Wiping his hands on a dish towel, he squints against the dying light. “The Rattler’s the other way, you know.” He nods in the general direction of town.
“What makes you think I’m going to the Rattler?”
“Your hair is down. You’re not wearing your sling.” He lopes down the steps, tossing the towel over his shoulder. “And you have lipstick on.”
He’s noticing…everything. That means something, right?
I lift my chin. “So?”
“So.” Leaning down, he rests his forearms on the passenger side windowsill so he can peer inside my SUV. “Why’d you get so dressed up if you’re just coming to bother me?”
I cling to the steering wheel for dear life. “Don’t say no.”
“Color me intrigued.” His grin is cocky. Cute.
How the hell do I survive this man’s hotness? My body throbs with almost painful awareness of how close he is.
Is it stupid to think that one day he’ll mosey over to my side of the car and kiss me?
I bet he’s agoodkisser. How could he not be? With that mouth and those lips and the intelligent, almost fierce way his eyes flicker when they move over my face, I bet he’s an absolute rock star at it.
I don’t like being this nervous around Ryder Rivers, but here we are. I’ve always had a crush on the guy. But for the first time in the history of our friendship, I think there’s a possibility that he might be developing a crush on me too.
“But seriously, you might start saying no once you find out why I’m here,” I manage.
“Oh yeah?” He hangs his hands inside the door.
His very big, very calloused hands. The way that thick veins crisscross the tops of them?—
I can’t.
“You got me boots.” I lift my knee, and his eye darts down my leg to the pair of Bellamy Brooks I’m wearing. Then I lift the picnic basket I borrowed from Aunt Lee, Mom’s sister. “So I got you dinner. Get in, loser, we’re gonna go make a bonfire. Bring your guitar.”
He looks at me for half a beat, eyes locked on mine. My mind scrambles to decipher the emotion that glimmers there. Heat? Fear? Both?
I get it, man. We’re playing with fire tonight, literally and figuratively. But give me a chance. Please.
I felt pretty damn cute leaving my place. I curled my hair, put on my favorite white T-shirt—the one that makes my tits look good—and yes, I absolutely did put a swipe or two of lipstick on my mouth just because I could.
But now, with Ryder looking at me likethis, I wonder if it’s all too much. I should’ve called first, or at the very least texted like he did the other morning. Should’ve ended this cute little game of tit for tat we’ve got happening while I was ahead. These boots are fabulous. The gesture? Even better.
Why’d I have to take it a step too far? I just can’t help myself, especially when I feel so good when I’m with him?—
“Nice night for a fire.” He shifts, glancing up at the clear evening sky. “How’s the arm?”
“It’ll feel better if you say yes.”
He scoffs. I can smell his soap, or maybe it’s his shampoo. He must’ve just gotten out of the shower.
Perfect timing: He’s clean, but he hasn’t eaten dinner yet.
“Answer’s yes, on one condition,” he replies. “If I bring the guitar, I decide what to play. Got it?”
Yes.
He said yes.
Holy fucking shit, Ryder Rivers is going on a kinda-sorta date with me that’s definitely not a date but also notnota date?
