“But it doesn’t exist!”
“Apparently it does now.” He pulls out his phone—another item that must have materialized out of nowhere—and taps the screen. “Oh, fuck.”
He turns the phone toward me. On the screen is a website for Skin & Ink, featuring photos of intricate tattoos and a staff page with Ryder’s brooding face, front and center.
“This is getting too weird.”
“Tell me something I don’t know.” He grabs my hand. “Come on. Come see.”
Next thing I know, he’s pulling me down the stairs to the guest room. When I step through the open door, my jaw drops.
The closet that was nearly empty this morning is now stuffed with men’s clothing. Dark shirts, worn jeans, boots and a leather jacket that looks like it’s seen better days.
“You sure all of this is yours?” I whisper.
“Every last piece.” He runs his hand along a sleeve of the leather jacket. “I got this after my first tour. The zipper sticks sometimes.”
I move closer, touching the fabric. It feels real. It smells real—like sandalwood and leather and something unmistakably... Ryder.
“This is nuts.”
He paces the room, running his hands through his hair. “I’mtelling you, Noia. My life here in your world is becoming more real by the minute.” He grabs my shoulders, turning me to face him. “I have more memories—real memories.”
His eyes are so intense, so sincere, I can’t look away.
Reaching into his back pocket, he pulls out a wallet and flips it open. “Look!”
I take it with shaking hands. Inside, there’s a driver’s license with his face glaring back at me, credit cards and a few hundred dollars in cash.
I stare at the wallet, then back at him. “What do you think this all means?”
“I don’t know,” he admits, dropping onto the edge of his bed. “But it feels like the universe is trying to tell us something.”
I shift on my feet. “What are you going to do?”
Leaning forward, forearms on his knees, he puts his head in his hands. “I need to go see it for myself. Are you cool with putting off our date tomorrow?”
I move to sit beside him on the bed, hesitating only a moment before placing my hand on his back, tracing small circles between his shoulder blades. Breath catching, he stiffens, but after a moment, he relaxes, leaning into my touch.
“Of course,” I say softly. “This is important. Do you want me to go with you?”
Ryder shakes his head and flexes his jaw. “No. This is something I need to do on my own.” He runs his hands through his hair again, leaving it sexily disheveled. “I need to see if it’s real. If they know me. If I have clients, a history there.”
My hand stills on his back. “I understand.”
When he turns to look at me, our faces are inches apart. His eyes drop to my lips, and for a breathless moment, I think he might kiss me.
But then he pulls away and stands. “You should go get some sleep,” he says, voice gruff. “It’s been a weird day.”
I let my hand fall to the bed, feeling oddly dejected. “Yeah. Weird doesn’t even begin to cover it.”
“I’ll see you in the morning,” he says, backing toward the door. His eyes never leave mine and then something flashes in them—Regret? Desire? Fear?—that makes my heart stutter. “I’m gonna go for a drive. Clear my head.”
“Okay. Goodnight,” I whisper.
He pauses at the threshold, turning back with a half-smile that doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “Goodnight, Noia. And thanks. For understanding.”
Then he’s gone, leaving me alone, sitting on his bed, the ghost of his warmth still lingering beside me.
