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“You liked baby.”

“I did not.”

His grin widens.

I hate that grin. Mostly.

“Rule five,” I say. “If I tell you to stop something physical, you stop.”

The grin disappears. “Of course.”

“No arguing. No asking me to reconsider.”

“I wouldn’t.” His answer comes so quickly I look up. Ryder leans forward, forearms on my table. “You say stop, I stop.”

“Okay.”

“Why the fuck would I argue with you about whether I get to touch your body?”

My throat tightens.

Evan argued and negotiated.

For two years, every makeout session eventually became a discussion about how far we’d go. Why I wasn’t ready. When I would be. Whether I actually wanted him.

He always stopped.

But somehow my no still felt like something I needed to apologize for.

Ryder watches my face. “Someone did.”

It’s not a question.

I look back at my notebook.

“Next rule.”

“Clara.”

“I said next rule.”

He studies me for another second.

Then sits back.

“Okay.”

And that’s it.

No pressure.

I clear my throat. “Rule six. No humiliating me in front of Evan.”

“Define humiliating.”

“No auction jokes.”

“That’s unreasonable.”