Chapter 12 #3
Interesting. “Maybe I’m a horny drunk and just don’t know it yet.” I waggled my brows suggestively.
He slid me a sideways glance that said he knew exactly what I was up to. “Maybe.”
Silence loomed between as we made our way to the elevator—only to discover an Out of Order sign taped to the metal doors, directing us to the stairwell.
“Nooooo,” I wailed dramatically, like we’d just been told they were out of lifeboats on the Titanic.
“Come on, we’re on the third floor,” he cajoled. “It’s only two flights.”
“I can’t make it,” I announced, lurching toward the grimy, century-old bench in the lobby and flopping onto it. Maybe I’d just sleep here. It was comfortable enough, even if its wooden arm was digging into my spine.
The next thing I knew, the floor fell out from under me as Ryder hauled me over his shoulder like a sexy lifeguard and headed for the stairwell. Welp, this wasn’t very romantic.
“But it’s the easiest way to carry you,” he countered. Whoops, guess I said it aloud.
“Haven’t you learned anything from Holden?
” I scolded, my head bobbing with each step he climbed, my limbs flailing about like a marionette’s.
My hair dangled below me like the Spanish moss hanging from Seafolly’s oak trees.
“He would never manhandle Melody this way. He’d cradle her in his arms like a dainty baby bird. ”
“Meh, the guy’s a simp.”
I gasped in horror, like he’d just told me he was a flat-earther. “You don’t actually believe that!”
“I definitely do.”
I smacked his backside, because it was the only body part in my field of vision to smack. A damn fine view, actually. “How dare you! Holden is not a simp,” I insisted, indignant. “He’s in love.”
“Following her around all summer? Constantly apologizing when she’s the one keeping Tate around as a backup option? Letting another man raise his kid? Psh. Total simp behavior.”
“They’re soulmates! They’re meant to be together!”
He made a disbelieving noise that hummed through my body. “You seem to be forgetting one important detail: Holden doesn’t get the girl.”
“Maybe not in this life,” I conceded as he set me on my feet like a bowling pin outside my door. I wobbled a little, gripping his shirt to steady myself. “But maybe there’s an alternate universe out there where they work things out and live happily ever after.”
I looked up at him plaintively, letting the bulk of my weight rest against him, enjoying the reprieve from having to hold myself upright.
I could sleep here too, his arms a warm blanket, his torso both a soft cushion and a firm mattress.
Heat radiated through his shirt, his heart pumping a brisk rhythm beneath my palm.
His hand moved up to encircle my wrist and he squeezed lightly, his eyes searing into mine.
We were all over each other all day, every day during filming, so why did this feel so different? So…intimate?
Neither of us spoke for the span of several lingering heartbeats, our eyes locked together like magnets, and when he swayed toward me, close…closer…my eyes fluttered shut. I waited for the press of his lips, the taste of his skin, the heat of his hands, but caught nothing but air.
When I blinked them open again, he’d taken a step back. His chocolate eyes were molten and heavy lidded, and he looked drugged. You’re both completely in love with each other blared in my brain like a foghorn.
He swallowed, and I tracked the movement of his throat with avid interest. “You know I’m not really Holden.” His voice was rough and scratched up, a sandpaper scrape against stone. It was sexy as hell. “And you’re not really Melody.”
“Aren’t we, though?” I slurred dreamily. My eyelids felt so very heavy.
I felt him take a deep breath, his chest rising and falling under my hand. “Where are your keys?”
My heart sank. I didn’t want the night to end, to have to walk into this dark, empty apartment alone.
Growing up in my family, birthdays were always raucous, chaotic affairs; an excuse for parties, rowdy behavior, obnoxiously loud singing, and death by a thousand cake calories.
It was hard to be so far away from everyone who cared about me, especially on such a milestone birthday.
“Let’s go to your place instead,” I said abruptly.
Ryder’s lips parted, and he stilled. “Why do you want to do that?” His voice had dropped an octave, and the low tone was gritty and obscene and activated a part of my brain I was far too drunk to disable.
If he was questioning my intentions, I could hardly blame him—though I noticed he had yet to let go of my wrist.
I peered up at him from beneath my lashes. “It’s my birthday. Do I need a reason?”
He stared back at me as a few charged seconds ticked by. He licked his lips before glancing down the hall, then back at me, clearly conflicted. “Do you feel like you might get sick?”
Blech, why would he ask me that? He may as well have poured a bucket of cold water over my head. Talk about killing the vibe.
I tried for a joke. “I don’t know, maybe. Gotta make sure the Riverspew apartment complex lives up to its name, don’t I?”
He closed his eyes briefly, then opened them. “Scarlett. Tell me you feel sick, and then I’ll have to demand you sleep at my place so I can watch over you.”
“Oh.” I understood now; we were talking in code. Very sneaky, this one. “Then yes, I feel very sick.” Wink wink.
I watched him swallow a laugh. “Alright, birthday girl. Come with me.”
He tugged me to his side again, towing me down the hall to his door, before pausing with his key in the lock. “Go easy on me, okay?” His voice sounded strained.
It was both a plea and a warning, and even intoxicated I heard the subtext loud and clear: Ryder did not want to cross any lines with me tonight.
He would not be ripping my clothes off and making a woman of me.
We would not be losing ourselves to a fit of drunken passion.
What I’d been not-so-secretly hoping would happen was not going to happen.
I disguised my disappointment by giving him the most innocent Of course I’m not planning to jump your bones expression I could muster up. I think it worked.
“What shall we do? The night is young,” I declared as I flounced into his apartment, then did a little pirouette as he lunged to save me from hitting the doorjamb.
“The night is ancient, actually, and you’re going directly to sleep. Go get into my bed, and I’ll be there in a minute to tuck you in,” he said, heading for the kitchen. “If you want something to sleep in, you can grab a shirt from my dresser,” he added as an afterthought.