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“You said you needed release. Someone to help you with the stress. I can help. We already have a good arrangement going here,” he points out. “So why not sweeten the deal?”
“I…”
My brain is close to short-circuiting. I want to laugh this off, tell him it’s an interesting idea but probably not a smart one. But the words won’t come out. Instead, I say something very stupid.
“I’m not sure I’m even attracted to you.”
Then I almost burst out in waves of hysterical laughter because what the hell am I even saying right now? Someone hijacked my voice and is making it spew nonsense.
Of course I’m attracted to him.
Ryder goes quiet for a second. Then he says, “All right. Hold on.”
There’s more silence, save for some rustling noises on his end followed by the unmistakable click of a camera.
When my phone buzzes from the incoming message, I stop breathing entirely.
I’m expecting a dick pic.
I get something even better.
His bare chest, impossibly broad with more muscles than I knew existed. He’s cut like stone. Abs galore. He wears a pair of low-hanging sweatpants, his thumb hooked under one corner, pulling them down even lower to provide a suggestive view of his obliques. I notice a jagged white scar on his hip, about an inch long, and wonder how he got it. I wonder what that raised, puckered skin would feel like scraping beneath my fingertips. What I’d find if I slipped my fingers under his waistband.
My mouth waters. The longer I look at the picture, the wetter I get. Everywhere.
“Well?”
The trace of amusement in his voice tells me he knows he got me speechless.
“What, no dick pic?” I say, playing it cool.
“I’ve actually never taken one of those.”
“Liar.”
“Never,” he insists.
“Why not?” I’m genuinely curious. I don’t think I’ve met a single guy my age who hasn’t sent someone a picture of his penis. Usually unsolicited.
“Why do I need to?” He sounds almost bored by the question. Until his voice turns smoky. “I’d rather see the look in a woman’s eyes when she sees it for the first time.”
“Why? Is it super spectacular?”
“Say yes to my offer and find out.”
I rub my palm over my scorching face. “Look. Prom king. You’re hot,” I acknowledge. “You know you are. But a ripped chest doesn’t tell me if there’s chemistry between us, only that you’re nice to look at.”
“You’re trying to tell me we don’t have chemistry.”
His soft chuckle makes my throat run dry.
“I don’t know. Maybe we don’t. We haven’t even kissed.” I don’t know why I’m fighting this so hard.
Well, I do know why.
Because the second I open this door, there’ll be no turning back.
And that…scares me.
“I’m not going to agree to a sex deal with someone I haven’t even kissed,” I say when he doesn’t respond.
“Okay. If that’s how you feel.”
Then he ends the call, and the only thing I feel is disbelief.
Did he seriously hang up on me?
I stare at my phone, which now displays my lock screen. He actually did.
Unless…maybe we got disconnected? I wait nearly a full minute for him to call back. But he doesn’t.
I’m in a daze when I return to the living room, where Diana and Mya are debating whether Fling or Forever is pure trash or pure genius.
Diana, obviously, is a proponent of Team Genius.
“You get to see young hot people have sex on camera while pretending to be there for the romantic dates. And then every week, a total stranger shows up and breaks up a couple against their will, and now the new couple is fucking on camera and pretending to care about the dates. Are you truly telling me this isn’t the best show ever made?”
“It’s brain cell–killing garbage. You’ll never convince me otherwise, girl.”
Diana grins at my return. “What, is game night not doing it for you anymore?”
“Who was on the phone?” Mya asks curiously.
“Luke Ryder.”
“Oooh, the enemy,” Diana says. “What did he want?”
I’m tempted to relate the entire conversation, word for word. But I’m barely able to make sense of it myself yet, let alone hash it out with my friends.
“Just hammering out our practice schedule,” I lie, taking my seat on the couch again. I reach for my Scrabble letters.
“That’s still going on?” Diana doesn’t sound as interested now that it’s about hockey.
“Yup. I’m learning a lot from him.”
We resume our game, but my head’s not in it. Even after fifteen minutes pass, I’m still internally marveling over what happened.
Honestly, the sheer audacity of this man. He tells me to use him for sex, and then when I dare to think it over, he’s like, Cool, forget it?
Who does that?
“Beety is not a word!” Mya screeches in outrage when Diana tries adding a Y to board.
“Sure it is.”
“Use it in a fucking sentence.”
“I don’t like this salad because of all the beets. It’s too beety.”
