Page 6 of No Good Fight

Repeatedly.

Josh makes another deeply entertained noise beside me.

I’m going to kill him, and then murder Ryder, and finally I’m going to burn the entire world down around me so that I can die alone of embarrassment.

“I can feed myself,” I mutter.

“I know.”

Something about the way he says it makes my pulse stumble again.

Like he’s trying very hard not to say something else and can barely contain himself.

A piece of ash drifts down between us before landing against my cheek.

Ryder reaches for me automatically.

His thumb brushes softly across my skin.

One slow stroke.

The entire world seems to stop moving for a second.

His hand is huge against my face.

Warm despite the cold.

And the look in his eyes⁠—

Oh.

Oh, that is dangerous.

My breath catches, embarrassingly hard.

Ryder notices.

Of course he notices, because the man standing in front of me hasn’t missed a single thing since we were in high school and he caught me trying to sneak out one night.

His gaze drops briefly to my mouth before lifting again, and suddenly I’m hyperaware of everything going on around us. The noise from the trucks and the last dredges of the fire being put out, the smell of the smoke and the sight of it filling the air in spurts, the heat fading instead of growing, his hand which is still touching my cheek, my heartbeat hitting almost painfully, how close he’s standing. All of it.

Nobody should be able to look at someone like that in public. He shouldn’t be able to look at me like that… anytime.

Josh clears his throat loudly beside us, and I’d almost forgotten he’s standing there.

Ryder steps back immediately, taking his hand and the brief warmth it offered with him.

I hate that I notice that too.

“You parked near the alley?” he asks suddenly.

I frown slightly. “Yeah? I wanted to be out of the way and able to escape once I got everything I need for the story.”

His expression hardens instantly. “Don’t do that again.”

There’s something sharp beneath the words, and it has my hackles rising at the protective and controlling tone.

I cross my arms stubbornly. “You don’t get to tell me where to park.”