Chapter 10
Tit for Tat
BILLIE
Heart drumming, I press the heel of my hand on the center of my steering wheel and honk.
Once. Twice.
I consider a third time, but then the front door of the tiny farmhouse is opening and Ryder emerges, looking like a snack in a pair of sweatpants and a broken-in T-shirt that clings to his torso in an alarmingly sexy way.
Relief floods my veins. He’s actually home.
His hair is a little wet. It curls out at the ends in these adorable little tendrils that have my fingers itching to touch them.
He’s clearly in his comfy clothes, which I hope means he doesn’t have plans tonight. The soreness in my elbow has almost completely disappeared, so I decided it was time to venture out of the house without my sling.
Really, it was an excuse to venture over to Ryder’s house.
Wiping his hands on a dish towel, he squints against the dying light. “The Rattler’s the other way, you know.” He nods in the general direction of town.
“What makes you think I’m going to the Rattler?”
“Your hair is down. You’re not wearing your sling.” He lopes down the steps, tossing the towel over his shoulder. “And you have lipstick on.”
He’s noticing…everything. That means something, right?
I lift my chin. “So?”
“So.” Leaning down, he rests his forearms on the passenger side windowsill so he can peer inside my SUV. “Why’d you get so dressed up if you’re just coming to bother me?”
I cling to the steering wheel for dear life. “Don’t say no.”
“Color me intrigued.” His grin is cocky. Cute.
How the hell do I survive this man’s hotness? My body throbs with almost painful awareness of how close he is.
Is it stupid to think that one day he’ll mosey over to my side of the car and kiss me?
I bet he’s a good kisser. How could he not be? With that mouth and those lips and the intelligent, almost fierce way his eyes flicker when they move over my face, I bet he’s an absolute rock star at it.
I don’t like being this nervous around Ryder Rivers, but here we are. I’ve always had a crush on the guy. But for the first time in the history of our friendship, I think there’s a possibility that he might be developing a crush on me too.
“But seriously, you might start saying no once you find out why I’m here,” I manage.
“Oh yeah?” He hangs his hands inside the door.
His very big, very calloused hands. The way that thick veins crisscross the tops of them—
I can’t.
“You got me boots.” I lift my knee, and his eye darts down my leg to the pair of Bellamy Brooks I’m wearing. Then I lift the picnic basket I borrowed from Aunt Lee, Mom’s sister. “So I got you dinner. Get in, loser, we’re gonna go make a bonfire. Bring your guitar.”
He looks at me for half a beat, eyes locked on mine. My mind scrambles to decipher the emotion that glimmers there. Heat? Fear? Both?
I get it, man. We’re playing with fire tonight, literally and figuratively. But give me a chance. Please.
I felt pretty damn cute leaving my place. I curled my hair, put on my favorite white T-shirt—the one that makes my tits look good—and yes, I absolutely did put a swipe or two of lipstick on my mouth just because I could.
But now, with Ryder looking at me like this, I wonder if it’s all too much.
I should’ve called first, or at the very least texted like he did the other morning.
Should’ve ended this cute little game of tit for tat we’ve got happening while I was ahead.
These boots are fabulous. The gesture? Even better.
Why’d I have to take it a step too far? I just can’t help myself, especially when I feel so good when I’m with him—
“Nice night for a fire.” He shifts, glancing up at the clear evening sky. “How’s the arm?”
“It’ll feel better if you say yes.”
He scoffs. I can smell his soap, or maybe it’s his shampoo. He must’ve just gotten out of the shower.
Perfect timing: He’s clean, but he hasn’t eaten dinner yet.
“Answer’s yes, on one condition,” he replies. “If I bring the guitar, I decide what to play. Got it?”
Yes.
He said yes.
Holy fucking shit, Ryder Rivers is going on a kinda-sorta date with me that’s definitely not a date but also not not a date?
And he’s bringing his guitar?
I’ve died and gone to heaven.
I spent all day at my desk, pretending to work while I was plotting tonight’s picnic.
Slash, I was fantasizing that it would go so perfectly, that we’d have such a memorable time confiding in each other, I’d end up naked.
Totally blissed out in a postorgasmic haze and wrapped in a blanket while Ryder played me songs on his guitar without his shirt on.
Now I’m starting to think there really is a chance of something good happening tonight. A small chance, mind you. Maybe one or two percent. But something is changing between Ryder and me, and our relationship is moving in a direction I like. A lot.
It’s a win I need right now. My job is more unbearable than ever, and Dad dropped another not-so-subtle hint today about me hanging up my rodeo dreams for good.
“You can play what you want.” I shake the hair out of my eyes. “But I bet I can get you to play what I want too.”
He pushes out his lips. “Them’s fightin’ words, little lady.”
“I’m no lady. Get your shoes and let’s go.”
He’s full-on smiling now, the kind that touches his eyes and makes me feel lightheaded. “But you are a good friend. Gimme five?”
I don’t wanna be just friends. Never did.
I clear my throat and shake the nonexistent hair out of my eyes again. “You got it.”
Exactly four minutes later—not like I’ve been staring impatiently at the clock on the dash or anything—Ryder emerges once more from his house.
There’s a sudden, sharp drop in my middle, like the way my stomach dips when a plane hits a big bump in the air.
Ryder changed into jeans and boots. He’s still wearing the same T-shirt, but he threw a suede jacket over it.
He’s also wearing a cowboy hat.
Also also, he’s carrying a guitar in one hand and a fifth of reposado tequila in the other. I can tell by the color of the liquid in the bottle. It’s expensive stuff, a little sweeter and smoother than blanco tequila, and it’s all Ryder drinks.
My nipples tingle, hardening to tight, aching points as I watch him approach the car with his unhurried, bowlegged stride. I frown when he rounds the front of my car, confused as to why he’s heading for my side.
“Outta the driver’s seat,” he says, setting the tequila on the hood of the car so he can open my door.
“What?” I blink. “Why? I’m the one taking you on—”
“You’re with me, you don’t drive. You also need to rest that arm.” He tilts his head. “I know it’s your nature to fight me on everything—”
“Well, yeah. It’s fun, isn’t it?”
He gives me that lopsided smirk, the one where one corner of his mouth is curled upward, and I swear my heart stops beating for a full five seconds.
“Sometimes.” The edges of his eyes crinkle. “But please don’t fight me on this, yeah?”
I meet his eyes. “Fine. Just this once, though. And if you want me to drive home, just say the word.”
“That won’t be necessary. Now scoot your ass over.”
I climb over the center console, plopping down into the passenger seat with about as much elegance as a newborn foal who hasn’t learned to use its legs yet.
He hands me his guitar, which feels like a big moment.
But I don’t have time to process that because then he’s in the car too.
My SUV isn’t huge, but it’s not small either.
You wouldn’t know it, however, by how enormous Ryder looks in the front seat.
His legs are so long that his knees almost touch the dashboard.
Chuckling, he adjusts the seat, sliding it all the way back. Then draping his left arm over the steering wheel, he reaches for the gear shift with his right hand and swings his head to look at me.
“Ready, darlin’?”
Even if Colt murders us after whatever goes down tonight, it will have been worth it just to experience this moment. “Born ready, baby.”
He smiles, putting my car in drive. I carefully tuck the guitar into my lap, cradling it like I would a newborn. It’s surprisingly light.
It also needs a strap. Maybe one with Ryder’s name on it? I make a mental note to research where I might get something like that made.
A cozy feeling settles over me. As wired—nervous—as I am, I’m also excited to spend a beautiful evening outside, in front of a fire, with my superhot crush who’s also becoming a really close friend.
The weather is perfect, warmer than it was a few days ago, so I have the windows rolled down. My hair dances in the breeze as we head away from the cabin.
“So where ya takin’ me?” he asks.
I try not to stare as he leans toward me, turning the wheel with the heel of his hand. Why is it so effing sexy when a guy drives your car?
“I thought we’d head toward Canyon Creek.” It’s a sweet little spot with some of the best views in all of Hart County.
It’s also super close, maybe three or four miles from here. I don’t want to waste time driving when we could be eating, playing music, or playing with each other.
Ryder nods. “I like this plan.”
“I knew you would.” I clear my throat for what feels like the hundredth time.
Assuming Ryder feels this weird, delicious tension between us, I wonder if he wouldn’t be opposed to exploring ways to relieve it. But I know Colt will absolutely have a shit fit if he finds out I hooked up with his best friend.
Then again, does Colt have to find out? Maybe Ry and I only tell him if things get serious.
He won’t love the idea of us dating, but he’ll hate it less than the idea of us having very hot, very casual sex.
Because while I’m definitely interested in dating Ryder, I have no idea what he’s looking for.
It could very well be just a hookup. If that’s the case, I feel like telling Colt would just cause a bunch of unnecessary drama.