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I pushed off his chest because I needed to put some distance between us. I needed a clear head and that couldn’t happen when his scent tempted me beyond reason, beyond what was right for two lifelong friends.
“I think you know the answer to that.” I could always count on Ryan for the truth, even when it was difficult to hear.
“It wasn’t the booze,” he answered bluntly. “It might have been that shimmery fucking dress and those shoes, but I doubt it.” His words were honest and sincere.
I nodded and took a long pull from the beer bottle, letting his words and his tone sink in. “Not the booze. Not the clothes. What was it, then?”
“Us, Persephone. It was us. We’re hot together. Face it. I have.”
I have. Those words echoed in my mind as if they were bouncing off the ridge in the distance. “And you’re okay with what happened between us?”
I blinked, breath held as I waited for his answer. If someone would have asked five minutes ago, I would have said his answer didn’t matter. That my mind was made up. Now, though, my heart raced as I watched his face, looking for any clue of what Ryan would say next.
He nodded slowly and swallowed a mouthful of beer before turning to face me, his blue eyes clear and dark. “I only have one problem with it.”
Don’t ask. Don’t ask. “What’s the problem?”
“We haven’t talked about it, and we damn sure haven’t done it again. That’s my problem with it.”
I smacked a hand over my eyes because that was the last thing I had expected Ryan to admit. “I haven’t been able to stop thinking about that night,” I admitted in return. He deserved to know that he wasn’t alone in reliving that night, but it didn’t change anything. “But I think the memories are hotter than the night actually was in real life.”
Didn’t I? I did, but when Ryan’s blue gaze turned to me, his expression saying about a million different things, I wasn’t so sure.
He arched one brow, the expression clear. Bullshit. “Is that a challenge?”
I shook my head and frowned, knowing how much he loved a challenge. “What? No. I mean, I don’t know. Maybe?” Way to make that as clear as mud.
Ryan’s deep laughter sounded and he pulled me against his side, tucking my head right under his chin. “I know exactly what you mean.”
The fact that he knew what I was feeling when it was completely incoherent was the perfect reminder of why we couldn’t do this, couldn’t pursue it any further. He was my best friend. My sounding board. Some days, I thought he knew me better than I knew myself.
I couldn’t risk it.
I wouldn’t.
Ryan
She’s finally mine. I looked down at the Speedster with a big shit-eating grin on my face. The boys weren’t here yet because it was still school hours, but I had decided to take Persephone’s advice and start on the restoration without them. It would teach them all a lesson, but it also meant I had to do a lot of the grunt work myself, which I didn’t mind. My uncle and grandpa had all started with the grunt work, learning the art and science of car repair and restoration from the ground up.
The paint needed an upgrade. The upholstery on the inside was a mess, and even the steering wheel needed, well, everything. I couldn’t wait to get to the engine, so I started by removing the battery first.
And that was as far as I made it before the phone rang. “Branson Automotive, what can I do for you today?”
“Ryan, Sherriff McCormick here. Just passed an antique broken down on the side of the road, if you’ve got time.”
The Speedster would have to wait. “When you say antique, are we talking a tractor from the nineteen-twenties or a real antique?”
His rumble of laughter put a smile on my face. “It’ll be worth the trip to the edge of town, I promise. Would’ve stopped myself but I’ve been called to JRMC for a DV.”
I rubbed a hand over my face at those words. It was easy to think in a town like Jackson’s Ridge things like domestic violence didn’t happen, but they did. They happened everywhere. The only difference was that chances were good we all knew the victim and the offender. “I’ll head out now. Thanks for the call.”
“Anytime. You start on that Speedster yet?”
“I was just about to,” I answered and took another long look at the car, knowing she would have to wait.
“Sorry.”
“No worries. When I’ve made some progress, I’ll let you know.”
When the call was over, I flashed one final look at the Porsche, grabbed the keys to the tow truck just in case it was needed, and went to find the stranger with the antique car stuck on the side of the road.
