Chapter Thirteen
Ryder
I toss and turn in my bed; but no matter what, I can’t seem to get comfortable. I glance at the clock, noting it’s barely been five minutes since I looked last.
“You’ve got to be kidding me,” I sigh.
I did as Kane told me to. I came home, had something to eat, took a cold shower—which just made me more irritable, honestly.
Hell, I even ordered some take-out, but no matter what I do, I can’t stop thinking about Kane.
Or more specifically the Kane I saw in the elevator. The one who sternly commanded I give him my phone, the bossy, dominant one who pressed all my buttons and then some.
I don’t regret what happened, but he might.
After all, he told me twice to simmer the fuck down, and did I listen? No.
I completely disobeyed him and steamrolled right over that like a zamboni.
Which is why I keep thinking about texting him. Apologizing.
I let my desperation, my desire, my feelings for Kane get the better of me.
Some friend I am.
I roll over and grab my phone, swiping up to his number. It’s late, but I doubt he’s awake or anything. Which means I could text him and not have to worry about a response until tomorrow. This way he’ll see it when he gets up, and he can take as much time as he wants to respond…
“Good idea, Ryder,” I say to myself as I start typing out my apology.
Ryder: Hey. I know you probably won’t see this until morning. I just wanted to say sorry for earlier.
There, that’s simple enough. Straight to the point. I close the app out, set the phone down, and then let out a low sigh and close my eyes.
And then I hear the unmistakable chime of a text.
My eyes open wide.
There’s no way. It’s probably a spam email or something.
I close my eyes again, and turn over on my side, and then the chime sounds again.
I scramble upright, grab my phone, if only to assure myself it’s not Kane, but…
Kane: I’m sorry, too.
I stare at his text. I know it’s just words on a screen, but I swear I can hear the sadness, the guilt in them like he’s right here. So I tell him something I hope will make him feel slightly better.
Ryder: I did what you said.
Ryder: Ate dinner, showered, got in my comfy bed…
I snap a photo of me from above, lying in bed, and send it off before I can think twice.
I wait for his text, and when nothing comes up, I think maybe he’s fallen asleep. Which is what I should be focusing on right now, considering I have work in four hours.
Kane: Good boy :-)
The smile that forms is more than genuine. My insides twist with excitement.
Ryder: Hope your boss wasn’t too pissed you were late
I watch the text bubble appear and disappear a few times before a message finally comes through.
Kane: Not a work meeting.
Kane: It was fine. Don’t worry.
I settle onto my side, watching the screen.
Ryder: What are you doing up, anyway?
Kane: Can’t sleep. You?
Ryder: Same.
Kane: I hear counting sheep helps.
Ryder: Does it?
I let out a soft chuckle as Kane starts texting sheep emojis, one at a time.
Ryder: omg lol stop
Kane: Are you counting?
I can’t help the smile that forms on my face as I stare at his text.
Ryder: Yes.
Another string of sheep emojis comes through, and I send him a string of sleepy emojis.
Kane: What number are we on?
Shit. I didn’t think he’d actually ask! I try to hurry up and count, but then the phone rings.
I nearly drop it.
I glance at the caller ID, my heart skipping a beat when I see the name on the screen.
Kane.
I carefully pick up the phone and swipe to answer, keeping my voice low.
“Liar,” he says, his voice seductive and warm; yet tinged with a bit of humor. “You were counting them just now.”
“Technically that means I am counting them. Like you said.” I bite my lip.
“Uh huh.”
There’s a silence that falls between us, but it isn’t awkward. I hear his breathing, and it’s strangely comforting.
“Did you really call to give me shit about the sheep?” I ask carefully.
“No,” Kane says, his voice low and sleepy. “I just wanted to apologize and…”
His voice fades.
“And what?” I whisper.
“I just wanted to hear your voice.”
My insides turn to mush and I can’t help but swoon.
Is he for real right now?
“Really?” I ask, worried somehow I’ve imagined it.
It’s quiet for a moment, but I hear his breathing.
“Yes, Sir,” he says, a loud yawn cutting him off.
“Sounds like the sheep are getting to you,” I say.
“Maybe.” I can tell he’s relaxed.
“What number are we on?” I ask.
“Twenty-nine,” he whispers.
My lips turn up in the corner.
“Thirty,” I whisper, closing my eyes.
“Thirty-one,” he says.
I curl up against the phone, suddenly feeling tired.
“Thirty-t-two,” I say with a yawn.
“Thirty… three,” he mutters. I open my mouth to say thirty-four, but all I can do is murmur, “Good night, Kane.”
And as I drift off to sleep, I swear I hear Kane softly whisper, “That’s my good boy.”