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I shake my head to clear it and cross my arms over my chest. “You can’t bring me flowers.”
“Why can’t I bring you flowers?” he asks with the mildest of curiosity.
My emotional state goes from baffled to flustered.
“Who brings somebody flowers?” I demand.
He sends me a thoughtful look. “I imagine a lot of people bring somebody flowers. Or that florist would’ve gone out of business a long time ago.”
“But that’s…” I chew on his words for a little while and come up with nothing, so I move on to the next issue. “We talked about this!”
He frowns. “Flowers? I don’t think we’ve ever talked about flowers before. Ever. Which is interesting because we talk a lot. About everything, if you think about it. Never flowers, though.”
“Not the fucking flowers,” I grouse. “This! We talked about this!” I gesture between the two of us.
He looks back with a blank expression.
“How we’re keeping it casual?” I prompt.
“Yeah. I remember,” he says, still with that blank look, like he doesn’t get how bringing me flowers has anything at all to do with that.
Just… My fucking God, this has to be a prank, right? Right?
“Then what’s with the fucking flowers?” I grit out.
He pours himself a glass of water and takes a long drink. “I just told you. Research.”
I eye him warily.
“Try not to hyperventilate,” he says. “It’s a few flowers, not a…” He purses his lips for a moment. “I was gonna say not a wedding ring, but that’s already been there, done that territory, isn’t it?” He snaps his fingers. “It’s not a joint mortgage.”
His lips twitch.
I send him a dirty look. So nice we can joke about that. But he’s looking at me curiously, like he’s observing a volcano that’s about to erupt, and no, I’m not gonna do that because I’m cool, calm, and collected, damnit.
“Okay.” I rub my fingertips over my forehead. “Okay. Fine. I hear you. Just flowers.”
He nods, an amused look on his face.
“Thank you,” I mutter.
“You’re welcome,” he says easily.
I still feel sort of unbalanced. Sort of like I’ve been played, but I’m not quite sure how. Or why.
It’s an uncomfortable place to be, but at least I know how to get us back into familiar territory.
I hook my fingers into the waistband of his sweats and pull him forward. He plasters himself against me with an amused quirk of his lips and raises his eyebrow at me.
“Whatcha doing?” he asks, laughter in his voice.
“If you don’t understand by now, I’m really not as memorable as I’d like to think.” I cup his dick through his pants. He’s getting hard right against my palm, and a shiver of anticipation runs through my body.
I move my hand up and down a few times. He drops his arms over my shoulders, loosely tangling them around my neck. There’s a lazy smirk on his face that’s stupidly attractive. His mouth descends on mine, and I melt against him for a moment because it’s good. It’s always so fucking good with him. Being kissed by Ryker is like being savored. Sure lips. Hot breaths. Talented tongue. If kissing were a competition, he’d win every time.
I start to push my hand into his pants, but before I can properly do that, he catches my wrist.
“What are you doing?” I ask, lips still against his, so my voice comes out weirdly muffled.
