My head falls back, and I groan.
What the hell was I thinking when I imagined him?
Okay, yeah. I’d needed an outlet after my heart was broken. So I created Ryder, hoping it would take my mind off of how fucked up my lifereally is.
My intention had been to write about what I believed my fantasy man should be, all while weaving pieces of myself into the story as a way to fill the void of my own fucked up life.
I can lie to myself all I want, but deep down, I know the truth—whether I want him to or not—Ryder Blackwood has picked his girl.
And that girl isme.
I sigh as I walk down the hall to the guest room and fling open the door. Ignoring the sound of running water coming from the adjoining bathroom, I rummage through the closet and pull out a pair of my dad’s old sweats and a T-shirt and throw them on the bed.
There is no way I’m going to let Ryder Blackwood get under my skin, or in my pants.
No matter how much I want him too.
EIGHT
ryder
The shower turnsout to be a big mistake.
Standing under the hot spray, I scrub the blood from my knuckles and try to forget how Noia was looking at me—like she wanted me to devour her body and soul.
Every drop of water hitting my skin reminds me of how her tongue felt dancing with mine outside the bar.
Fuck.
I lean my forehead against the tile wall and let the water beat against my shoulders. This isn’t how any of this was supposed to happen. I’m supposed to be helping her so she can finish the book, so I can get back to my world, my story, my life—or whatever the hell you want to call it—I’mnot even sure what to call it anymore.
But when a memory hits of how her body felt pressed against mine on the dance floor, and the way she kissed me like her life depended on it—those are the moments when I feel like I might not want to go back.
Which is insane, of course.
Supposably, I’m a fictional character who somehow got yanked into this reality by my creator. There’s no waysomething this bat-shit crazy can last forever. Hell, it probably won’t even last another week without some sort of cosmic consequence we don’t even know about yet.
But Christ on a cracker, the way she looked tonight. The red top I chose sliding off her shoulder, black jeans hugging every curve, the fire in her eyes when she smashed a glass over that asshole’s head...
I’ve never wanted anyone more.
The water beats against my back and I brace my hands against the tile wall, letting the heat work out the knots. The fight tonight was nothing, just a few bruises and a split lip. I’ve had much worse.
What’s eating at me is the way Noia looked when that asshole grabbed her. The flash of fear in her eyes before it turned to fury. The way she stepped up and fought back. Fought for me.
Fuck me, that was hot.
I’m a guy who knows how to read between the lines. And right now, Noia is screaming everything she’s not saying with just her body language. The way she fidgets with her sleeves. How she keeps glancing at me when she thinks I’m not looking. The way her breathing gets shallow every time I get close.
She wants me. And as much as I want her, too—I don’t know if I should do anything about it.
Not yet, at least.
I shut the water off, grab a towel and wrap it around my waist. Bruised and battered, my reflection grins back at me in the foggy mirror like a fucking idiot.
Something shifted between us tonight. That kiss? It wasn’t just the adrenaline talking. That was real—raw—and all I’ve wanted since I first saw her passed out on her desk the night I showed up.
When I open the bathroom door, I find a pair of sweatsand an old faded T-shirt with the comforting scent of fabric softener laid out on the guest bed.
