Page 5 of No Good Fight

God.

I am so unbelievably screwed because of my attraction to him.

“You should stop looking at him like that,” Josh says beside me.

I nearly choke on air.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Alex.”

“I’m serious.”

“You stopped breathing for a second.”

“That is medically impossible, dick pickle.”

Josh grins wider.

I hate him. Mostly because he’s right.

Ryder starts walking toward us again, and every survival instinct I possess immediately screams at me to act normal, to not give away the childhood crush that’s apparently decimating my insides. Which would probably be easier if he didn’t look like a fucking action hero. Smoke curling around him. Soot streaked across his throat. Broad shoulders filling out turnout gear in a way that should honestly be illegal.

And those eyes.

Jesus.

The closer he gets, the worse the problem becomes.

“You get your pictures?” he asks me.

“Some.”

“You eat dinner yet?”

I blink at him.

“What?”

Josh actually coughs into his coffee beside me.

Traitor.

Ryder doesn’t even look embarrassed.

“You heard me.”

“No, I heard you. I’m just confused why you’re asking.”

His gaze holds mine steadily.

“Because you forget to eat when you work or are on a deadline.”

The answer lands somewhere low in my chest hard enough to hurt.

Because that means he’s noticed.

Not once.