Page 8 of One Mistake

We didn’t spend any more time talking until morning.

3

Reese

Avery had impeccable timing. And a bag of burgers. What she didn’t have was the good sense not to poke the bear. And at this moment, I was the damned bear. Unamused and attached to Ryder’s crotch by my hair. I tried to ignore him. To ignore every shift of his hips that brought his dick closer to my face, but there was no way he was doing it on accident, or from discomfort.

She set the bag on the table next to the bed, the same table that had a picture of me and my mother together, and gave my hair a solid jerk. “Ow!”

“I’ll get some scissors.” Which served me right but made my throat thick. I didn’t want a haircut. Especially a chunk from the front. She turned to go for the bathroom and I glanced at Ryder. What kind of god made such a beautiful specimen of a man and let him turn into an asshole like this one? It was a question I’d asked myself a thousand times. I’d asked everyone I knew. Sought out preachers and ministers, even a rabbi, and no one had a sufficient answer.

“As I remember it…” He cleared his throat and twisted his hips again. “You used to like…”

“Shut up.” Nope. We were absolutely not walking down that memory lane.

“I was just going to say you used to like a little hair pulling.” He pulled his bottom lip between his teeth and sucked in a breath that sounded like a groan. It was his signature move. Sexy. Suggestive. Hot. “I liked it, too.” Then the bastard closed his eyes and licked his lips.

I should’ve looked away. Shouldn’t have looked down at his dick. Shouldn’t have closed my eyes, remembering the feel of him in my mouth, the taste of him on my tongue. Certainly, shouldn’t have moaned.

“You know what else I liked?” His voice was low and deep, soft and smooth.

Thank God, Avery returned before I could answer the question. I didn’t even care when she hacked the strands of my hair off because the last thing I needed was to make a fool of myself over him. Again.

“I’m not going to ask.” I appreciated that about her, and I nodded as she frowned. “But a good friend would tell.” She crossed her arms. “Just saying.”

“She wants me.” He wiggled his eyebrows and I wanted to punch him. Not because it wasn’t true—I definitely still wanted him—but because I’d kicked my bad boy habit a long time ago and he was testing my resolve in ways I didn’t think I was strong enough to resist.

“Shut up, Ryder.”

“It’s okay, sweetheart. I’ve used the highlight reel of our time together as a kickstarter a few times, myself.” He grinned. “No shame.”

“If there’s really a highlight reel, I swear to God, I’m going to use these very dull scissors and a butter knife to change your religion.” God only knew how many videos he had of us. Although, I supposed I should thank him for not putting them on the internet when he loaded all the others of his friends having sex. But a little part of me—a part I buried underneath twenty three tattoos, monthly visits to the salon, and enough eyeliner I could make the eyes of everyone in this room pop—wondered why he hadn’t been proud enough to put our…liasons…online.

Before I could come up with something snide, he chuckled. “Only in my memory, babe.”

I rolled my eyes, stood, and walked to the door.

“Hey, this is your little criminal enterprise. Where are you going?” Avery’s panic would’ve been comical had she not been right.

I turned never taking my hand off the knob. “To buy a shock collar.” Although I couldn’t decide who needed it more. Him for all his dirty talk or me for wanting to hear more.

I didn’t leave. I couldn’t. Not only was her car parked behind mine, but I couldn’t make my feet move. My brain and my body wouldn’t work together. My brain was screaming at me to give this up, but my body wanted to march back into that room and let him go. I’d watched enough Orange Is The New Black to know I wouldn’t do well in prison. Instead, I sat in the chair by the back door.

Felicity came up from the basement, goggles still over her eyes, circular saw in her hand. “Where are the new blades?”

I took an exaggerated look around the kitchen. “At the hardware store.”

She shook her head and puffed out her lower lip. “Why aren’t you taking this seriously? This was your…thing.”

My thing was vibrating with need. “I know.”

She’d designed the contraption that would keep Ryder prisoner until I could figure out what to do about him. In the sober light of day, I couldn’t believe I’d done this. Could less believe my sober and normally very well put-together friends had gone along with it. Usually, they tempered my craziness. But they’d both been victims of the video scandal, so maybe they wanted a little revenge too. I certainly couldn’t judge.

“How long until this thing’s ready?”

She chuckled. “It’s finished. I was just building a shelf over your dryer.” Before I could stop her, or even tell her how unsettling and unsanitary I found it, she hopped onto the counter. “So, did you look at his junk? Did it get better with age?”

“What? It’s not wine, Fliss. Penises do not get better with age.”