Chapter 14
FOURTEEN
ryder
I pull off onto a narrow dirt road leading up to a ridge overlooking the lake and cut the engine.
The silence that follows is broken only by the sound of our breathing. The lake stretches out like a mirror, reflecting the stars as they start winking to life in the darkening sky.
“This is beautiful,” Noia breathes, voice soft with wonder.
When I look at her, the dashboard lights are casting shadows across her face. “Yeah, it is.”
Her lips part slightly as she takes in the scenery. I lick my lips, my heart rate speeding up at the sight of the gentle curve of her neck as she leans forward to peer out the windshield.
“How did you know about this place?”
“I didn’t,” I admit. “I just... drove? It felt like I already knew where I was going.”
Releasing the seatbelt, she turns to face me, tucking one leg under the other. “This is all so fucking weird, Ryder. Your truck appearing out of nowhere, you remembering things I never wrote. What’s happening to us?”
“I think the real question should be: What’s happening to you?”
Her brow furrows.
“Think about it. The longer I’m here the more I remember about a life I didn’t have before. But what if it’s not just about me being real? What if it’s about you finally letting yourself believe in something real?”
She goes quiet, chewing on her bottom lip—a habit I find incredibly distracting.
“You think I’m making this happen somehow?”
“I think you’re a powerful woman who has spent years writing about passion and connection, all while denying yourself both. Maybe your subconscious finally got tired of the bullshit and decided to take matters into its own hands.”
“By manifesting a fictional book-boyfriend?”
“By manifesting what you actually want instead of settling for what you think you deserve.”
Noia stares out at the water, her reflection ghostlike in the glass.
“Eric never would have brought me somewhere like this,” she says quietly.
“He would’ve made reservations at some trendy restaurant where we’d sit across from each other making small talk about what happened to him at work while he checked his phone every five minutes.
” The laugh she huffs out sounds bitter.
“I used to think real-life romance was about being with someone reliable.”
“What about now?”
Her blue eyes are luminous when she turns to look at me. “Now I’m sitting in a truck that shouldn’t exist with a man who shouldn’t either, and I’ve never felt more alive.”
She presses her fingers to her lips. The admission seems to surprise her as much as it does me.
“Noia—”
“We should go back,” she says quickly, reaching for her seatbelt. “I really do need to write tonight and my feet are getting cold.”
With a sigh, I turn the key and the engine roars to life. Leaning over, I turn on the heat and adjust it so it blows onto her bare feet.
“Thank you,” she says with a sigh.
“Anything for you, kitten.”
I hear her take a breath in as she shifts to rest her elbow next to the window. Resting her head in her hand, she keeps her gaze focused outside.
Shifting into reverse, I stretch my arm across the seat behind her as I back up, my fingers grazing the soft curls at the nape of her neck. She shivers under my touch, and I glance down to see her nipples are hard beneath her sweater.
The smell of vanilla and mineral water brushes softly under my nose, making my cock twitch and my jeans feel tight.
Despite the charge in the air, we both keep silent on the drive back. My nerves are on edge, like the calm before a storm.
When we pull into her driveway, I kill the engine.
The moonlight spills through the windshield, painting her skin in silver and shadow. “So you want me to write about today and see where it goes from there?”
“Yes.”
“What if...” she starts, then stops, swallowing hard.
I wait silently, giving her a chance to gather her thoughts.
“What if I write something, and it changes you? Makes you different?”
I reach across the center console and take her hand. Her skin is soft against my calloused palm. “I’m not worried.”
“You’re not?”
“No. I trust you,” I say simply. “I trust that whatever you write will be what needs to happen.”
She stares down at our joined hands as my thumb traces absentminded circles on her wrist. “I don’t know if I trust myself. Not anymore.”
“Then I guess you’ll just have to let my trust be enough.”
Her eyes flick up to meet mine and I feel something shift—a kind of understanding, an acceptance—between us. She nods once, then slips her hand from mine and opens the door.
I follow her inside, watching as she immediately starts to head upstairs.
“I’ll be down here if you need me.”
She turns slightly and nods before she disappears.
I sit on the couch, and Goonie immediately comes over to curl up next to me. I flip on the TV, keeping the volume low, but I can’t seem to focus on the screen.
My attention keeps drifting to the sexy way Noia bites her lip, and the little furrow between her brows when she’s concentrating too hard. How her nipples hardened when my fingers brushed against the back of her neck in the cab of the truck.
The shower turns on upstairs.
My hand moves to shift my cock, but I can’t get comfortable knowing she’s up there naked with water sluicing over her soft, creamy skin.
“Fuck.”
Needing a different type of distraction, I shove up from the couch and head to the kitchen to make something for dinner.
I rummage through the freezer and cupboards, surprised to find it better stocked than I thought it was. There’s chicken, pasta, and an assortment of veggies. Whoever stocked this place before she arrived knew what they were doing.
Forty-five minutes later, I take a plate of garlic butter pasta with grilled chicken and a glass of white wine upstairs. The shower stopped running a while ago, and I can hear the rapid-fire tapping of keys coming from her room.
The door is partially open and a sliver of golden light spills into the hallway. I tap gently with my knuckle before pushing it open.
I pause in the doorway and take her in. She’s sitting cross-legged in her chair, hair piled messily on top of her head, wearing an oversized T-shirt.
Her glasses are perched on the end of her nose, and she’s completely lost in whatever world she’s creating.
Her fingers fly across the keyboard, pausing only when she bites her lower lip in concentration.
Taking a deep breath, I will my dick to behave.
I set the plate down on the corner of her desk, careful not to disturb the organized chaos of sticky notes and reference books. Her laptop screen glows with words from my story—our story.
I catch glimpses of phrases: “mineral water slick on his skin” and “the truck appeared like some kind of phantom,” my name flashing randomly before my eyes.
She’s good. Really good. The way she captures our tension, the heat simmering beneath every interaction—it’s all right there on the page—raw, honest and sexy as hell.
“You gonna eat that or let it get cold?” I ask, leaning against the edge of her desk.
Startled, Noia jumps, her hands flying to her chest. “Jesus, Rye! How long have you been standing there?”
Did she just give me a nickname?
Brushing off the thrill it gives me, I chuckle. “Long enough to read that I apparently have eyes ‘the color of storm clouds gathering over a restless ocean.’” I smirk. “Kind of poetic if you ask me.”
Her cheeks flush that beautiful shade of pink and she quickly minimizes the document. “It’s a first draft,” she mumbles, adjusting her glasses. “And you weren’t supposed to read it yet.”
“Why not? It’s my story too.”
She eyes the plate, steam still rising from the perfectly seared chicken. “You cooked?”
“Found some stuff in your freezer that wasn’t completely fossilized.” I push the plate closer to her. “Eat.”
She stretches, arching her back in a way that makes her breasts push against the thin fabric of her T-shirt.
Forcing myself to look away, I clear my throat.
“Thanks.” She picks up the fork and takes a tentative bite. Her eyes widen. “Holy shit, this is really good.”
“Don’t sound so surprised,” I snort.
“Sorry. It’s just... Eric couldn’t boil water without burning it.”
Annoyance flares. “How about we not talk about him right now,” I growl.
Her irises go wide as she swallows, eyes bouncing between mine. “Okaaay…”
“I just…” Huffing out a sigh, I rake my hands through my hair. “I’m sorry, it’s just that—” I clench my fists at my sides, trying to keep my voice steady. “Do you have any idea how fucking hard it is to be around you?”
Her fork pauses halfway to her mouth. “What?”
I take a step closer, my voice dropping to a dangerous rumble. “You have no idea how fucking hard it is for me right now. Standing here, watching you stretch like that, knowing you’re wearing nothing under your shirt.”
Her fork clatters onto the plate.
“Do you know what I really want to do?” I lean forward, gripping the edge of her desk, caging her in. “I want to grab you, throw you on the bed, and fuck you until neither of us can remember our own names. It’s taking everything I have—every ounce of self-control—not to do exactly that.”
Her lips part, eyes going wide and dark as she stares up at me.
My gaze flicks to the line of her throat, where her pulse flutters wildly and I push away from the desk, needing some distance before I lose what little restraint I have left.
“I’m going to bed,” I announce, my voice rough. “Make sure to get some sleep. After breakfast tomorrow, we’re going out. I have a day trip planned.”
Without waiting for a response, I turn and stalk out of the room, closing the door behind me with more force than necessary.
I stalk back downstairs to the guest room, strip down and fall onto the bed, staring at the ceiling. My body is tense, cock hard as a rock, skin hot.
What the hell is happening to me? I’ve never felt this way about anyone before. This desperate, all consuming need. It’s not just physical—although fuck knows I want her body—it’s more than that.
I want all of her. Her smile, her sass, her stubborn determination. I want to be the reason she laughs, the reason she writes, the reason she believes in love again.
And that terrifies me more than the possibility I could disappear at any moment.
Shifting on the bed, I readjust my dick, then freeze. Something feels different. I glance down and a jolt of recognition hits me—I’m wearing boxer briefs—black cotton briefs with a tiny tear near the waistband.
Wait a minute. These are mine.
When I first appeared in Noia’s living room, I was commando under my pants. I know this because I only wear boxers to bed, if at all.
But these—these aren’t just any boxers—they’re my boxers. The ones I specifically remember buying at a small shop in San Diego after my last deployment.
I bolt upright, heart hammering against my ribs. Throwing off the covers, I swing my legs over the side of the bed. Crossing the room in three long strides, I yank the closet door open so hard it bangs against the wall.
“What the fuck?”
The closet is filled with clothes. Henley shirts, faded and new, hang on plastic hangers and my worn leather jacket is hanging on a hook.
My favorite boots are sitting lined up like soldiers on the floor against the wall.
Even my old Marine Corps T-shirt with the hole in the sleeve that I can’t bring myself to throw away stares back at me.
“Holy shit,” I mutter.
I reach out, fingers trembling slightly as I touch the familiar fabric.
Grabbing the leather jacket, I bring it to my nose and inhale. It smells like me, like motor oil and the cologne I’ve worn for years. The worn patches at the elbows, the slight tear in the inner pocket where I once stored a switchblade, are all exactly as I remember.
Every piece feels like a memory. The more I touch, the more I remember. The gray T-shirt I was wearing when I first met Claire at the tattoo shop. The jeans I had on when I drove my bike cross-country after being honorably discharged.
An entire life I didn’t have before is starting to form around me, piece by piece, memory by memory.
Pulling on a pair of jeans and a black Henley, I pace the room, trying to make sense of it all. My truck showing up was one thing, but this? This is something else entirely.
I’m about to head upstairs to tell Noia when I spot something on the nightstand that definitely wasn’t there before—a wallet and a set of keys.
Snatching them up, I flip the wallet open. There’s my driver’s license with my face scowling back at me. Credit cards. A faded photo of my unit in Afghanistan. Cash. Even my goddamn library card.
The keys feel familiar in my palm—the key to my motorcycle, my apartment key, and the distinctive skull-shaped key that unlocks the door to my tattoo shop.
My heart is racing. It’s like the cosmos is anchoring me into this world more firmly with each passing hour. The universe seems to be filling in all the gaps, creating a complete life for me outside of Noia’s manuscript.
I need to see her. Now.