Page 15 of Direct Action

“Chloe.”

“No freaking way, Ryan. If you’re worried about it interfering with my shifts at the bar, you have nothing to worry about.”

“You sleep talking says otherwise.”

I wasn’t sleep talking. I was mostly lucid and following along with what he was saying.

“I’ve been working two, sometimes three jobs for the last nine months,” I told him. “And I’ve never missed a shift.”

I straightened and yawned, turned my head, shifted my hands so I could rest them on my knees, then bent in half again and rubbed my cheek over my knuckles.

What I wouldn’t give for a bed and a solid eight hours of sleep.

With the money I made at the Vault I was almost there. I just needed a few months, then I’d have the money back in the bank I’d drained when times had gotten übertight, and I could cut back to only three nights at the Vault instead of five and easily keep up with my share of my dad’s health care costs and maybe afford to keep my fridge stocked.

I closed my eyes and saw my dad—a much younger version of him—smiling back at me. Back when he recognized me ten out of ten times when he saw me.

Almost.

I could keep this pace for another few months.

I had to.

“Chloe.”

“Mm.”

“Chloe.”

God, I loved his rough, deep voice. Especially when it wrapped around my name like warm honey. I clenched my thighs. I knew what came next—my clothes would be torn off. There was nothing slow about the way Ryan undressed me. It was always frenzied. As soon as he got his hands on me, he went into hyperdrive, like he couldn’t wait to get to the good stuff. Fabric ripped, hands roamed, teeth scraped down my neck.

“Chloe.”

Impatient as always. I reached out, wanting to feel his hot skin under my palms. But instead of bare flesh my hand encountered rough material.

“Why are you wearing clothes?” I grumbled.

My wrist was seized. Unyielding fingers pressed into my skin. Now we were getting somewhere.

I moaned my appreciation. Anticipation pooled in my belly. Next, he’d pin my wrists above my head, his lips would tease their way down my throat, over the swell of my breast. His tongue would circle my nipple until I begged him to continue.

Suddenly a shrill noise made me jolt upright. Strong hands curled around my shoulders at the same time my eyes popped open, and Ryan’s face filled my vision. Confusion and fear battled for the top spot in my groggy mind.

My gaze dropped to my bed, his jean-covered thighs, then to my ringing phone in his hand.

What in the world was happening?

“Am I still dreaming?”

“As much as I’d love to hear about what we were doing in your dream, I think you need to answer this.” He held up my phone. “This is the third call in a row.”

“What? How? Why?”

“Chloe. Answer your phone.”

I shook off some of the sleep and took my phone. My mother’s name on the screen made the last vestiges of grogginess evaporate.

With my heart slamming into my ribs, I quickly answered her call. “Mom? Everything okay?”