Her lips curl upwards, but she doesn’t smile. Instead, she gives an exasperated sigh that cements the fact the only date I’m going to have this evening is the one with my hand later in the shower.
“How the hell did we end up here?” I whisper, mostly to myself because I half expect her to slap me and take off with Holt Edwards. I’d be lying if I didn’t admit to envisioning the two of them lighting the sheets on fire, laughing their asses off at what a moron I’ve been.
Laney shakes her head ever so slightly.
“Laney Sawyer? Is that you?” Meg pipes up from behind, and the fact she’s faking not knowing who this is, grates on me like a thousand fingernails clawing their way down a never-ending chalkboard. “Why don’t you take a seat at the table with us?” She continues. “I’d love to catch up with you. I’m sure Mom would, too.”
Laney twitches as if she were about to bolt—then she does the unimaginable.
Laney takes up my hand and whisks me right out the door.
My heart jumps into my throat. My dick ticks in my boxers because, holy hell, there’s a tiny ray of hope that suggests he might get attention from the real deal tonight, but I think we both know that’s a pipe dream.
The stars spray out over Hollow Brook like the breath of God—like magic—as Laney leads me into the parking lot.
It’s a beautiful night, and I’m holding the hand of an even more beautiful girl. And, lucky for me, tonight might just hold enough magic for all of my pipe dreams to come true.
2
Love Shack
Laney
“Okay, I’ll go to your place.” I hear myself say.
“Okay?” Ryder looks slightly confused. His blue eyes expand the size of eggs, well, those expense Russian Faberge eggs that sell for millions and have to be kept safe from the general population in heavy duty, guard-protected vaults.
Ryder Capwell is a rock star among men. I witnessed at least a half dozen girls readying to throw their panties in his direction before we chest bumped rather unceremoniously in front of Meg and his dear old mom. Really I couldn’t think of a more thorough way to collectively piss them off, other than whisking him away to my sexual lair. I’m sure Mommy Dearest is gathering the wire hangers as we speak and fashioning them into my likeness.
“Yes,” I breathe it out in a silver plume. The sky is crystalline, washed clean from last night’s monsoon-like conditions. I’ve always been a sucker for a white Christmas, and seeing as how it’s just days away, I’m sure we’re going to get one. “I mean if the offer is still there.” I’m still holding his hand, or at this point it’s sort of vice versa because my fingers went limp the second we stepped outside, and his held on for dear life.
That bottle of whiskey I knocked back before hitting the stage has me feeling a little tipsy. I should seriously reconsider my antianxiety routine despite the fact it’s given me the right amount of courage, or, more to the point, stupidity to engage in a conversation with someone who so horribly stomped on my heart.
“Hell, yes, the offer still stands.” His chest pumps as if he just ran a marathon. He gives the impression of a smile, but his eyes remain fixed on mine—wide-eyed—as if he were lost in a dream.
“Hey!” Holt comes barreling out of the facility, and I take a quick breath because a part of me was expecting the Mommy and Meg breakup brigade to storm out after us. “What the hell?” Holt nods at our interlocked fingers. Holt is handsome, and sweet to boot, but he’s not the one for me. I may have let him take me out a few times earlier this year when I specifically took to the task of bruising Ryder’s ego, but I felt bad for leading him on, so I broke things off before they could properly take off.
“I’m fine.” I take a step back from Ryder, and our hands disconnect. “Would you mind telling my mom and sister I had to run?” I plead with Holt. “I think I’m going to turn in early.”
He eyes Ryder like a snake in the grass, slithering its long phallic member ever so close to my forbidden forest.
“Yeah, sure,” he says it stern with a threat embedded in the baritone of his voice. I’ve known Holt long enough to know he doesn’t approve of meturning in earlyand with whom.
Ryder takes in a lungful of air as we watch Holt disappear back into the facility. “Laney,” he whispers, touching his hand gently to my cheek. His eyes are narrowed in pain, his brows furrowed as if this were all too much for him. “Let’s get out of here.” A smile tugs on his lips as he takes up my hand again. He helps me into his sports car with its fresh from the factory scent, its dashboard lit up like the space station, and we don’t say a word all the way over to Capwell Towers.
The ritzy high rise that bears the Capwell moniker is located in downtown Jepson which is about a half hour outside of Hollow Brook and a whole hell of a lot of walking miles from my dorm back at Whitney Briggs.
I’m such an idiot. Way to strand myself at my ex’s place without my purse, which I stupidly left in a bag with all my street clothes. But, thankfully, I left both of those with Baya, so already I know I’ll be seeing my wallet again, which is kind of a comforting thought.
“So, you ready to get your money’s worth?” I sigh as we step into the glossy brass elevator and glide on up. His warm cologne washes over me, a heated spice with strong undertones of testosterone. I have the distinct feeling Ryder is about to put every dildo on the planet to shame with the things he’s about to do to me, and I’m not too sure I’m going to protest the idea.
“You ready to give it?” He’s teasing, mostly, but I can tell he’s hopeful.
“Only in your dreams.”
“Seeing that half my dreams have already come true tonight, I’m guessing the odds are in my favor.”
Crap.
