"I thought it wasn't my fault?"
She shot him a look. "Why do you need a bobby pin?"
"To unlock your door."
Aelin blinked. "Ryan, I appreciate you coming back, but you really don't owe me anything. Our spare key should be here any second, and . . ." She trailed off, rememberingwhowas bringing said spare key. Clark was going to be pulling up in front of her house and witness her talking with another man. An attractive, athletic man who possibly knew how to break into houses.
"You know what? I'm intrigued." Aelin turned back to her purse still sitting in the grass. "How many bobby pins do you need?"
"Just one."
She dug in the zipper compartment, moving aside the lip balm, Neosporin, Band Aids, and the Bluetooth headphones for her phone. "Got it." She dug a bobby pin out of the crease at the bottom of the pocket and straightened, then crossed the yard and handed it to him.
Ryan took it and started to straighten it out.
"This isn't going to ruin the lock?"
He shook his head and climbed the porch steps, then dropped to one knee in front of the door. He moved closer to the handle, slipping the pin into the key slot.
Aelin leaned against the porch railing, glancing back at the street. If Clark could show up right about now . . .
She turned back, noticing how Ryan's shirt stretched against his shoulders as he manipulated the pin in the lock. "Should I be concerned that you know how to do this?"
"Depends."
"You know where I live. You could break in whenever you wanted to."
Ryan pulled the pin out a few millimetres and reinserted it. "I guess I could." There was a soft click, and he slipped the pin free, then lowered the handle and the door swung open.
"Seriously. Where did you learn to do that?"
Ryan turned and handed the splayed out bobby pin back to her. His thumb brushed hers, and she shivered. "My parents used to lock the door at midnight. If I got home late, I had the option of staying with a friend, sleeping in the garage, or—" He pointed at the lock.
"What was the ratio?"
"What?" He frowned.
"Like, a third staying with friends, a third sleeping in the garage, and a third breaking and entering?"
Ryan's lip twitched. "Two-thirds with friends. One-third breaking and entering."
"No garage sleeping."
"Correct." Ryan didn't drop his eyes, and Aelin's cheeks started to heat. She was fumbling for something to say when she heard a car coming up the street.
She turned, and her heart jumped into her throat. Holy hell. This was happening. Clark was going to get out of his perfectly detailed car to find her standing on the porch with another man. Aelin felt like she was standing on a bridge about to bungee jump.
"Okay, listen. I'm a bit of a dick for not telling you to leave right away." She flashed an apologetic smile, then walked to the stairs.
Clark got out of the car. He looked at Aelin crossing the lawn, then flicked his eyes to the porch. "Megs said you needed the spare key."
"Mm. Yeah, I called her earlier. I thought she'd probably get off work before Ryan did." She nodded casually over her shoulder. "That was nice of you to bring it over."
Clark's jaw tensed, and Aelin forced herself to keep a straight face. Man on the porch. Door already open. She wanted to point a finger in his face and announce,"See? You're useless to me."
Earlier that morning, Clark had sat across the table from her and calmly described how her refusal to budge on his parent time was causing him emotional trauma. After he'd missed two of his last daddy-daughter dates—circumstances outside his control—and cancelled the trip he'd planned with Amaya for spring break. Like an asshole.
"Hey, you must be Clark?" Ryan stepped up next to her, and her pulse fluttered at her throat. What was he doing, and how did he know her ex's name?
