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Raising Ryder:Episode201
Not gonna lie. I’ve kissed a lot of girls. It’s part of my paycheck. But this kiss, this girl, feels different. Her tripping into my arms has got to be divine intervention. Or a belated birthday present.
She has no idea what a solid she’s doing me. I’ll make it worth her while and autograph something later. If she hates me, she can always sell it online. For a few more months, my name will still carry cred.
Determined to keep our PDA PG, I press my palms against her back. Not because this girl’s not hot. She’s about to set that dress on fire. But because I don’t know how she’s going to react to kissingme.
Her hands move to my chest, her fingers curling and uncurling, like she can’t make up her mind if she wants to push me away or pull me closer.
I tense, waiting for her to choose, then decide to help her out. The drawbacks to my job—like the lobby ambush—are trumped by the perks. I’ve got some serious skills, and I’m gonna use them.
Sliding one hand into her hair, I move the other to cup her face and lightly brush my thumb over her cheek.
Her fingers uncurl. Her lips go soft. But it’s not until she sighs that I know I’m okay.
She tastes like peppermint, smells like spring, and the sweet sound she makes against my mouth has me dying to deepen our kiss. But I force myself to behave.
“Gabriel!” Behind me, people yell my name. Some of them call myothername, my alter ego, like they’ve got a case of disconnect between fantasy and reality.
Ignoring both, I trail my fingers through Escalator Girl’s hair, following the silky brown mass to where it ends halfway to her waist. My fingers drift dangerously close to dipping beyond the small of her back.
It’s then I know I have to stop. While the girl in my arms might be zoned out to the phones trained on us, I’m not. With a disappointed groan, I end the kiss and step back.
Escalator Girl touches her mouth in a daze, pink spreading over her face and neck.
The caveboy in me pumps his fists. He did that.Idid that.
But then her eyes clear, the superpower of my lips wears off, and she looks at me like she has kisser’s remorse.
A commotion across the hotel pulls my attention to TheDallas Daily Dishcrew entering the lobby. Tension grips my neck, rides my shoulders. They can’t be here for me. I’ve been careful to lay low. Until I paused to check out Escalator Girl’s long, long legs in that short, short dress.
The cameraman checks his equipment. The woman next to him doubles the knots in my neck. Any other reporter might let me go. Not this one. Gretchen Miles has high-school history with Mom.
Keeping Mom’s secret is nothing like playing a part. I get multiple takes to nail a scene. With Mom, I get one. And there’s a thousand ways to screw up. Between the fans and Gretchen, I just hit the screw-up jackpot.
I steal a sideways glance at the nervous girl beside me and what started as a simple escape-the-fans plan grows more complex.
Her attention darts to Gretchen and the cameraman heading our way, then comes back to me. Panic in her eyes, she scratches her wrist until red welts mar her light skin.
I can work with panic. She just needs to stay put and let me do what I do best—play a strong lead.
She pushes on my chest, then drops her hand like she didn’t mean to touch me.
Pressing my cheek against hers, I speak low into her ear. “Another minute. Please.”
She flinches like she’s going to pull away.
Ironic when I’m usually the one trying to escape. “Please.” I don’t care if it’s my double-tappleaseor my anxious tone that ends up settling her next to me, because Gretchen’s in front of us, and I’m out of time.
Slipping into the role of attentive boyfriend, I tuck Escalator Girl against my side and spread my palm across her hip, hoping my hand will have the same paralyzing power as my lips.
She squirms beside me.
“Gabriel Wade.” Gretch holds out the mic. Between her studio-styled hair and layers of makeup she still looks thirty, even though she’s in her forties like Mom. “Meredith didn’t tell me you were coming into town.” She flips on her TV smile.
Needles prick my chest, but I flip mine wider. Mom wouldn’t tell her. Mom couldn’t.
“Thinking of a career change?” Gretch glances at a banner across the lobby that reads,First Annual Cover Model Contest.
