by Teagan Kade
He rises and reaches for a bottle of champagne in the middle of the table, popping the cork and filling my glass.
“How the hell did you smuggle champagne in here?” I laugh.
He simply smiles and slides the glass towards me, fizzing and popping. “Like I said, the nurses really dig me.”
“And the plates,” I pick up a fork, “the fancy cutlery?”
“My charms also extend to the greater hospital staff. Apparently, they keep this stuff around for visiting dignitaries and so on, to which you most assuredly qualify.”
He takes a seat opposite me and lifts his glass, holding it there by the end. “To you,” he says, “the most beautiful amnesia patient I’ve ever had the pleasure of dining with.”
I clink his glass with my own. “The one and only, I hope.”
The champagne is a welcome distraction when it hits my tongue, the pasta even better after days of lackluster hospital food that’s seven shades of gray. And the company? Well, that’s not so bad either.
The conversation flows easily, turning to Ryder’s past, something he’s kept rather guarded until now.
“I was the American poster boy. The real deal,” he tells me, fork hovering over his plate. I was quarterback, kicking ass on the field. Life was good, you know?”
I fill in the blank. “But?”
He places the fork down. “Life just changes in an instant. I got injured, bad, which put a stop on any kind of football career I was considering, my parents they… my sister…”
“You have a sister?”
I’m not prepared for the empty look that follows, but I read what I can in it. “Oh, I’m sorry.”
He attempts a smile. “It was a while ago now.”
“You want to talk about it?”
There’s a pause where I see him struggling. He’s tossing up whether to tell me or not, how much he can invest into this relationship. “I can’t, not yet, but I want you to know I will, when the time’s right, okay?”
“Okay,” I nod.
He changes the subject. “How’s the pasta?”
I lick my lips. “Not too bad, but I think the scampi was overcooked by thirty seconds or so?”
Ryder’s eyebrows lift. “You do?”
Something comes back to me, elbowing its way into my head—a kitchen, pots and pans. My eyes go wide. “Holy hellballs, I think maybe I was a chef?”
“You do?”
I stand up from my chair, hands braced against the side of the table, fragments of memories returning, of dishes and tastes and the fleeting scent of rosewater. “I mean, yeah, I think so.”
I can’t help my excitement. I cup my hands around my mouth, shouting out aloud. “I’m a chef!”
Ryder places his napkin down and stands, coming around to meet me, taking me in his arms, dancing with me there on the rooftop.
“She’s a chef!” he shouts in tandem.
I’m deliriously happy, spinning around with Ryder until the world’s a starry blur. We stop together, watching each other, breathing hard in the no man’s land between us.
I see the want in his eyes, the hunger there and it’s palpable. I move my head forward, but Ryder beats me to it, meeting my mouth. His lips press against mine and I flutter anew, working my tongue into his mouth and wanting more, everything of him. He holds me tight, a hand moving up the back of my neck, gripping me lightly there as we kiss.
It’s everything I wanted and so, so much more, the sensation levelling up until it’s near unbearable, the mix of textures, the taste of his lips and mouth too much. A breeze rushes under my hospital gown and I know even that won’t be enough to stifle the intense heat growing there.
I pull back breathless, lips parted. “Did we…?”
He smiles. “We did.”
His hand slides down my back, threatens to go further when we both turn as the elevator chimes.
We separate automatically, jumping apart as if by electric shock
A male nurse walks from the elevator doors lighting up a cigarette, spots us, stops, moves on over to the edge of the roof.
I can still taste Ryder, feel the phantom pressure of his lips on mine. I start to consider what it would be like to have that pressure applied elsewhere.
“I guess we should call it a night,” I offer, because it seems the right thing to say.
“Yeah,” he admits, though I can see the conflict there. If it wasn’t for that interruption, I’m pretty sure I’d be pressed up against the wall of the elevator shaft right about now, far more than his tongue to contend with.
I look sideways at the table. “What about all this?”
Another smile. “Did I mention my charm extends to the cleaning staff?”
CHAPTER FIVE
RYDER
It’s requiring every ounce of willpower I have not to walk Ruby right out of here. I need her, need to touch her and hold her and be inside her more than I need to fucking breathe right now. Given a hospital bed and an open door aren’t exactly conducive to heated sexual frenzy, however, it seems I’ll have to wait.
Ruby’s sitting up in bed. We’re just watching each other, the early ’90s box set above providing a low laugh track.
“Thank you,” she says, fingers playing with mine at the edge of the bed. “I’ve been on a few dates, but that, that, my friend, took the cake.”
“Friend?” I question. “Is that all I am?”
She tucks her lips together before speaking, a light blush building in her cheeks. “Perhaps a friend with benefits if you play your cards right.”
I bring my other hand up to stroke her leg, shift it higher and higher until it’s brushing against the hem of her gown. “And how would one play said cards correctly?”
The blush becomes a full-on outbreak. I’ve never seen anything so gorgeous. She’s luminous, even under the harsh fluorescents above. “I wouldn’t want to give away the game now.”
I yawn, turn sideways to try and ward it off.
“Am I boring you?” she laughs.
I shake my head, stifling another yawn attack, eyes fluttering. “Not at all, I’m just…”
“…Tired?” she fills. “When was the last time you slept. Come to think of it, have you slept at all?”
I don’t reply, but I think my face gives it away. That and the fact I probably look like the walking dead.
“You should go home,” Ruby says, reaching up and placing her hand on my arm. It burns there, a hot iron.
“I shouldn’t leave you.”
“What do you think is going to happen? Little blue men are going to come and beam me away? I’m going to head out sightseeing? Come on, I’ll be perfectly fine and you sure look like you could use some Zs.” She brushes my hand off her leg. “Go on, before I freaking spontaneously combust here.”
Fact is, I am tired. It’s probably been fifty hours or more since I slept.
Reluctantly, I let go of her hand, standing and leaning over her. I place my mouth to hers and everything is right in the world once more. Our lips part slowly, eyes locking in that wonderful limbo once more. “I won’t be long.”
She nods. I sense hesitation, but she’s right. I’m no good to her if I’m falling off the chair.
I stop in the doorway and it’s déjà vu. Some string, some distant thread, tries to tug me back, but the urge to sleep is stronger.
I give her a short wave and head out, exhaling long and deep as I go.
*
My truck rumbles up a gear as I accelerate onto the freeway. Rush hour finished long ago, the roads relatively empty this time of night.
I call up my friend Carlos from the station. Poor bastard never seems to sleep, busy either working out or working on whatever female company he’s brought home. You couldn’t ask for a better wingman.
He answers with a drawl, voice louder than I expected through the car speaker. “Holy fucking shit, could it be? We thought you’d switched up professions, bro, tried your hand at brain surgery.”
“Ver
y funny,” I reply.
“You know the captain’s fuming right, you taking all this leave.”
“He’ll get over it.”
“You know what they say about getting attrac—”
“Yeah, yeah,” I cut him off, “but she’s different, alright?”
I can almost see him rolling his eyes. “I’ve heard that before, brother.”
“Have you? Because it sure as hell feels like the first time I’ve dusted it off in a while. Well, since…” I let it hang.
“So, tell me then, how is this Jane Doe any different from the fifty other broads you’ve swung over your shoulder?”
“She’s…” I start, but trying to articulate my feelings for Ruby seems impossible.
“She’s got a great rack, vagina like a rubber band and good old child-bearing hips, yeah?”
“Fuck you,” I laugh. “This from someone who’s last lay tried to, what was it? Peg you?”
“Hey, hey, that particular road is one-way only, you know what I’m saying?”
“Can’t say I do.”
A brief pause. “Anyhow,” I continue, “any word from the PD?”
“About the fire? Nah, the boys in blue are still looking into it, one of our guys joining them today down at the scene. It was a wild one. You’ve got bigger balls than I do rushing into it like that.”
“It’s not my balls—” I stop, conscious of a car running far too close to me in the rearview.
“Ryder, you there?”
“Hang on.”
This prick’s basically tailgating me, on a fucking freeway. I’m not even in the fast lane.
“Sorry, man, got this wacko right up my ass.”
“And I thought you said you didn’t take it up your…”
His words fade away as I concentrate on the headlights behind me, moving lanes and shifting with me.
“What the fuck?” I whisper.
“Ryder? Hey, what’s going on?”
“I’ll call you back,” I announce, shutting off the call.
I accelerate, but the car picks up as well, rushing towards my rear end.
I shake my head and hit the brakes, lightly at first to check him.
Instead he goes flying around beside me, engine roaring.
I expect him to overtake, but he sits there next to me.
His windows are tinted dark, far too dark to see through.
I ease off the speed, but he matches…
…before swinging right into the side of me.
My trucks goes hard right, forcing me to wrangle the steering wheel. “The fuck!” I yell, mashing the horn.
The car slams into the side of me again, enough to knock my side mirror off. It goes clattering down the freeway.
There’s another solid crunch as we connect again, but this is a big truck.
Anger rises up in me. I consider swinging back into him.
And force him off the road? Set you up for a nice little lawsuit when he axes himself on the nearest pylon?
“Fuck you!” I shout, knowing he can’t hear me.
I slam on the brakes instead, the mystery car flying past me down the freeway.
I pull off to the side and watch it go, lights fading to pinpricks in the darkness.
I take a moment to collect myself, shaking my head. “The fuck was that?” I say aloud, not sure what in the hell just happened, but it wouldn’t be the first time I’ve come across crazy at this time of night.
Sometimes, crazy is as crazy does.
And you can’t do a damn thing about it.
CHAPTER SIX
RUBY
I’m a mess when Ryder arrives back in the morning.
He’s by my bed in a second flat, eyes darting around the room for the source of my tears. “Hey, hey, hey,” he says, hands on my arms. “What’s going on?”
I’m sitting up in bed, my hair hanging around my face. “They say I have to leave. I don’t have insurance and I’m not sick, so…”
He pulls back. “Fuck that. They can’t kick you out.”
I jerk my head at the papers on the bedside. “According to those they can.”
He picks them up, scans through them. “Ah, hell.”
He stands, hands leaving me. “I’ll be right back, okay?”
“Where are you going?”
“Trust me.”
I nod because I do. He’s the only person I can seem to trust in this whole damn place, maybe even this whole damn world.
It’s fifteen minutes before he returns again, enough time to wipe away my tears and try to pull myself together into some semblance of a human being. I pull my hair back between my ears, even now, even here, trying to make myself look my best for him. I know every time he appears I blush like an idiot, a schoolgirl, but I can’t help it.
He enters and takes up the same sentinel position by my bed, reaching for my hand. “You’re coming with me. I’ve already talked to Doctor Cole, filled in my side of the paperwork. They just need an autograph from you and we’re good to go.”
“Go where?” I ask.
“My place, of course,” he smiles. “And yeah, it’s not really the Taj Mahal, but it’s got two rooms and nothing beeps or squawks at you twenty-four hours a day. The food’s probably not much better, but hey, at least we can order in, right?”
“I can’t possibly ask this of you… expect—”
He places a finger against my slips, silencing me. “I want to do this, Ruby. I got your meds off the doc, the rundown of what to do should you start to recall anything, phone numbers out the wazoo. You’re good to go.”
“Really?” I can’t help but start to smile.
“Really.” Ryder smiles back. “Now, what do we need to pack?”
My eyes hunt around the room. “Um, I don’t think I have anything.”
He seems to notice my hospital gown for the first time, eyes lingering longer than they should on my chest. “Oh. Ah,” he scratches his head, “there’s a mall back down the road. Can you give me another twenty?”
I let myself fall back into my pillow. “I’ve got all the time in the world. Well, twenty-four hours before I’m evicted, at least.”
“What size are y—” But he stops himself when he realizes I probably don’t know the answer.
He leans forward to kiss me. “I’ll figure it out,” and he’s rushing out the door, just like that.
An hour later he returns with a bunch of shopping bags, heaving them up onto the bed. “So, I, ah, just kind of bought everything.”
I rifle through the bags, laughing. “Just how many clothes did you buy?”
“Let’s just say the credit card’s going to be burning for a while. It’s fine,” he tells me, throwing a thumb over his shoulder. “I’ll just wait outside. Pick whatever you want.”
*
Ryder’s place is a quaint bungalow on a quiet street, the complete opposite of the bachelor pad I was expecting.
He wasn’t kidding about buying everything, but I managed to find a nice cream blouse in the mix and matching skirt, pair of Chuck Taylors that were, to my surprise, a perfect fit.
I walk behind him up the stairs to the front door, stop on the porch taking everything in. “How long have you been here?”
He fishes for the keys in his pocket.
“It was my parents’ place, actually.”
“What happened to them?” I ask. “Honestly. You can tell me. You can trust me.”
He stops and exhales. “They died, with my sister. Car accident coming to my birthday dinner.” He fiddles with his ear. “Dispatch didn’t know who they were, sent out the call for an MVA. Guess who showed up at the scene unaware.”
“You,” I fill.
“Yeah, and trust me, that’s a sight you can’t simply wipe away. I don’t think I’ll ever forget it.”
I come forward, placing my head to his chest. “Thank you,” I tell him. “Thank you for telling me.”
“Come on,” he says, “let’s go in.”
I follow
him in, wait until the door closes before grabbing his hand and tugging him back towards me.
“Ryder?”
“Yes.”
I lift myself and find his face with my hands, press my lips to his and let that fluttering become a summer storm, let it fill me from head to toe.
He reacts, holding my face in turn and returning the kiss with more force, more hunger than I expected, the world starting to twist and turn around us, that hunger building and twisting in tandem inside me.
Because I want him. I want Ryder and nothing else. I want to open myself to him, give him everything and never look back.
“Take me,” I tell him, pressing my forehead to his so I can speak.
“Take me all.”
CHAPTER SEVEN
RYDER
I drive her against the wall, my hand running under her skirt to drag her panties down. She lifts a foot and I unhook them off, tossing them to the side, never breaking the kiss above.
Caught syllables between kisses. “Ry-der, yes, yes.”
Finally, my fingers find her sweet pussy wet and ripe and completely ready for me.
I kneel and take hold of her ankle, place her foot on my shoulder. Already I can smell the heady aroma of her sex.
I don’t waste any time. I dip my head under her skirt and lap at the slick heat between her legs. It’s better than I ever imagined, my cock so hard it fucking hurts, desperate to be released and find its way inside her tight hole.
She moans as I concentrate on her clit, lathing at it slowly and then faster, building a rhythm I know will be completely irresistible.
Her back arches and bows. Her hips kick off the wall, her hands falling onto my head, fingers running through my hair. “Oh, god, yes, right there.”
I can’t get enough of her. I hold her apart with my fingers, the sides of her thighs already slick and wet, my face a fucking mess. But I don’t care. I want more, all of her, can’t seem to get enough of the feel and taste of her pussy against my tongue.
I hear the back of her head tap against the wall as she loses control, the flutter of energy that runs through her body every time I skim over the most sensitive part of her.