“I know. Thanks, Cee Cee.”
SEVENTEEN
noia
I spendthe next hour cleaning my house like I’m preparing for a military inspection. Scrubbing countertops, dusting shelves, and vacuuming every corner until the place looks better than it has in months.
“Sasha would be so proud,” I mutter to Goonie, who watches me from atop the bookshelf. “Don’t give me that look. This is for my sanity, not to impress Ryder.”
Goonie blinks at me, clearly unconvinced.
After grabbing my purse and keys, I head for the door. “I’m going to the grocery store. Try not to destroy anything while I’m gone.”
The cool air hits my face as I step outside, and I take a deep breath in. Maybe some time alone will help clear my head. I need groceries anyway—my fridge is practically empty except for condiments and that questionable yogurt that’s been there since... Well, probably since before Eric left me at the altar.
The local supermarket is only ten minutes away, and I crank up the radio, singing along to distract myself from thoughts of Ryder and how he’s doing at the tattoo shop. By the time I pullinto the parking lot, I’ve almost convinced myself that everything will make sense, eventually.
Inside, I grab a cart and methodically work my way through the aisles. Real food this time—not just the frozen dinners and ramen that have barely managed to sustain me over the past couple of weeks. I toss in some fresh vegetables, a couple of chicken breasts, pasta, and enough coffee to fuel a small army.
As I’m debating between two different brands of pasta sauce, my phone buzzes.
RYDER:Make sure you get beer. And steak.
I nearly drop my phone. How did he?—
RYDER:And ice cream. You’re almost out.
ME:Are you spying on me?
RYDER:Just a lucky guess. I saw the empty carton in your freezer. You should really throw things out when you’re done.
Unable to stop the smile spreading across my face, I shake my head.
ME:Anything else, your highness?
RYDER:That’s sir to you, kitten. And something for breakfast tomorrow that doesn’t involve pop tarts.
Rolling my eyes against the shiver caused by his ‘sir’ comment, I head to the ice cream aisle.
When I reach the checkout counter, I park myself in line behind a young couple. Pressed close together, the guy has his arm draped casually around the woman’s shoulders while they debate which kind of chips to buy. There’s something about their easy going affection that makes my chest ache just a little.
“That’ll be $127.42,” the cashier states, yanking me from my thoughts.
I pay and wheel my cart out to the parking lot and load the bags into the trunk. Just as I settle into the front seat, I get another text.
RYDER:Wear your hair down tonight. I’ll text you with further instructions when I’m on my way home.
His simple command sends a tingle of excitement up my spine.
ME:Bossy.
RYDER:Kitten, you have no idea. See you tonight.
A sharp knockat the front door, makes me nearly jump out of the red dress Ryder basically ordered me to wear.
When I open it, I almost forget how to breathe.
Ryder is standing before me in a blue button-down, sleeves rolled just high enough to show off his muscular forearms and the thick veins running from wrist to elbow. His hair is styled in its signature chaotic dark and messy and he’s wearing cologne that should come with a warning label.
