I shove at his chest again.
He still doesn’t move. Not even a twitch.
Jesus, he has more muscle than one man should legally possess, fictional or not.
“You need to go.Now.Back to Novel Never Land. Or wherever it is my overworked subconscious dragged you from.”
“I tried.” Ryder shrugs like he doesn’t have a care in the world. “Obviously, it didn’t work. Believe me, I’d love more than anything to get back to that shower scene you never finished. Which meansIdidn’t get to finish. Just so you know—I prefer my balls flesh colored, by the way, not blue.”
Making a strangled noise somewhere between a screech and a sob, I scramble away.
I lunge for my phone on the counter and hit speed dial. There is only one person I know who can talk me down from this level of literary delusion.
“Come on, come on. Pick up, pick up?—”
“Hey, girl!”
Relief flares in my chest when I hear my bestie’s voice. “Sasha! Thank god!”
“You okay?” she asks. “You sound funny.”
“Something’s wrong,” I whisper-hiss as I duck and crouch behind the kitchen island. “Like,seriouslywrong. I think I’ve finally cracked. Snapped like a fucking twig.”
There’s a beat of silence before she responds. “Okaaay... What and how much exactly did you drink last night?”
“Um...” I peek over the top of the counter. Ryder is still standing there all smug and shit, licking bacon grease off his fingers like he isn’t the literal cause of my current existential spiral. “It’s Ryder.”
“Ryderwho?”
“Ryder Blackwood,” I whisper-yell into the phone.
“Wait—theRyder Blackwood? The new hero from your current WIP? The broody, emotionally constipated, tattooed bad boy with the motorcycle?”
“Yes!” I hiss.
“Oh! I see. Did you finally write the smutty kitchen scene?” she asks, way too interested.
“NO! I mean—he’s in my actual kitchen, Sash! Cooking bacon, handing me coffee and talking to me like he’s a real person. I tried to delete him, but it didn’t work! I rewrote his exit! I used the dramatic wind explosion and everything!”
She goes quiet.
“Sash?”
“You need a nap. Or drugs. Wait. Maybe not drugs. Did you start doing drugs?”
“Damn it, Sash. I swear to God, he’sreal. He’s a living, breathing man standing in my kitchen. And he has abs—so many abs,” I groan. “Pretty sure his abs have abs.”
I stand from my crouch, lean against the island, letting my guard down for half a second.
Big mistake.
Reaching across the island, Ryder snatches the fucking phone right out of my hand and winks at me before he speaks.
“Hey, Sasha.” His voice is all sex and liquid silk.Jesus. “Quick question. Ever wonder what it would be like to talk to someone your best friend wrote into existence with an enemies-to-lovers trope?”
“WHAT THE SHIT?!” I hear Sasha shriek.
I dive over the counter like a female version of Jason Bourne, tackling him with all the force my robe-clad, chaos-fueled self can muster, crashing both of us against the fridge.
