Chapter 5
Chapter
Five
Riley
People in this town are weird today.
The residents of Songbird Ridge have always been a bit on the quirky side. Me included. But today, they’re being extra bizarre.
When I stop at the Red Hen convenience store for my Wednesday morning chemical fix—a Diet Dr. Pepper and peanut M I need to talk to Daphne about that.
“So,” I say, my throat so dry my words come out like the sound of corn husks rubbing together. “What do you want to know?”
“Everything.”
He answers so quickly and with such heat in his eyes that I have to step backward and take a breath.
Yeah, he’s definitely giving me the vibe of a man who is down to fuck. There’s no other way to say it.
And he wants me to know that.
I begin to piece together everything that happened to me this morning. Ellen at the Red Hen, Jared at the coffee stand, and Foster and his menacing smile.
“Rowdy, I’m pretty sure everyone in town now thinks we are an item.”
He pauses, his eyes staring strangely at the top snap of my jacket. His jaw ticks.
“I don’t know what to tell you. People come to their own conclusions.”
My heart is beating fast, and I don’t want it to. I try to calm my blood when I reply, “And you’re letting them come to those conclusions, and you’re not denying it.”
He smiles. “I’m just not denying that we’re in a relationship, because I thought it would make more sense. If everybody has a clue about us before they see us together at the gala, that would only make the story more convincing.”
I stare at him for a long time. I can’t decide if he’s got some ulterior motive for letting people believe what they wanna believe, or if he really wants to go this deep into a fabricated backstory to help us seem like a convincing couple to prospective donors.
“You’re just supposed to be my buffer for one night.”
“Yeah, but I’m extremely good at…buffering. It’s fun to go deep with this whole charade.”
His voice lowers. His hooded eyes practically caress my mouth, my throat, the skin just above the top snap of my jacket.
He’s in complete delusion now.
“Rowdy,” I rasp. “You might be losing your grasp on reality. You’re enjoying this too much.”
He blinks slowly, and although he’s a foot in front of me, I can practically feel those long lashes of his brushing my cheek as he does.
“It’s a fake date. I got that.”
“You’re my buffer,” I emphasize.
“Buffing is my favorite.”
Why does that sound sexual?
I exhale sharply, a bit exasperated. “You mean buffering is your favorite.”
He chuckles, “I’m not gonna lie, buffering is what my brain is doing right now. I can’t stop staring because you look gorgeous today.”
With my coffee in one hand, I close the distance between us with the other by grabbing the front of his shirt.
The next thing I know, I surprise myself by pressing my mouth to Rowdy’s lips.
And oh my goodness…they are softer and warmer than I expected.
And he’s not resisting. Not even a little.
Despite everything I tell myself, that I shun chaos, that I crave order. That I don’t need a man after having my ex cheat on me last year, that I can heal myself with a thoughtful, mindful, focused existence, I crave this.
I crave him.
This is what I choose to do in this moment, I tell myself. In this moment of absolute, mind-bogglingly poor judgment, I kiss Rowdy on the mouth as my heart pounds.
His chest expands as he sucks in a shocked breath, effectively pressing his broad muscles against my nipples.
His arm slips around my waist, and he pulls me tighter, extending the hot, coffee-flavored kiss. The dark black taste on his lips mingles with the lavender sweetness.
It is intoxicating and perfect.
And all sorts of wrong.
So, I should stop.
Instead, the hand that’s been fisting his shirt lets go and travels up over his trapezius muscles until my fingers are on the back of his neck.
He makes a guttural, throaty noise at my touch there.
Rowdy pulls away for the briefest second, and the look he gives me is quizzical, like he’s checking on me to see if I’ve lost my mind.
Yes. Yes, I have.
But instead of letting me recover from this brief lapse in judgment, Rowdy abruptly pulls away further and sets his cup down on the coffee table in my sitting area, and then takes mine and sets it down right next to his.
I look over at the two cups and think, he did that for me.
He combed his hair and pressed his shirt. So much effort for a casual meet-up.
“Hey.”
I look up at him and his stare is intense. “Where’d you go?”
I lie, “I was just giving you a chance to run away and forget that I kissed you. We don’t ever have to talk about it again. Clearly, I’ve got issues, and if you wanna back out from being my date—my buffer…”
“Riley.”
It’s a statement, not a question.
“What?”
“Shut up.”
Rowdy’s other arm hooks around me, and his hand spans my lower back as his mouth captures my lips in a heated kiss.
Thank god.
Thank god he didn’t run away. Thank god he kissed me again. Thank god I don’t have to wonder about what he thinks of me for kissing him like that.
The tip of Rowdy’s tongue licks across my bottom lip. Softly.
Teasingly.
My hands meet at his nape as I open my lips to accept his tongue in my mouth.
The mingling taste is stronger now. He sweeps his tongue against mine, and warmth floods through me.
I drag my hands down to cover his hard traps at the base of his neck, and squeeze. He intensifies the kiss, plunging his tongue deeper into my mouth as his hands begin to roam under the hem of my jacket.
I need to get rid of this big, bulky thing. But once I do that, I will have truly lost control of the situation.
Maybe that’s a good thing.
I am on fire with the urge to rip his fucking shirt off and lick those rigid muscles. Find the source of that spicy scent. Find the spot where he sprayed whatever it was and lick him clean.
I just need to scratch this itch, and I need Rowdy to be here for it.