6. Ryder #2
By the time I reach Alex’s building, the sky has gone that weird shade of flat gray that comes before rain pummels the area. Alex is sitting on the low front stoop with a blanket around her shoulders and her laptop balanced on her knees while she types away with an almost furious look on her face.
For half a minute, I stay in the truck.
She’s barefoot, one foot tucked under her leg, hair twisted up like she did it without caring what fell loose. The screen light catches the tired set of her mouth. She looks cold and stubborn and too damn breakable for the way she keeps pretending otherwise.
Her head lifts when my engine shuts off.
She knows my truck now, and there’s a weird part of my chest that loves that little detail.
I get out slowly. Yesterday, she let me hold her.
She stood in the rain with my hand at the back of her neck and went quiet against me in a way I haven’t been able to stop feeling.
I can still remember the damp warmth of her skin beneath my palm.
The way she didn’t step back when I brushed her hair behind her ear.
Good night, Allycat.
I should not have said it like that. She’s my best friend’s little sister.
But I want to say so much more…so much more than that.
“Your new office has terrible security,” I say when I reach her, trying to lighten her mood.
“My temporary office has internet.” She lifts the laptop a little. “My apartment has decided to become a pioneer settlement and the power is entirely out. And from here I pick up the free wifi from the building across the street.”
“Only your unit?”
Her expression changes fast enough to make me regret asking without easing into it.
“I don’t know,” she admits quietly.
I look toward the side of the building, where the utility panel sits crooked against the brick near a basement window. The latch looks loose from here.
Alex follows my gaze. “I dislike your face right now.”
“That’s fair.” I shrug and take a step away from her even though it hurts.
“No, I mean your work face. The one that says I’m about to learn a new terrible fact.”
“I’m checking the panel.”
She closes her laptop and stands with the blanket pulled tight around her. “Great. I love educational suffering at other people’s expense.”
I almost smile, then lose it as soon as the panel door opens with one tug.
“Is it supposed to do that?” she asks from behind me.
“No.”
The breaker for her unit is flipped.
Only hers.
I don’t touch it right away. I check the others, the wiring, the smell of the box. No burnt plastic. No trip from anything being overloaded. No storm damage or rain on the inside of the box. Someone opened this panel and cut power to her apartment while she was inside, only hers.
“Ryder,” she says carefully.
I flip the breaker back. “Power should be back on.”
“That wasn’t weather.” She didn’t need to say it, and I don’t need to answer.
“No.”
She stares at the panel, then at me. “How do you always know when something’s wrong?”
I turn, and she’s closer than I expect. Close enough that I can see the damp pieces of hair clinging near her cheek.
Close enough to smell rain on her skin and the peach-lilac scent I spent years pretending I didn’t notice at cookouts when she would pass behind my chair or steal fries off Josh’s plate.
I know I should give her the answer she’s asking for. I know it in ways I can’t confess without making myself sound like the kind of man she should run from.
I close the panel and test the weak latch with more care than it deserves.
“You keep trying to talk yourself out of being scared,” I say. “Usually when you should be listening to that voice in your head telling you to run to safety.” To me. I silently add.
Her face shifts, the smart remark catching behind her teeth instead of coming out.
“That is irritatingly accurate.”
“You asked me a question, Allycat.”
“I’m regretting that now.” She rubs her hands together under the blanket, and I take my jacket off before I can talk myself into being less obvious with my feelings for her.
She eyes it almost suspiciously. “Ryder.”
“You’re freezing.” The explanation is brief but true. I don’t mention that I love the idea of seeing her in my clothes. Or anything else that’s going through my mind.
Alex shakes her head slightly, but I can see the indecision warring on her face. “I’m damp. There’s a difference.”
“You’re barefoot on wet grass.” I counter.
Instead of stepping either closer or further away, Alex wiggles her toes. “My footwear choices are between me and the universe.”
“The universe thinks you need socks.”
That gets me the smallest twitch of her mouth. I step closer and put the jacket over her shoulders, slow enough that she can move away and avoid me if she wants to. She doesn’t. Her hands catch the front of it, fingers curling into the fabric before she looks up at me.
The air changes between us, filled with an electrical charge.
I hate that I notice every tiny shift, and I hate more that I want her to notice mine.
Her gaze drops to my shirt, then to my throat. “You smell like smoke again.”
“Long day.”
“Was it bad?”
The Miller Street living room flashes in my head. The woman’s split lip. The man’s smile.
“Yeah.”
Alex’s teasing slips for a second. She sees more than I mean to give her, and her hand lifts before she stops herself. Not far. Barely an inch. Still, I track the movement like it’s the only thing happening in the world.
“You can touch me,” I say before I can stop myself.
Her eyes snap to mine.
I shouldn’t have said it. Not like that.
Her cheeks color despite the cold. “I wasn’t—”
“I know.” But I want her to.
With a roll of her eyes, Alex chuckles lightly. “That is such an obnoxious answer.”
“It’s the only one I’ve got.”
She exhales through her nose, annoyed and flustered and alive in front of me. I reach up and catch a wet strand of hair stuck to the corner of her mouth. My fingers brush her cheek when I move it away.
Alex stops breathing.
I don’t.
I’m not that disciplined.
Her skin is cold from the rain. Her mouth is soft and parted, and for one second I let myself wonder what she’d do if I bent my head right here beside the utility panel and the wet grass and the ugly brick building that has no idea I’m ready to tear it apart for failing her. Just one taste.
I drop my hand because there’s no way in hell I’d be able to stop at one kiss.
Alex’s throat works as she looks away. “Do you ever sleep?” She changes the subject masterfully.
“Depends on the night.” I tell her honestly. “Some more than others.” God, I want to let her in so badly, but I know I’m fucking it up.
“And last night?”