9. Chapter Nine
9
Ryker
I made her breakfast a week ago, and this should be a piece of cake.
Except, it’s more than that, and I know it.
She’s still sleeping. There’s warm pancakes sitting on a plate with steam rolling off them and a fresh cup of coffee sitting on a tray right next to it. All I need now is for the bacon to get done so I can take it to her room, all while hoping she’ll be in a better mood than she was when walking back through the door yesterday.
When it starts smelling like I’m burning the place down, I know the bacon is cooked to perfection for her, so I quickly pull it out of the skillet and onto her plate. All that’s left is to include some creamer and sugar for her coffee, and then I can take it to her.
I grab a small glass, pour a bit of French Vanilla creamer into it, then place that and a couple of packs of sugar onto the tray before lifting it up.
This is something I’ve never done, and I’m still not exactly sure why I’m doing it for Wren. All I know is that I can’t do nothing while she’s upset, and her admission yesterday is weighing heavily on me.
I’ve had most of yesterday, overnight, and now some of this morning to think about how I want today to go.
Breakfast is a good start, I think.
There’s no movement coming from inside her room, so I knock softly before easing the door open and smile at her sprawled form on the bed and her parted mouth as she lets out a soft snore. Unfortunately for my cock, there’s a sliver of her pale stomach sticking out, and it already has my finger twitching against the tray.
She’s only been here for a week or so, how could I possibly have such a visceral reaction when I barely know her?
The floor creaks slightly when I step forward, and Wren shifts on the bed, moaning beautifully in her sleep.
I clear my throat, but she doesn’t make another move on the bed, and I chuckle while taking a couple more steps toward the edge of her bed. The mattress sinks under my weight as I sit down and lean over to place the tray on her nightstand, then I lean back and brush my knuckles along her cheek.
Her blue eyes meet mine for a brief moment as she starts to wake up, and then they drift back shut, only for her to realize I’m sitting in front of her.
She lifts abruptly, a frown on her face, and she rubs at her eyes. “Ryker, what are you doing in my room?”
I sigh and reach for the tray of food, placing it in front of her with a hopeful grin. “Thought you could use some breakfast in bed.”
Once the sleep is gone from her eyes, she looks at the breakfast platter in front of her, then glances at me curiously. “Is there a reason for this?”
“Uh, not really?” She doesn’t like it. This was a bad idea.
I lean forward and wrap my fingers around the tray. “I can take it back into the kitchen, sorry.”
She places her hand over mine and shakes her head, a smile lifting at the corners of her lips. “No, don’t.” Her eyes graze over the food, shoulders slumping slightly, as she says, “No one’s ever done something like this for me before… It's nice. Thanks, Ryker.”
“You’re welcome.” I rise from the bed and hook a thumb over my shoulder nervously. “I’ll, uh, let you enjoy your breakfast. Holler if you need me, Teach.”
“Ryker?”
“Hm?”
“You could always grab a plate and come join me.” When I don’t answer, she clears her throat and shrugs. “If you want, of course.”
“That sounds like a good idea, then we can talk about plans for the day.”
“Plans?”
I wink at her, all nervousness gone now that things are going smoother, and say, “I may have something planned for us, as long as it’s all good with you.”
“Uh, okay.”
This can’t be a date, only a way for us to get to know each other better as professionals — which is what I’ll engrave into my brain once I tell her my plans.
***
Her plate is nearly empty when she clears her throat, her brow arched curiously. “So, these plans, mind telling me about them?”
“We’re getting out of the house.”
“Wouldn’t that be risky?”
I nod and run my hands down my pants. “It could be, but I think we should try to get to know each other outside of the house. It’s stuffy sitting in here all the time, and it’s never going to help either of our moods.”
She nods and takes a small sip of her coffee – which has more creamer than coffee in it. “Okay, I’m listening. What did you have in mind?”
“Well, that’s the surprise.”
“Not sure that’s a good idea.”
I can see the wheels spinning in her head, so I reach out and give her knee a reassuring squeeze. “Not a date, strictly platonic and friendly. As a way to say sorry for my attitude.”
“Not a date,” she repeats, almost as if she’s trying to convince herself as much as me. “Got it.” Her eyes travel to the open closet behind me. “Can I at least know what kind of clothes I should wear? I'm going to be walking around with a rock star, after all, it would be nice to look the part.”
“Anything you wear would be perfect,” I say softly. “But, if you’re worried about it, something nice.”
“And this isn’t a date?”
“Nope.” If I keep repeating that it’s not, eventually it will be true.
Wren made sense the last couple days – we’re supposed to have a professional relationship, nothing more. She’s my therapist, not a new girlfriend that my manager is trying to set me up with. I’d hate to be the one to ruin her career.
“Okay, give me twenty minutes to get ready?”
I give her a bright smile and nod while grabbing the tray and my empty plate. “Take as long as you need.”
Everything is going to be okay.
We’ll keep our distance.
***
It takes a little longer than twenty minutes, but I stand when Wren’s footsteps echo from down the hall and wait for her to emerge around the corner. My mouth pops open when she steps into the room, a pink sundress flaring wildly around the middle of her thigh that molds into her curvy hips. The curve of her breasts is popping out of the neckline, taunting me from afar, and I have to clench my fists together at my side to keep from jumping on her.
She’s got her curls fanning her heart-shaped face perfectly, lips the color of the brightest rose… and now my mouth has gone dry.
“Is this okay? I can go change.”
“No,” I say abruptly, then clear my throat. “Uh, not necessary. You look great.” Before I get into too much trouble, I head toward the front door and grab my car keys while letting her walk ahead of me.
The moment my eyes land on her ass, which is making the bottom of her dress flare out beautifully, I have to hold back a groan as I lock the door. I’m in trouble, that much I know. This was supposed to be a way for us to get on a good foot, figure out my shit before I went back to the city, but it’s becoming more and more difficult to adhere to that.
I want to reach out, wrap my arm around her waist from behind, and pull her back flush against my chest before leaning down and brushing my lips against the slope of her neck.
“Still not telling me where we’re going?” She asks from the bottom of the steps while I’m standing dumbfoundedly in front of the door because she makes me lose focus.
“Not a chance, Teach.”
“You know, drives are a good way to get to know someone,” she sing-songs. “This should be fun.”
As long as it doesn’t involve my focus being solely on dragging that skirt up to her waist and dipping my hand beneath her panties, I don’t care what we talk about during the drive. I can tell she’s expecting to be against it because she blinks in surprise at my silence as I lead us over to my car, and I mentally pat myself on the back – normally I would’ve complained by now.
It’s not until we pull out of the long driveway that she finally asks her first question. “Are you close with the other guys in the band?” She chuckles. “That’s probably a stupid question.”
I shake my head. “Not at all. Brent and I are best friends. I’m closest to him. He’s the one I go to with all my problems, for the most part.” Brent knows about the relationship with my parents but not how far it extends. I’ve painted him a prettier picture than what the truth entails. “Do you have anyone you’re close to?”
Wren sighs happily. “I’ve got a great relationship with my brother.”
There’s a brief silence at her answer, and I half-expect to get angry or jealous, but all I feel is gratitude that she gets to have such good relationships with her family. “Is he older?”
“By a few years. Do you have any siblings?”
I shake my head. “I guess it’s a good thing because who knows where I’d be if I did have one or what things would be like between me and my parents.”
“Have you talked to them recently?” I shake my head, hands clenching tightly around the wheel, and she goes on to ask another question. “What’s holding you back from reaching out?”
“I’ve thought about it,” I answer honestly. “I think the fear of them rejecting me further is what’s holding me back.”
“Do they know how you feel about their animosity toward your choice of career?”
“In a way, yeah.”
“And that means?”
I lift one hand from the wheel and run it through my hair. “That I may have freaked out on them when they called me a disappointment, then walked out without another word.”
“When was that?”
“A few years ago, maybe longer.” I try not to dwell on that time.
“Have you considered that your parents have fears of their own? Maybe they are ashamed of their actions, and it’s made them fear you’ll reject them if they try to contact you.?”
I hate how right she could be, but I hate even more that I’m at ease.
I’m never at ease when it comes to conversations about my parents, yet my hands are loose around the steering wheel as I take the exit leading to our destination.
What the hell is going on, and how do I stop it?
Do I want to stop it?