Total pages in book: 21
Estimated words: 19689 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 98(@200wpm)___ 79(@250wpm)___ 66(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 19689 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 98(@200wpm)___ 79(@250wpm)___ 66(@300wpm)
Ryder paused for a second, and I could feel his gaze like a weight on the back of my neck. “What the hell is your problem?” he demanded. “We were… and I thought… and then…” He sounded bewildered, maybe a little hurt.
Freak. Me. Sideways.
I found myself wanting to tell Ryder the truth—that once upon a time, I’d been a total flake. That my stupid, stupid self had fucked around with a general contractor on my very first design job, long before I’d ever met him. That the contractor had screwed me… then screwed me over. That the guy had nearly cost me my career because I’d let myself be distracted. That, as attractive as I’d found Ryder—and at this point it seemed silly to deny that—I’d never really been tempted to repeat that mistake until today.
That I was crazy tempted to repeat it again.
Which couldn’t happen. Already, I was pretty sure every time I looked at Ryder from now on, I’d hear him say the words, “Want to fuck you. Right here. Right now” in my head, even when we were debating paint colors and tile options.
“I need to leave,” I said, and the last word came out like a moan.
I heard Ryder inhale sharply.
“Well, damn,” he drawled. “Guess I forgot all about you and Ryan. Guess you did too, huh?” He came right up behind me, and I tightened my hand on the knob because every part of me wanted to lean back against the solid strength of him.
“Frick you,” I said instead.
“I think you’d better call him and tell him you’re gonna have to take a rain check on your date. Maybe next New Year’s Eve.”
I shook my head. “Nonsense. This is not as bad as it looks. Not remotely! This is… what? An inch of snow? I can drive it.”
“It’s way more than an inch. You cannot ‘drive it,’” Ryder said sternly.
Seriously, what the fuck did he know about my ability to drive?
“I can,” I insisted. I turned to jog down the stairs…
And somehow found myself slipping, flying, and landing flat on my back on the driveway, arms out like a starfish in two or three inches of snow, staring up at the pink-and-white sky, with Ryder Richards looming over me. He looked a little bit angry and a whole lot worried.
“Did I hit my head?” I demanded, unable to think of any other reason he’d be looking at me in exactly that way.
“I really fucking hope not. Let me translate my request from English into Stubborn, Uptight Idiot for you: It would be tremendously irresponsible to attempt to navigate your little blue sled down an untreated road during a storm. If you can’t do it out of a sense of self-preservation, do it because it’s not fair to send an emergency responder out on unsafe roads.”
I closed my eyes and felt the snowflakes fall and melt against my burning-hot face. He wasn’t wrong.
I thought of my Granny Joyce and Grandpa Irwin, the people who’d raised me. Granny would wait up for midnight in her nightgown and robe so she could wish me a Happy New Year before she fell asleep and tell me, “This is gonna be your year, kiddo.” She’d kick Grandpa awake, and he’d roll over just long enough to yell, “Happy New Year, Colin,” before falling back asleep.
They weren’t the kind of elaborate family rituals some of my friends in Licking Thicket had, but they were mine. And with Granny and Grandpa counting on me to take care of them, I really couldn’t take my chances on the roads, no matter how badly Ryder Richards upset my equilibrium.
“Fine,” I grudgingly agreed. “You’ve made your point.”
Ryder reached down to help me up, so I lifted my hand… but instead he plucked my car keys from my fingers and stuck them in his pocket, then helped me up.
“Hey!” I scowled as he jogged up the stairs. “Give those back. I told you I agreed.”
“Trust but verify,” he called back smoothly.
I sighed heavily, brushed the wet snow from my arms, and followed. “So now what do we do?”
I found Ryder in the living room, standing by the custom-built rustic wood bar cart the party planners had stocked earlier in the day, examining bottles of alcohol. “I dunno, Kearns. I’m voting peach moonshine.”
“What? No!” I whispered furiously, as though Ruby Granger might hear me. “We can’t drink a client’s alcohol!”
“We can if we replace it,” he said reasonably. Then he cracked open the seal on the bottle, as if to prove his point.
Goddamn it. How had I lost control of this situation so thoroughly?
Then again, with Ryder Richards involved, had I ever had control in the first place?
“Not to point out the obvious, but peach moonshine is not a plan.” I ran a hand over my smooth head, trying not to panic. “Do we know how much snow we’re going to get? Do we know how low the temperature is going to drop? Do we know when we might be able to leave?”