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I’ve done my best not to think of Riddick Connors. He’s not part of my plan.
No matter how pretty he is.
“So what happened back there?” Simone doesn’t seem interested in continuing her work out. She just sits there, staring at me.
“Didn’t you see?”
“You fell.” She grabs her bottle of water and takes a sip, her chocolate eyes flicking to my face. “Did he look at you?”
I shrug. “Maybe.”
Simone nods, as if what I’ve said makes perfect sense. “Riddick doesn’t stand a chance, does he?”
Does he?
I don’t know.
Wait, I do know. No matter how pretty his gray eyes are, his dimpled smile, his powerful physique, I’m not giving up a year of hard work for a smile from Riddick.
No way. He’s not who I want. He’ll never be my prince. I want Ryan and there can be no other.
Chapter Two
Devil’s Work Cake
Riddick
Snowflakes cascade off my jacket sleeve as I lift my hand to ring my cousin Jethro’s doorbell.
But I don’t. I hesitate. He said on the phone to come over, and it made sense at the time to head on here instead of the small apartment I call home. After all, my brother Xavier isn’t there, and that reminds me of all the things I’d rather forget.
I shove my too-long hair out of my eyes.
Dammit, I should leave. Why unload my troubles on poor Jet again? He’s barely gotten his feet under him. He’s happy. He’s spending time with his lovers, Candy and Joel, and shouldn’t have to listen to me whine every time something happens.
I need to fix this. On my own. Somehow. I just need to talk to Xavier. He used to listen to me.
Taking a deep breath, I turn away from the door and shove my hands into the pockets of my thin jacket.
I’ll figure something out.
But the door behind me swings open before I take a step away. “Hey, Rid, it’s you. I thought I heard something.”
“Heard what?” I ask, irrationally irritated as I turn back around to face my cousin. “I didn’t ring, didn’t knock, didn’t make any noise.”
He cocks his head to the side, those dark eyes studying me intently. “That’s right. Why didn’t you?”
“Jet…”
“You said you weren’t far. I was getting worried. I was going out to go find you.”
“There are cell phones for that. What were you gonna do, search the streets in the snow?”
He chuckles as if I cracked a joke and drags me inside the warmth of the apartment. I’m damn cold, so I forget my objections and resolutions and let him haul me to the soft, well-worn sofa and plunk me down on the cushions.
I can’t feel my face. Or my hands. Jeez.
“Let me grab you a beer,” Jet says, and takes my silence as agreement because he steps into the kitchen, steps back out and hands me an open bottle.
