Page 88 of No Good Fight

“I dare you to stop checking the monitors for ten minutes.”

He gives the screens one last look before turning them off with the remote and then setting it on the cushion. “Done.”

“That was alarmingly brave.”

“I’m a hero.” He shrugs. “And you dared me.”

“Don’t ruin it.”

The storm cracks hard enough to rattle the windows. I flinch before I can stop myself, and Ryder’s hand comes down to the edge of the cushion near my shoulder. Not touching. Close enough that I can take him if I want.

I do.

I reach up and hook two fingers around his. He lets me pull his hand onto my shoulder, where the weight of it warms through my sweater and steadies more than I want to admit.

“My turn,” I say, because staying light is easier than thanking him or putting a name to our connection.

I flip the top card. Queen of hearts.

“Truth,” Ryder says.

“That feels suspiciously on-brand for right now.”

“You made the rules.”

I tap the card against my knee, watching his hand on my shoulder instead of his face.

“I’ll spare you.” He squeezes my shoulder. “Do you want to sleep with me tonight again?” The honest need in his voice is intense. “I want you to, but I don’t want to pressure you.”

“Yes.” I give him the truth, and I’m glad he asked so that I don’t have to feel like I’m pushing him later.

Before I can say anything else, Ryder flips the next card. Three of diamonds.

“Truth.” His voice is low.

There are safer questions. Easier ones. Favorite meal. Worst call. Whether he saved the picture I sent him yesterday, even though I already know the answer because I’m just as obsessed with him right now as he seems to be of me, but I’m not going to tell him that…not yet.

Thunder moves closer. The lights flicker, dimming just long enough for Ryder’s fingers to flex against me again. He stops himself from reaching for the remote.

I stop pretending I don’t see every effort he makes.

“How long?” I ask.

His hand goes still. “How long what?”

I look up at him then. “How long have you really loved me?”

The room changes without either of us moving. Rain lashes against the glass. The cards sit scattered across the rug between my knees, ridiculous and bright, while Ryder looks at me like I just opened a door he has spent years standing outside waiting for an opportunity to walk through.

He leans forward, forearms on his thighs, his hand sliding from my shoulder only because the angle forces it. “Alex.”

“Truth,” I remind him, quieter now.

He looks toward the window, not away from me exactly, but enough to gather the answer before it escapes him. “A long time.”

“That’s not an answer.”

“It’s the only clean one I can give you. The only one that saves what’s left of our friendship.”