He half-heartedly nods. “Give him time. He’ll soon wear you down.”
He doesn’t need to say Ryan’s name for me to know who he is referencing. Every night Ryan drives me home, Jet’s suspicions grow. He’s just waiting for me not to arrive the next day. He has no reason for concern. Ryan doesn’t have the means to look after me, and in all honesty, I don’t want him to. I love that Ryan is a working-class man. Everything he has, he earned himself. Even when peeved with jealousy, I admire that about him.
“Bye.” I lean in to press a kiss to Jet’s cheek. Abby Rowe may not kiss her friends goodbye, but Savannah Fontane does, even when he makes her ugly green head rear for the first time in a decade.
Chapter 16
Savannah
The first person I spot when I exit the back door of Vipers is Ryan. Unlike the past week, he isn’t leaning against his patrol car. He has his knee braced on his truck. The very same truck he owned when he was a teen. The truck we. . .
I fan my cheeks, suddenly overheated.
“Night off?” I ask, pushing off my feet to head Ryan’s way.
His foot falls from his truck, his braced stance indicating he is ready to chase me if I run. “Yep,” he replies, eyeing me hesitantly.
The hardness in his eyes weakens when I glide my hand along the overworked curve of his front fender. “She’s always had entrancing curves,” I murmur in a breathy moan.
I’ve always loved Ryan’s truck. I’m glad to see he has taken good care of her the past decade.
“Yeah, she has,” Ryan replies, his voice drenched with candor.
When I raise my eyes to his, he drops his heavy-hooded gaze from my skirt-covered backside to his feet. My smile grows when I notice he is wearing running shoes.
“Come prepared tonight?”
I inwardly cringe. My voice iswaytoo husky. I sound like I’m seconds from climaxing.Damn Jet and his nosey-nancying.Now I’m not just looking at the attractive attributes visible outside Ryan’s clothing, I’m thinking about the desirable ones his clothes are hiding from my perverted gaze.
The chance of dampening my excitement flies out the window when Ryan smirks a boyish grin. His smile does wicked things to my insides—thingsI shouldn’t be feeling.
“You snooze, you lose,” Ryan murmurs, his words as breathless as my lungs.
I tap my tennis shoes together to show I understand his challenge. The scuffs on my stilettos can’t be undone, and my walls are slowly crumbling. Ryan was the first man to break through my walls years ago, so it is logical he is the same one breaking through them again ten years later.
“Why do you show up every night, Ryan?” My voice isn’t angry or snarky. I’m not looking for a fight. I’m honestly curious to hear his reply. “Your disapproval of my choices was expressed without hesitation last week, so why subject yourself to it over and over again?”
Ryan’s shoulder touches his ear. “Who am I to judge your choices?”
I’m tempted to shout, “My boyfriend and lover,” before I realize he is neither of those things. I don’t even know if he is my friend. We’ve spoken more tonight than we have the past week.
Before I can voice a more suitable reply, Ryan’s cell buzzes. While keeping one eye on me, he digs it out of his pocket. My thighs press together when a blistering smile stretches across his face.Damn, I’ve missed this man’s grin.
Just as quickly as excitement blazed my veins, anger follows it. That smile wasn’t elicited by a message from Brax. That’s his smile when he’s wooing someone out of her panties. I know this, as it is the one he always gave when sliding my panties down my thighs.
Oh my god—is he hooking up in front of me?!
My first thought is to slap his phone out of his hand before inflicting my anger on his cheek. But since Ryan suffered a violent childhood, I harness my anger before resorting to the tactic I always use when times get rough.
I run.
With my endeavor to evade him at fever-pitch, I charge for the bush instead of the roadside, reaching it in three heart-thrashing seconds. Because Ryan is distracted returning the text message of the person responsible for him grinning like a lovesick idiot, he fails to notice I’m fleeing until I’m a good three to four hundred feet into the scrub.
I realize he’s spotted me when he grumbles, “For fuck’s sake, Savannah.”
Peering over my shoulder, I watch him put away his phone before he pushes off his feet to chase me down. It’s utterly ludicrous for me to think I can outrun him, but I sprint like the finish line is in my sights. The prickly hedges scratch my thighs, but I ignore them, more determined than ever.
Just as I reach an opening near the freeway, Ryan’s long strides catch up with me. I’ve barely forced out my first set of demands when he opens the passenger door of his truck to throw me inside.
