Why did I say that? Why would I make a pregnancy joke to a single father?
I want to throw the phone into the lake. Follow it and hide underwater where no light or sounds can reach me. So many reasons that text could land wrong. Was Rhys an accident? Is that why his mother left? Because she had a baby when she wasn’t ready? I don’t know how old Ryder is—early thirties, if I had to guess. He would’ve been in his mid-twenties when he had Rhys. Young, but adult enough to handle the responsibility. But his ex might have been younger. By how much? Was she still college-aged when her life got derailed by an unplanned pregnancy?
I want to know more about Ryder’s past. But I also never want to picture him with another woman. Just the thought of him with Rhys’s mother—or any woman—makes a crippling ugliness twist in my stomach. Which is insane. I have no claim on him.
The contradiction sits heavily in my chest, uncomfortable and unwelcome.
My phone buzzes in my hand, jerking me out of my spiral.
Ryder Evans (Rhys’s father)
I’m severely unprepared to handle a teenager
The response makes me exhale in a laugh. He’s not offended. He’s joking back.
I’m still smiling as I type an unsafe reply.
Faye
If things get rocky, you always have that lasso
I’m flirting. Blatant, obvious flirting. The kind I swore I wouldn’t do with Ryder Evans.
He replies quickly.
Ryder Evans (Rhys’s father)
Still talking about the kids, right?
My entire body goes warm, my internal thermostat cranked up to a hundred degrees. We’re in dangerous waters now, the kind that could drown us both if we’re not careful. But the distance helps. The fact that we’re not face to face makes it easier to pretend this is innocent. Just banter. Nothing serious.
So instead of swimming to shore like a sensible person, I dive deeper.
Faye
Why? What other uses do you have for that rope?
I bite the pad of my thumb, waiting. The three dots appear. They disappear. Reappear. Disappear again. He’s writing and deleting, figuring out how to respond. The anticipation is killing me. My heart pounds hard in my throat until the next ping.
Ryder Evans (Rhys’s father)
So many possible answers to that question, Miss Rose
The formal address shouldn’t be hot. It’s how we call each other in front of other people, maintaining a professional distance. But in this context, with that sentence? It feels like a leash on his manners, one he uses to conceal dirty, dirty thoughts. It ignites a spark low in my spine that rolls up my back to my nape.
I want to hear him say it out loud, or whispered in that gravelly voice that scrapes across my skin.
Would he do it if I asked? With him, it’s hard to tell. He gives me enough to keep me hooked, but never enough to know where I stand. Dancing with me at the Moonshine, then walking away the second the song is over. Sending texts with double meanings but keeping just on this side of proper to be reasonably innocent. Never revealing himself. Never committing. It’s maddening. It’s intoxicating.
I decide to push. Just a little.
Faye
Any favorites, Mr. Evans?
His reply pops in quickly.
Ryder Evans (Rhys’s father)
