Page 40 of Direct Action

I rolled my eyes and returned them to the phone, which was a much safer place to look.

“Has anyone ever told you you’re insufferable?”

There was humor in his tone when he answered, which made me doubly happy I’d looked away. Ryan was hot all the time, even scowling and annoyed with me. Him smiling was a shock to the system that never failed to steal my breath. I needed more oxygen, not less of it, if I was going to keep my head about me and, honestly, my legs closed.

“I’ve been called a lot of things, but insufferable has not been one of them.”

“Annoying? Bossy? Irritating? Privacy invader?” I supplied more adjectives for him to choose from.

His burst of laughter caught me off guard. I hated how much I liked the sound. I hated more that my life was in the toilet and there was literally nothing to smile about, yet I felt the corner of my mouth fighting to do just that. Thankfully, I won the battle and quelled the impulse.

“Privacy invader?” he said through his waning laughter.

“You indeed invaded my privacy, Ryan.”

“You could argue me folding your panties this morning was an invasion of your privacy. Though I’d argue it, considering right now I have a pair of them in my pocket. But me driving—”

“Gah!”

Yes, I actually gahed out loud.

I didn’t want to think about him folding my panties, something I’d forgotten he’d done. It was easier to stay the course and be irritated at him for horning in and demanding to drive me across town when I’d neglected to remember he’d done something nice for me. It was something small and silly, but with everything going on, it felt huge. As far as him having a pair in his pocket, I wasn’t thinking about that at all because that would mean I’d need to think about how and why they were in his pocket, including how quickly I’d torn them off at his command and the fact I was going commando to my father’s nursing home to speak to my mother.

Commando in a skirt.

Yeah, I wasn’t thinking about that.

“We’re not talking about that,” I told him. “Ever.”

“Which part, the folding or—”

“Neither. Both. Actually, we’re blocking out the entirety of the day.”

“Sorry, Chloe, but there’s no way in hell I’m blocking out fucking you against the wall. Not after months of wanting to do just that.”

“Please,” I groaned and covered my face with my hands.

He gave it a beat before he conceded, “Okay, we can stop talking about that, and you can tell me where we’re going.”

Outplayed.

“Or we can stop talking altogether.” I suggested my preference, dropping my hands because it really was childish covering my face like a two-year-old.

“Christ,” he muttered under his breath, along with a “stubborn.”

He wasn’t wrong. I was as stubborn as the day was long. Though I liked to think of it more as being determined. But I had to admit, I was being more stubborn than usual. I blamed it on the orgasms. Now, I know what you’re thinking—an orgasm is supposed to be relaxing and in no way make a person stubborn. Under normal circumstances this would be true. But my current situation wasn’t normal—it was confusing and scary. Not only because Ryan was my boss, my father was declining, my mother had finally let the veil of grief be known, and my second job that I seriously needed was in jeopardy—but because really I needed money badly.

But I also wasn’t dumb enough to put myself in danger, which meant I had to listen to what Ryan and the guys had to say about the Vault. But also Poppy worked there, and there was no way in hell I’d leave my BFF there alone if she refused to quit.

The scariest part about all of this was I had actual feelings for Ryan. Deep feelings that I’d been able to bury. Now I wasn’t so sure I could do that anymore, and that was manifesting itself into me being a stubborn beeotch. I didn’t want to lose him. I know that sounds counterproductive; if I wanted to keep him in my life, I should have behaved the opposite of how I was behaving.

But fear makes you do crazy shit.

And as Poppy would say, I was scared out of my brain.

Thankfully we were getting close to the exit. I used that as an excuse to deflect. “You need to get off on Carmel Valley Road.”

He switched lanes. I didn’t fill the silence, and neither did he. I would’ve been appreciative, except the silence served as a reminder how unappreciative I’d been. Without question, Ryan had jumped into action. He’d heard my desperation, probably seen my panic—there was no way I’d hidden it—and just done what he felt he had to do to help me. If I wasn’t hiding all of that, it would’ve been sweet.