I’m wrong. My brain can’t seem to forget anything about this boy.
“Nothing,” Ryder answers.
“Nothing? How altruistic of you.”
He smiles. “Nothing that’s not right here.”
I swallow, momentarily stunned speechless.
“All I’ve ever wanted out of life was a s’mores cupcake,” Ryder continues.
My scoff sounds forced, my mind still reeling from the softness on his face.
His second X gets drawn in the bottom-right corner, forcing me to block him. He blocks me next, so I go for the top center. He blocks me again, lining up two X’s and forcing me to block him again. I drop the pencil, the possibilities already played out in my head and all leading toward the same outcome.
“Cat’s game.”
“You’re rusty.”
“Haven’t played in a while.”
Ryder hums. “So … you still got a lot of homework to do?”
I roll my eyes as I toss the sketchbook onto the floor. “You told me to?—”
“I know; I know.” Ryder shifts so he’s propped up on one elbow, leaning over me. I inhale sharply, registering how close he is all over again. “I wasn’t sure where we stood on … stupid stuff.”
His head lowers until his lips brush my collarbone, the gentle press of his mouth against my bare skin pushing a surprised, “Oh,” out of my mouth. The flash of heat is silent at least, but he can probably feel the fever radiating from my skin.
My breathing becomes rapid and greedy. I know he can hear it when I feel the vibration of his chuckle against my skin. His lips move lower, tracing the raised line until he reaches the center of my chest. I moan as he brushes the curves of my breasts. Trying to regulate my breathing and failing miserably.
Ryder shifts again, so he’s hovering over me, his gray eyes blazing like liquid smoke.
I lift my head off the pillow and kiss him, wrapping my arms around his neck and tugging him down. He’s careful to keep his full weight off me, but doesn’t resist my attempt to fuse our mouths together.
His tongue slides inside my mouth to touch mine, and I’m very glad I’m already lying down.
Ryder’s a really good kisser. He’s the one who taught me how to kiss, and maybe that’s why our lips touching feels like reunited puzzle pieces.
We fall into a rhythm like choreographed dance partners. There’s no awkwardness. No teeth clashing or tongue biting.
I’m nervous and euphoric and overwhelmed, my heartbeat speeding to a wild flutter in my chest. I’m rapidly reaching a point where more is my only thought.
My hands coast over Ryder’s shoulders and down his back. The lines of bunched muscle are easy to feel through the damp cotton of his T-shirt.
He breaks out of my hold when I reach his waist, grabbing the white box that’s miraculously remained upright on the mattress.
My entire body reacts, watching him swipe a finger through the brown icing. The sugar and butter concoction feels cool and smooth against my skin as he spreads a straight line up the inside of my thigh.
A surprised, strangled sound chokes my throat as his warm tongue follows the path of his finger. Ryder stops south of my skirt, his nose barely brushing the hem.
I roll my head for the best possible view.
Ryder glances up, his intense gaze colliding with mine. A mixture of desire and relief courses through me when I see there’s no hesitation on his face this time. “You trust me?”
I nod.
He reaches under my skirt and tugs my compression shorts down, a small smile appearing as he tosses the navy fabric away. My lace thong hits the floor next.
Nerves pinball through my body as I fist the comforter. We’ve never done this before. I’ve never done this before.
My knees part slowly, excruciatingly aware I’m on full display. It’s vulnerable. But I also feel powerful, not missing the way Ryder’s forearm flexes or how his eyes hood.
The longer he looks, the more impatience erases embarrassment. I spread my thighs as wide as they’ll go, tugging my skirt up so it’s a belt around my waist.
He gets the hint.
Ryder’s head lowers. A shiver quivers through me when I feel his breath hit the spot he just uncovered. He’s blowing on the wetness there, and it’s like the intolerable sensation of being tickled. I exhale harshly and lock my muscles in place, so tempted to squirm.
“Stop teasing.” My voice sounds foreign to my own ears, breathy and high.
“Stop telling me what to do. You’re not in control here, Lo.” His lips land on my hip bone, the tip of his tongue drawing a circle on my skin.
I gasp, the throbbing between my thighs growing more insistent.
Juliet said Alec went down on her in the pool house at Maddie’s party a few weeks ago. Her description of the act was a kid eating a melting ice cream cone. Everything about Ryder’s position, including his confident grip on my leg, suggests skill. I try not to focus on what that means because it’ll puncture the heady anticipation I’m experiencing. I want to pretend I’m the only girl he’s ever touched.
My entire body jolts when I feel his tongue there. It’s foreign and thrilling, an immediate rush of heat pooling low in my pelvis. He licks the sensitive flesh, and my hips rock into his mouth involuntarily. The flush of arousal is joined by a flash of embarrassment.
Ryder notices. Smirks. “You want more?”
God, I can’t handle having a conversation with him while his face is between my thighs. Any brash confidence has been stripped away.
The next time we hooked up, I was planning to be mature. I was supposed to blow his mind. Not be this … puddle of hormones and emotions.
“Elle. Talk to me.”
I clear my throat. “Yeah, I want more. It feels good. Just … weird too.”
He studies my face, and I know he’s reading the truth about my inexperience with this.
This time, he fills me with a finger. I inhale in response to the invasion, my body slowly adjusting to the sensation as his mouth moves to the bundle of nerves above his hand and sucks lightly. Ryder groans, like this is possibly as good for him as it is for me, a vibration that makes my toes curl. It’s too much. So much. Exactly what I need.
A strangled exclamation leaves my mouth as I’m hit with a dizzying rush of pleasure. I can’t recall ever experiencing anything this potent or powerful.
It doesn’t let up. Doesn’t wane. It ignites and spreads and overpowers, the heat burning away any thoughts at all. I can’t focus on anything except how good it feels.
And then it’s crashing over me, my muscles trembling and shaking and twitching. A complete slave to the consuming sensations. I can feel each chaotic beat of my heart, the pounding gradually slowing as I sink into the mattress. The craze has settled into a steady, satisfied hum, my limbs loose and pliant.
He’s a really, really good kisser.
Ryder’s smile is deservedly smug. There are still a few stars twinkling behind my eyelids. His lips are shiny, and I try to memorize what that looks like. I want to remember what it feels like.
Mine.
“Wow.” My voice sounds normal again, but the tone is definitely awed.
“Yeah?” Ryder reaches for his cupcake again, this time breaking off a piece and popping it into his mouth. The only way the sight would be sexier is if his shirt was off.
“Yeah.”
He nods, then swallows. “Good.”
I sit up, too, but don’t reach for my underwear. I want him to know I’m still bare beneath my cheer skirt.
“Want a bite?” Ryder holds a piece of cupcake out.
“You didn’t even wash your hands.”
He smirks. “Didn’t need to. You were already so … wet.”
Cheeks burning, I take the bite. Chocolaty richness explodes in my mouth, followed by the faint aftertaste of marshmallow and graham cracker.
I swallow, then climb onto his lap. I’m still so sensitive that the brush of his mesh shorts between my legs feels incendiary.
“I want more. I want … you.”
Ryder closes the cupcake box, his expression turning serious. I’m sure he’s thinking about how our last conversation on this subject went.
“If you want to wait, that’s okay,” I say. “But … I don’t want to wait.”
I’m greedy for another orgasm. Eager to experience sex again. And he’s the only one my body wants.
His Adam’s apple bobs as he swallows. “Let me grab a condom. They’re under the bed.”
I don’t allow myself to think about that convenience. I nod and swing my leg back off his lap, fiddling with the hem of my shirt. I should take it off. Or will he want to? My memory of the details from last time is fuzzy, faded by nerves and embarrassment and eventually anger.
Ryder reaches under the bed and returns with a box I’m ridiculously relieved to see is still sealed.
I use the tiny boost to confidently tug my shirt off, unclasping my bra and adding it to the growing pile of clothes on the floor. I glance toward the window. All that’s visible is a green stretch of hedge. I can see the water clinging to the branches. It’s still raining out.
He’s pulling his shirt off, too, a foil packet visible in one hand as the rest of the box goes back under the bed.
I slip out of my skirt, then lie back down.
“Fuck,” Ryder comments, his eyes on my body.
“You’ve seen it all before,” I remind him.
He’s focused on me so closely that I’m torn between self-consciousness and satisfaction about the intense attention.
“Not for two years. Your boobs are bigger. And you’ve started shaving more.” He cups my hip bone, his thumb sweeping across the small section of hair no one else has seen.
Heat blazes in my cheeks. “I didn’t know I was supposed to …”
“You’re fucking gorgeous, Elle. Always have been. Always will be.”
Then, he drops his shorts and boxer briefs, and it’s my turn to gawk. Ryder tears the foil packet open with his teeth. He rolls the condom on, and then he’s hovering above me again, this time skin to skin. He kisses me first, sucking lightly on my tongue. I bite gently on his bottom lip, running my hands into his hair. He groans as my nails scrape his scalp, his erection hot and hard against my thigh.
“Fuck. That feels good.” His voice is low and husky and my own personal brand of arousal.
“I like your hair longer,” I admit.
“Yeah?”
“Yeah. More to grab on to.”
His hand travels down my rib cage until it reaches my hip. “I’ll keep that in mind.” Two fingers brush the inside of my thigh as he adjusts our position, fisting his cock and rubbing it between my legs. “Still good?”
“I’m good.”
This is going to hurt, based on some hasty calculations. My body isn’t the only one that’s changed since we last did this. Ryder’s dick looks twice the size. And I haven’t had sex in two years. I’m basically a virgin. But I want this. Want it so bad that I can taste it.
The head of his cock hits my opening, and there’s an immediate stretch. He starts to ease inside me, and I arch my back. We were fumbling around before. The purposeful way Ryder is thrusting inside of me feels very adult. Possessive and primal and intimate.
My inhale is swift and surprised.
“You’ve done this before?” He says it as a question, even though we both know the answer.
I swallow, forcing myself to hold his gaze as the pinching flares to true pain. “Once.”
Ryder is excellent at hiding his emotions when he wants to. His expression doesn’t change at all. The only noticeable reaction is the quick heave of his shoulders as he exhales and stills.
“You should have told me.”
We’re as closely connected as two people can be. But it’s the way he said that—You should have told me—that makes butterflies flap in my stomach.
His expression isn’t the only indifferent thing about him. As far as I can tell, what he cares about is a very short list. But I catch a fleeting glimpse of … something that makes me hope he might care about me.
“I just did.”
He huffs what sounds suspiciously close to a laugh. “Little late.”
“You’re just … bigger.”
This time, Ryder grins. The sight inflates my chest the same way my own happiness does. Like his emotions are my emotions.
“Sorry.”
I roll my eyes. “No, you’re not.”
He’s still grinning at me, a relaxed one that’s boyish and a little mischievous. Then, he’s moving—and not in the way I want. Away instead of closer. I grip his shoulders and clench.
Ryder grunts, “Relax, Lo.”
“I don’t want you to stop.”
“I’m not stopping. Just adjusting. Move against me. Like that, there, yeah.”
My hips lift, my breaths coming faster and harder as I feel that distinctive swell of pleasure start to build again. The flicker quickly strengthens, the feeling rising from some deep, secret place Ryder has exclusive access to. My hands explore his back, feeling the powerful shift of muscles as he pumps his hips into mine.
My orgasm takes me off guard this time. I’m so focused on Ryder, how he feels and how he looks and this entire moment, that the pleasure is almost muffled. I’m aware of it, but it’s also secondary.
Ryder rolls away to take care of the condom, then pulls his shorts back on. I watch him walk over to the open window, red scratches visible on his back.
Mine, I think again.
I sit up, grabbing his T-shirt from the end of the bed and slipping it over my head.
He’s lighting a cigarette, the scent of smoke mixing with the perfume of fresh rain and the smell of sex wrapped around me.
I raise an eyebrow. “So, you didn’t quit.”
Ryder rests one shoulder against the window frame, blowing a stream of smoke outside. “It’s my last day of rebellion.”
“Meaning you are turning eighteen tomorrow?”
He nods. “You have a good memory.”
“Sometimes.” I walk over to the window, mirroring his posture and leaning one shoulder against the opposite side of the window so I’m facing him. “Can I try?”
He holds out the cigarette. I pinch it carefully and lift it to my mouth gingerly, imitating the action I’ve seen others do before. Imagining the horrified look on my mom’s face if she saw this makes me smile as I suck on the unlit end and then blow out a smoky breath. Immediately, I start coughing.
“Ugh.” I cough again, trying to expel the ashy taste. “That’s terrible.”
“Takes some getting used to,” Ryder tells me.
Eyes watering, I hand the cigarette back to him. “Why would you want to?”
Ryder is silent, staring out the window at the rain. He flicks the glowing tip, a few black flecks falling onto the sill. “My mom smokes. Whenever I got up in the middle of the night as a kid, she’d be sitting at the kitchen table with a cigarette. Just … sitting there. Not watching TV or reading or cleaning. She called it her thinking time. And so, whenever I was feeling stressed or overwhelmed, I’d do the same thing. Probably got ahold of these younger than I should’ve, but …” He shrugs a shoulder. “It’ll be legal tomorrow.”
“It looks sexy,” I say. “Not that I want you to keep smoking. But it looks sexy … when you do it.”
Ryder grins, his abs clenching as he rests more of his weight on the wall. “Why didn’t you … with Hathaway?”
“I just didn’t.”
It’s a cop-out of an answer, but Ryder nods, accepting it.
“Have you heard from your dad lately?”
“He’s texted a few times, yeah.”
“Have you answered?” I ask.
“No.” He extinguishes the cigarette in a puddle on the sill.
“Why not?”
“Because he feels guilty about kicking me out. He’s not reaching out because he actually cares.”
“Do he and your mom keep in touch?”
“Depends on the year,” he replies. “When she was back with Rory—Cormac’s dad—not really. That’s part of why Dax split. She started calling him again, asking about me. He didn’t want her to have that excuse anymore.”
“How-how long were they together?”
I keep waiting for Ryder to stop answering. To shut this topic down. He shared a few snippets of his childhood with me before—enough to illustrate how different our upbringings were—but not this much.
“Four years. I don’t remember much of it. They had me pretty early on.” He shrugs, shoving his hands in his pockets, then refocuses on me. “What are your parents like?”
“My parents?”
He nods.
We’ve talked about our families before. But that was more as kids, swapping complaints that felt monumental at the time.
“They’re, uh …” I play with the hem of his T-shirt. “They’re kind of snobs. Not cruel or unkind, just self-absorbed. They have this … vision, I guess. For their life. For mine. My dad’s a partner at a big law firm in Boston. All he cares about are my grades. He expects me to go to law school and work at the same sort of place he does. And my mom … she’s obsessed with my clothes and my activities and … the guys I date. She’s best friends with Mrs. Hathaway—Archer’s mom. She pushed for me to date him because it was perfect in her mind.
“They were more relaxed when Rose was alive. My dad would play basketball with me when he got home from work, and my mom would take me on these shopping trips in the city to redecorate my room each year on my birthday. And now … they don’t really care what I think. What I want. They make all the big decisions and expect me to go along with it. Whenever I feel unhappy, I figure at least they’re happy.”
“The Elle I know tells the world how it’s going to be. Not the other way around.”
“Yeah, well …” I shrug. “I think I’m braver around you.”
He smiles. So, I decide to prove it.
“And also … I think I did something stupid.”
Ryder lifts one eyebrow, still appearing amused. “What? Did you miss one question on the History quiz earlier? Because a ninety-eight isn’t that?—”
“I fell in love with you again.”
No response. No reaction. He’s frozen, so still that I can’t even detect the rise of his chest.
“Ryder!” a loud male voice shouts. “The damn door is stuck again. You home?”
“That’s, uh, Cormac,” Ryder says unnecessarily.
“RYDER!”
I avoid eye contact as I strip his shirt off and toss it to him, then get dressed faster than I ever have in my life. I sling my backpack over one shoulder, following Ryder down the hallway. He glances back at me twice, but says nothing as we enter the other end of the trailer. There’s a small kitchen tucked to the left, a square table opposite from it, and then a couch with a television at the far end. It’s tidy, plain, with very limited furnishings.
Ryder’s focused on the door, jiggling the lock and inspecting the frame.
“Ryder!” Cormac calls again.
“Hang on,” Ryder replies. “I’m working on it.”
An exasperated huff is the only response.
Despite the lingering embarrassment burning through me, I smile. Something about Ryder’s dynamic with his brother reminds me of Rose. And not in a tragic, depressing way. More of a fondness as I recall silly spats about dolls and clothes.
A minute later, Ryder has the door open.
“Finally.” Cormac strolls into the kitchen. “We have seriously got to—” He spots me and stops talking.
“Hi, Cormac.” I offer an awkward little wave.
“Hi, Elle.”
He inspects me closer than I’d like, considering how quickly I put my clothes back on. I’m worried I just had sex with your brother might be stamped across my forehead.
“Nice to see you again.” I start toward the open doorway. I’m definitely not waiting around for Ryder to get it open again—or going out the window.
“Lo.” Ryder grabs my arm as I go to pass him.
Cormac has the fridge door open, dividing his attention between the contents and glancing over here.
“It’s fine,” I say.
“No, it’s not.” He looks at his eavesdropping brother, then back to me. “Me too, okay? Me too.”
“Yeah?” I whisper.
He nods. “Yeah. I love … dumb shit.”
I love how he gets me. How this conversation would make no sense to anyone else.
“I should go.”
Ryder squeezes my arm. “Drive safe.”
I nod, then dart out into the rain.