Chapter 29
TWENTY-NINE
noia
The next morning, I wake up feeling a little groggy. After a quick shower, I head downstairs to make coffee and find Ryder already in the kitchen.
He’s standing at the stove flipping pancakes. When he looks over at me, I notice a slight tinge of darkness under his eyes, and his face is a little pale. He looks exhausted, like he hasn’t slept much at all.
“Morning.” I study him with concern. “You okay?”
“Never better.” Despite the smile he gives me, his eyes look… haunted. “Coffee’s ready.”
As I reach for a mug, his hand brushes mine, sending a shot of electricity up my arm. I chalk it up to an accident until it happens again when I’m pouring cream into my coffee. His fingers graze my wrist, lingering just long enough to make my pulse jump.
“How did you sleep?“ I ask, trying to keep my voice steady as I take a seat at the island.
“Well enough.” He slides a plate of pancakes in front of me, his chest pressing briefly against my back as he leans over me, breath warm against my neck. “You?”
“Fine, thanks,” I squeak, nearly dropping my fork when he brushes his fingers across my lower back as he moves to sit beside me.
He’s sitting so close our knees are touching. Every time I reach for something, he somehow manages to brush his fingers or arm against mine. Then, when I take a bite of pancake and a drop of syrup lands on my lip, he reaches over and swipes it away with his thumb, lingering an extra second.
“You have a little...” he murmurs, voice dropping into a low, gravelly register that makes me shiver.
“Thanks,” I whisper, watching in awe as he slowly sucks the syrup off his thumb, eyes locked with mine.
My entire body flushes hot.
Fucking hell.
All through breakfast, he continues his subtle slow-burn assaults—resting a hand on my thigh, grazing his fingers along my collarbone when he points out Goonie doing something silly as his thigh presses firmly against mine.
By the time we’re finished eating, I’m a fuck-all mess of nerves.
“Oops. Looks like it’s time for me to go to work,” he says suddenly as he gets up. “Big day ahead.”
Thrown off by his sudden change in attitude, I stand and take our plates to the sink.
“Okay,” I manage, trying not to sound as affected as I feel. “Will you be home for dinner?”
He pauses at the door, gray eyes dark as they sweep over me. “Actually, no. I’m meeting Claire and Jax after work to finalize details for the party tomorrow.” His grin turns wicked. “But don’t worry. I’ll be thinking about you.”
I nod. “Don’t forget, Sasha’s coming over today to spend the weekend. Try not to let her see you naked.”
“Your wish is my command,” he grins.
Then he’s gone, leaving me flustered and frustrated.
“Sneaky bastard,” I mutter under my breath.
Ryder might think he’s going to win this little game, but I’m not going down without a fight. If he can touch and tease, then so can I. Two can play at this slow-burn torture.
With newfound determination, I head upstairs and get to work. The words flow, and by the time I look up, it’s already past noon.
My phone pings.
SASHA: Heading out now. Should be there in about an hour. Need me to pick anything up on the way?
ME: Wine. Lots of wine. And maybe some ice cream?
SASHA: That bad, huh?
ME: I’ll explain when you get here. Drive safe.
I close my laptop and head downstairs to tidy up. The house isn’t messy, not since I scrubbed the shit out of it a few days ago.
There are signs of Ryder everywhere—a jacket thrown over a chair, a pair of boots sitting by the door and a half-empty glass sitting on the coffee table.
Picking up the glass, I take a sniff.
Whiskey.
I frown. Ryder doesn’t usually leave his stuff lying around. There was something off about him this morning, but I was too distracted by his slow-burn flirting to ask him more about it.
After putting the glass in the dishwasher, I change the sheets in the guest room and make sure there are fresh towels in the guest bathroom. Just as I’m finishing up, I hear a car door slam outside.
Rushing to the front door, I throw it open to find Sasha struggling up the steps with what looks like enough luggage for a month-long vacation.
“Holy shit! Did you pack your entire apartment?” I laugh, hurrying to help her.
“You know it.” She drops her bags and pulls me into a fierce hug. “God, I’ve missed you.”
“Missed you too.” I squeeze back, realizing just how much I’ve needed my best friend since she’s been gone.
She pulls back, holding me at arm’s length, and studies my face. “You look... different.”
“Different how?”
“I don’t know. Glow-y? Less like a depressed writer hermit and maybe more like someone who’s been getting laid on the reg.”
I feel my cheeks heat. “Sash!”
“Ha! I knew it!” She claps her hands together in delight. “I want all the steamy details. But first, let me get settled and then we’ll pour some wine.”
We gather her bags and head inside. After dropping them off upstairs, Sasha immediately makes herself at home, kicking off her shoes and heading straight for the kitchen, where she pulls a bottle of white wine from her tote.
“It’s barely three in the afternoon,” I protest weakly.
“As the old cliché goes... it’s five o’clock somewhere.” She grabs two glasses from the cabinet. “Besides, I’ve been driving for over an hour—traffic was a bitch, by the way—and I need to hear about this fictional man come to life who’s got you all fucked and flustered.”
Pouring myself a glass, I take a mouthful. “Okay. But it’s complicated.”
“The best stories always are.” She settles onto the couch, tucking her legs beneath her. “Start from after you hung up with me that first day. And don’t you dare leave out any of the good parts.”
Taking a deep breath, I dive in. “Well, ever since he showed up, things have been... intense. And not just in the way you’re thinking.”
“So, you are sleeping with him?” Sasha’s eyes go wide with delight.
“We were,” I say, emphasizing the past tense. “But I put a stop to it.”
Sasha almost chokes on her wine. “You did what? Why the hell would you do something like that?”
“Because it was all happening so fast!” I throw my hands in the air. “One minute he’s magically materializing outta my manuscript, the next I’m—”
“Getting finger-banged up against a wall?” Sasha supplies helpfully.
“Eventually, yeah.” I play with the hem of my shirt.
“He offered to help me with my writer’s block.
And in order to do that, he’s started taking me on dates he thinks will help give me inspiration.
What we’re doing started off as slow-burn, but then he got frustrated and told me we needed to get me out of my comfort zone. ”
I shrug and take another sip of wine. “Then we had sex, and it was fucking mind-blowing, but I write romance novels, Sash. You know and I know how this shit is supposed to work. The best relationships build slowly.”
“So you’re saying you want to go back to ‘slow-burning’ with the hot not-so-fictional tattoo artist who’s already given you multiple orgasms?” she asks, shaking her head in disbelief. “Only you would come up with a shit idea like that, Noia.”
“It’s not that simple, Sash. I need to figure out what’s actually happening between us. What if he’s only here temporarily? What if once my writer’s block is gone, he just… disappears?”
Sasha’s expression softens. “That’s what you’re afraid of? Losing him?”
My heart twists. “Maybe.”
“So, your solution is to stop having sex with him,” she deadpans.
I groan and bury my face in a couch pillow. “I know how ridiculous it sounds.”
“Yeah,” she agrees, pouring more wine into my glass. “But I get it. You’re protecting yourself.”
“Exactly!” I point at her, grateful she understands. “But when I told him that, he turned it around on me and came up with this slow-burn idea. And now he’s decided to torture me with it.”
“Torture you?” Sasha’s eyebrows shoot up. “How?”
“He’s always finding ways to touch me—brushing by me, putting a hand on my thigh, standing close and talking low in my ear. This morning he wiped syrup off my lip with his thumb and then slowly sucked it off while locking eyes with me.”
“Damn.” Sasha groans, fanning herself dramatically with her hand. “That’s so hot.”
“He also told me that within a few days, I’ll be begging him to fuck me again.”
A slow, mischievous smile spreads across Sasha’s face. “So turn that shit back on him.”
“Actually, I did—by bending over the counter.” I let out a frustrated breath. “But when I straightened up, he was standing right behind me!”
My best friend barks out a laugh. “Sounds like a game of ‘slow-burn roulette.’”
I down the last of my second glass of wine and deadpan, “Don’t I know it.”