My eyes widen when his voice squeaks. Then I narrow my eyes as I take another step toward him. He doesn’t move. “Kiss me. I wanna see if acceptance is the only stage we’ll ever reach.”
His eyes go comically wide and hazy. “Are you… sure? I mean, yes. I can. But Wolf might—”
I roll my eyes. “He doesn’t get to have an opinion on this.”
Ryder sighs, licking his lips as another thought hits him. “What about Ruin—”
I groan at his stalling attempts, grab the collar of his cut, and rise to my tiptoes, pressing my lips against his.
It’s barely more than a peck. I wait for the churning of my gut, fire to ignite in my chest. But something else assaults my senses instead.
Ruin.
When Ryder’s hand grabs my waist, I think of the devastating thorns.
When his other hand rises to cup my jaw, I imagine the painful restraints of the coiling, prickling vines at Ruin’s wrist.
Dammit. Why did Ryder have to bring him up?
When Ryder’s beard tingles against my chin, I immediately think about the oddness of the sensation. Like my brain isn’t aligned with the man I’m currently locking my mouth with.
I fall back to my heels, breaking the contact.
My mind is reeling. I can’t even chalk it up to the lingering fantasies of the young, naive Charlotte who spent years imagining a kiss with Ruin—right here. Claimed. At the clubhouse. But got one with Ryder instead.
No.
It has to be a glitch in the matrix, because what the hell?
I look up at Ryder, who isn’t even breathing hard. It’s almost as if we’re both coming to the same realization. There’s nothing here. But my mind wouldn’t stop spinning.
Eager and almost desperate to yank the sham illusions of Ruin out, I go in again. Harder this time.
My mouth opens, and Ryder follows my cue. But I can still feel him controlling the depth of this kiss. How his tongue remains in his mouth, unwilling to explore. Mine does the same.
Half of me doesn’t want this. And I’m almost raging at the other half that does—with someone else.
This time, it’s Ryder who ends it, leaning back, still cupping my cheeks. His eyes dart between mine, studying me.
I sigh, lowering my gaze.
Wordlessly, we’ve both come to the same conclusion. There’s nothing here. And I see the realization washing over him. A defeated smile marring his face.
Frustration coils deep in my gut but is instantly forgotten when I see movement behind his shoulder. I’m immediately distracted by the flash of long, curly brown hair disappearing into the clubhouse.
Ryder follows my gaze briefly. “What is it?”
“I… I thought I saw—” I clamp my mouth shut, careful not to use Isabelle’s actual name in front of a brother. “Thought it was Bel. My bad.”
“Could’ve been,” he mutters. “What’d you need her for?”
I don’t look away, the door to the clubhouse suddenly calling to me. I want to go inside, untangle this conflicted mess of feelings.
“Nothing big,” I tell him distractedly, turning away. “Just had some questions about an appointment. I’ll catch her later.”
A scoff hits my ear. “Doubt she’ll be much help. Also…” I feel his hand grip my elbow, pulling my attention back. “I think you should cut back on talking to Bel.”
I hate the way he says her name, like it tastes sour on his tongue.
