AllFreeNovel
Share Us
Or just be good at it.
Chapter 10
Ryker felt like a kid counting down to Christmas as he crossed each day off his calendar until at last, the week was over and he was driving his truck to Bryce’s place. His left leg was still aching, but he’d taken a few ibuprofens, beating the pain down to a negligible level.
What had really changed this week was his internal dialogue. Being with Bryce and her nieces this past month had shown him that he still had it in him to experience happiness. Unexpected moments of joy. That little window was enough to push him to be a bigger advocate of his own mental health journey. He’d admitted the same this week to Dr. Kirkland, his therapist.
“I’m suiting up for the game,” he said on their telehealth call, jamming all the doc’s favorite football metaphors into the sentences. “I’m blitzing your office in person next week, so have your playbook ready.”
Doc’s face lit up on the video call.
“Excellent choice. Having you here in person allows us to dig into how your leg pain might be ramping up your PTSD-related night terrors, and come up with some offensive strategies.” The man was practically vibrating with enthusiasm, and Ryker felt his mouth twitch in an answering smile. “There are multiple game plans for mitigating PTSD. Which reminds me—any word yet from your Paws of War application, and have you told your family yet that you’ve applied for a service dog?”
“Negative on both counts,” Ryker said. “I don’t want them to get their hopes up. I love my brothers, but they tend to…take matters into their own hands. Solve problems that aren’t theirs to solve.”
“Sounds like someone else I know,” Dr. Kirkland said. And Ryker had enough sessions with the man to know that the doc was referencing Ryker’s own hero complex. “Consider, though, how good it makes you feel to help someone out—to solve their problem. Your family are no different.”
While the therapist’s words echoed in his brain, involving his family in his PTSD battle and encroaching HO was the last thing he wanted to think about tonight. Not when he’d finally gotten the opportunity to spend time alone with a woman who’d occupied his every waking thought since meeting her at the grocery store.
“C’mon in! It’s unlocked,” she called out at his knock, and he entered.
The layered aromas inside made Ryker’s mouth water. The smell of butter, braising meat, and herbs was almost as tantalizing as the sight of the chef herself. Almost, because once he’d caught sight of Bryce, her blade flashing as she chopped something on her cutting board and her cheeks flushed from the heat of the stove, his heart gave a mighty squeeze in his chest. Was there ever any woman so stunning and capable in all this world as Bryce?
He closed the door and came to a dead halt as he saw what she was wearing. A storm-cloud-colored dress lay against her curves, making the skin it revealed in the V-neck at the top look like it was glowing. The dress ended a few inches above her knees, hugging her hips and thighs in a way that made him jealous of the fabric, wanting to skim his palms, then his lips, over that same area, kissing all the way to the insides of those sweet thighs. The dress cinched in the middle, and for a long, hot moment, he found himself staring at the knot of fabric tied to the side, willing that sucker to come apart…
“Hey.” Her voice thankfully interrupted him before he stared long enough to be a real jackass. Her eyes sparkled and she gave him that frank assessing head-to-toe examination only she made sexy as hell. “I hope you aren’t a vampire.”
Ryker set the bottle of red wine he’d grabbed at the liquor store on the stainless-steel prep island, well away from the bowls of vegetables and cutting boards arrayed on top. His thoughts, still chugging in L1 gear after being gobsmacked by her appearance, ground out no clever rejoinders. Not for the first time he wished he was one of Drake’s main characters in those new romance novels he was writing between his horror books—those guys were never at a loss for words, and they could charm the pants off everyone without breaking a sweat.
But he wasn’t the hero of a romance. He was more like the hapless dude in one of Drake’s classic horror books—the throwaway secondary character who got killed off to amp up the external conflict.
“Uh,” he began, feeling the back of his neck get hot under the flannel shirt he’d thrown on with a pair of jeans and what sufficed for fancy shoes—his specially modified Chuck Taylors—after his post-work shower. He’d opted not to wear a baseball cap, and hoped he’d chosen attire appropriate for a cooking date. However, at the sight of her outfit, he felt very underdressed and worried this was sending the wrong message. Did women assume if you dressed casually you thought they weren’t important? He wished he’d consulted Zander before coming tonight. Kicking himself inwardly, he focused on her vampire comment. “I don’t bite, if that’s what you mean.”
Bryce looked up from the pan where she’d shaken a bunch of mushrooms in that cool chef way where food flies in the air but miraculously lands back in the pan, all flipped to cook evenly, and she grinned. “No? Not ever? Too bad.”
The flirty words startled a smile out of him, and he immediately felt more at ease. She must have forgiven him for wearing all the wrong things if she was flirting. Right?
Then he spotted the garlic cloves lined up on the cutting board, and her question made more sense.
“Oh, garlic. I love garlic. And you. I mean, being with you,” he began, and then, to his horror, his mouth kept running, spewing out words as if his brain had lurched from L1 to sport-mode without a clutch. “I feel like I owe you a huge apology. I’m not good at talking to women. Or people in general. Unless it’s about cars, my conversation skills are rusty. I guess what I’m saying is I’m sorry for my bonehead actions. For leaving you to assume things because that was easier than explaining them. It was a dick move, and that paperwork I got signed wasn’t to be creepy or presumptuous, but my way of saying—”
“Shhhh.”
Bryce stepped up to him, putting a finger against his lips. It smelled like rosemary—invigorating and delicious. He hadn’t been sure where he was going with the rambling explanation-slash-apology-slash-weirdo-come-on, but his whole being went on high alert as her finger trailed down his mouth to his chin. When she traced it down his neck, splaying her palm on his chest, his breath stalled in his throat.
Bryce edged closer, closing the gap between them, her gaze never leaving his as she tilted her head up…
And she kissed him.
It wasn’t a sweet, “aww, you’re such a nice pal” kind of kiss, either. Her lips were soft, yet, after meeting his briefly, almost questioningly, she came in hot. Her hand gripped the back of his head, and when his tongue traced her lips, she opened her mouth, allowing him to taste her.
God, was she good.
His momentary surprise evaporated, and he wrapped his arms around her, feeling the heat of her through her dress. His palm splayed over her back, moving up to cup her neck, bring her closer, closer.
“I—I’m burning,” she gasped against his mouth.
“Mmm,” he hummed agreement, kissing down the sweet curve behind her ear. “You are smoking hot.”
