We continue to stare at one another, and something intangible passes between us. My heart rate kicks up, going a hundred miles an hour, as I struggle to decipher what the hell this thing is between us. He jerks back a little, a strange look on his face. Quickly composing himself, he extends his hand across the table. “I’m Ryder, by the way.”
I eye his hand warily. Firstly, who does that? Secondly, I’m afraid I might spontaneously combust if we touch, skin to skin. Guess I won’t know till I try. With more confidence than I feel, I clasp my hand in his, startled when a jolt of electricity whips up my arm. His palm is large, his fingers callused, but his grip is firm and warm, and I briefly wonder what it would feel like being held in his arms. I jerk my hand away the instant the thought lands in my wonky brain.
“Sorry.” His face is flushed, and he looks a little … embarrassed?
“For what?” I inquire, my brow puckering in confusion. Is he apologizing for shaking my hand?
“For my, ah … for”—he scrubs a hand over the light layer of stubble on his face, his features twisting—“my hands are rough because of the guitar,” he hastily adds. Luc bursts out laughing, almost choking on the food in his mouth. Ryder pins him with a “shut it” look.
“You play guitar?” I ask, instantly intrigued and also wanting to put this conversation back on some kind of normal footing.
He nods. “Since I was a kid.”
“You any good?”
“He’s fucking awesome,” Luc confirms, grinning proudly.
I frown, not understanding. “Did you two know each other on the outside?”
Luc shakes his head. “Nah. Ryder was already here when I arrived.”
I scratch the back of my head. “So how do you know he’s an awesome guitar player?”
Luc shoots me a duh look, while Ryder answers my question. “Powell got approval to have my guitar brought here.”
“I didn’t think we were allowed to have anything from home.”
“We’re not, but Ryder’s been here a while, he’s got level four privileges, and I think Powell’s got the hots for him.” Luc winks, grinning.
Ryder’s face contorts. “Knock that shit off. She’s old enough to be my mother.” A scowl mars his perfect features as a dark look briefly flits across his face, but it’s gone so fast I’m not sure I didn’t imagine it. “And I think I just puked in my mouth,” he adds, smiling.
I can’t help sniggering, and Ryder’s head swivels to me, a wide grin covering his mouth. “I’m not into older chicks.” He leans across the table. “Unless you tell me you’re older, and then I’m completely reassessing my stance.”
Woah. Talk about direct. Is this the same guy who was stuttering and stammering a few minutes ago? He’s a bit of a conundrum. Flirty one second and then shy the next. I can’t get a good read on Ryder, which is unusual for me, and that only adds to his allure.
“I’m sixteen,” I readily admit. “Almost seventeen.”
“Then my statement, and my position, remains unchanged.” He waggles his brows at me before diving into his breakfast.
“So, you’re seventeen,” I surmise.
“Yes,” he confirms, “but I could be older. Not everyone is transferred to an adult facility when they turn eighteen.”
I had heard that, but I wasn’t sure how true it was. I make a mental note to ask my attorney about it at her next visit.
“Will you be?” I blurt, forgetting to engage my brain again. I don’t usually flirt with guys, but Ryder is getting under my skin, making me say things I don’t normally say.
He arches a brow. “Why, would you miss me?”
“I’d have to know you to miss you,” I retort, sending him a smug look.
“Well, we can rectify that. You only have to say the word.”
“Dude.” Luc chuckles, nudging Ryder’s shoulder. “You’ve got game.”
Ryder rolls his eyes, messing up the younger boy’s hair. “Watch and learn, my young apprentice,” he teases, and now it’s my turn to roll my eyes.
“How old are you, Luc, and how long have you been here?” I ask, deliberately changing the subject.
