Was this the kind of thing stupid people did?
Was this how stupid people died?
Ryder’s phone rang, jolting me out of my thoughts.
“Hey, Tony,” he answered. “No, I’m just taking her back to my place.” He laughed. “I know, I know. No, don’t worry about that. Okay. See you in a few.”
To his place? I managed to sputter, “Your place? You said…”
“Oh, no, no, no,” he said, chancing a look at me. “No. It’s not my place. Well, it is, but…you’ll see.”
With that, he motioned to the parking lot of an extended-stay inn and suites. It was all white stucco with rusting zigzag staircases and awnings that were just about as worn as the ones on the Shooting Starr.
“This is actually where I live. It was only supposed to be temporary. I work as the handyman here on the side, and they let me stay at half price. Anyway, the owner really loves me.”
“Like Mina loves you?”
He grinned. “Yes, like Mina loves me. And she’s been having trouble getting business here—shitty economy means fewer business people are staying in town long term—and I convinced her to let you stay for the same rate as me.”
“Which is?”
“One-fifty a week. And you can make twice that on the casino floor at least. And it’s week-by-week, so whenever you need to leave, you’ll be able to.”
I ran a hand through my hair, doing quick calculations. If I ate beans, rice, peanut butter, and pasta, I should be able to make it work, even with my apartment back in Philly.
“Thank you,” I said. “That’s actually perfect.”
“And it’s furnished,” he said, grabbing the handles of my duffel and popping his door open. “Here, I’ll show you.”
Ryder dashed around to my side of the cab and helped me down, and we headed toward the rooms. “Okay,” he said, leading me up three flights of rickety wooden stairs. “Mina said that 48 B was available, so this should be good for you.” He popped open the door to reveal a room half the size of the one at the hotel, with the same cheap art and bedspread—but it had a bed and a bedspread and even a TV.
“The bathroom’s here,” he said, reaching across me and pushing open the door. Even if the whole place did reek of stale smoke, it looked clean enough.
And it was only $150 a week.
My nose must have been wrinkling because Ryder kept talking. “I know the smell’s not the best. I can tell you what I did to get rid of it for the most part. And the good thing is that I can take you into work every day, so you won’t have to worry about cabs. We can try to match our schedules up.”
My God, this guy was adorable when he was worried or embarrassed or whatever this mumbling, eyebrows-pulled-together thing was. I put a hand on his arm, and his whole face relaxed as he looked at me.
“This is perfect,” I said, and damn it all to hell if my breath didn’t sound like a breathy starlet talking to her crush—again.
There was something weird about this moment though. Even though we were standing in one of the least classy rooms in extended-stay hotel history, and the circumstances were less than ideal and my brain was going crazy with worry and stress and, apparently, arousal—just touching him, just looking into his eyes, made me feel so incredibly grounded. Like there could be a hurricane swirling around me, but it wouldn’t matter. It would all be okay because he was there.
Whoa.
“Really?” he said, tugging at the collar of his shirt to reveal those sinewy muscles around his collarbones again.
Do not lick him, Andi. I mean, holy shit. I actually had to talk myself down from licking a guy. I barely knew him.
But I had seen him with his shirt off.
Still, I had not planned on coming to Vegas so I could accost hot, shirtless hotel hosts in my room. Making out with random guys had never been part of my life plan.
If there was anything the last few days had shown me, though, it was that doing things according to plan only took you so far. So instead of letting my hand fall from his arm, I tightened my grip, stepped into him. He didn’t flinch, didn’t back away, didn’t move a muscle.
My breaths became short and shallow, and my entire body buzzed. Somehow, I managed to get the words out. “Really. Thank you.”
Then my other hand, entirely of its own accord, reached up and grabbed his shirt, right underneath where he had pulled it to the side. I pushed up on my tiptoes, pulled his face to mine, and kissed him hard and fast. For a split-second, he just stood there, and a brief moment of panic surged through me. He didn’t want this. He didn’t like me. But then, his hand moved to grip the small of my back, his palm pressing into the curve of my hip, pulling me tight against him. He breathed in deeply as he leaned into the kiss.
The scent of him made me absolutely dizzy—warm, delicious sunshine. I wanted to bask in that scent, spend hours getting closer to it—to him.
It didn’t help when he pulled me even closer and parted my lips with his tongue, which he ran hesitantly along the inside of my lip. I groaned when I felt the evidence of how much Ryder was enjoying this pressing into my hip. He gripped me so tightly my feet left the floor. My body might as well have left the earth for how much I cared what was happening outside the universe of this moment.
His other hand fisted in my hair as our tongues tangled together, and through the heady fog of the kiss, I did some minor calculations. How many steps would it take to get to the bed? Had I thrown the makeup bag with the condoms into my duffel as I was leaving? When had I bought those condoms? Had they expired? A guy like Ryder probably had condoms on him all the time anyway.
I pushed the thoughts back into my head when Ryder nipped gently at my bottom lip, moved his mouth to my jaw, rasped his tongue against the sensitive spot below my ear, then down my neck. The heat at my center was becoming so intense, so fast, that I thought I would melt right there on the floor—and I didn’t give a shit. Especially with Ryder rock-hard against me, even through both of our jeans. It was all becoming too much for me.
I loved it.
But apparently, Ryder didn’t love it quite as much. Half a second after I decided I was about to spontaneously combust, he pulled back, practically dropping me compared with how tightly he’d been holding me against him. We stood there, staring at each other and gasping. I tried to figure out what had happened in those first shell-shocked seconds, but I could only feel one thing: hungry for him.
Maybe he saw it in my eyes or maybe the amazingness of the kiss hit him. Either way, one side of his mouth quirked up, followed a moment later by the other—an adorable grin I hadn’t seen on him back at the Shooting Starr.
A genuine smile. A secret one.
Floored and a little dizzy, I backed up a step and sat down on the bed, never breaking eye contact with him. Part of me was hoping he’d change his mind about whatever had stopped that kiss—the most amazing kiss I’d ever had—but a bigger part of me knew we were done. For now, anyway. My skin tingled where he had touched it, and I was already dying for him to touch me again.
He tugged at his shirt and laughed. “Wow. Okay.” That delicious smile of his grew, and I smiled right along with him. Something was happening here. I didn’t know what, but it made me feel more alive than I had in a very, very long time. His voice was husky as he said the next part. “I have to get to my second job. Are you going to be okay here?”
“I don’t know. Will I?” I winced internally. I didn’t even know what that meant, but it sure had sounded sexy coming out of my mouth.
He laughed. “Yes? Although I wouldn’t go out in the neighborhood. It’s not the best, especially after dark.”
“Do you have the number for a pizza place maybe? I’m starving.”
“Oh! Ah...I don’t know. Not around here.” He gave me a hard look, and I realized both our breathing had finally slowed. “I can trust you, right?”
“Swear to Saint Michael,” I said, putting on my solemn face.
“Patron Saint of Vegas. Nice.” He laughed, digging his keychain out of his back pocket, which only made me think about what his ass looked like under those jeans. My breath got quicker again for a second, and a blush crept up my neck.
“Okay, here’s my spare key. There are some frozen meals in there, and some cereal and milk that I think is still good. Help yourself after you get settled.”
“You’re giving me a key to your place already?” I instantly regretted that last word. Jesus, Andi, it’s not the same thing. You’re not in a relationship.
But if that was true, why did it feel so much like we were? He didn’t have to go to this much trouble to help a perfect stranger.
I bit my bottom lip, and the flush crept up my neck further. I reached out to take the keys, trying hard not to jump him again when that heat sparked between our fingers. “Thanks,” I said in that goddamn breathy voice again. Except, at this point, I didn’t even care.
“No problem. Just…don’t steal anything, okay?”
“Okay,” I said, smiling wide again. And then he did, too, and my heart beat into overdrive.
He took two steps backward toward the door, never breaking eye contact with me, his grin growing to match mine. “Okay. I’ll meet you here at 9:30 sharp tomorrow. We need to get in to the Starr a little early to get you suited up.” He reached back for the door knob, his fingers fumbling to find it. When they closed around it, he turned reluctantly.
And then he was gone, leaving me panting and alone.
Chapter 8
As soon as the door fell shut, I fell back on the bed and grinned up at the ceiling like the goddamn Cheshire cat, squealing a little and wiggling my hips. Yeah, things sucked in life right now, but that kiss, the obvious heat and attraction between us—well, that was enough to make almost everything better. I rested my hand on my stomach, remembering how Ryder’s fingers had brushed my skin, and imagined him pulling my shirt up, pressing his lips to the skin around my belly button.
I blew out a long breath, trying to calm my once-again galloping heart and reminding myself that my stomach needed food before it needed any attention from Ryder. I took another deep breath and realized that this bedding had the same musty-smoke scent as the rest of the room. I sat up and crossed over to my bag, pulling out my phone and typing “sheets and comforter” into the ever-growing shopping list I had saved there.
Heading into the bathroom, I added “towels and hand soap,” since this bathroom had neither. I splashed some water on my face and wrinkled my nose as I pressed my fingers against the bags under my eyes. I was obviously exhausted. If I was going to make tips as a cocktail waitress starting tomorrow, I had to get two things: a good, long rest and some food.
I unpacked what I could into the small, two-drawer nightstand next to the bed, then pulled up the comforter. Nothing gross under there or on the mattress either—this place seemed to be decently well-kept, just with a smell it couldn’t shake. Things could be worse, I reminded myself.
After about 20 minutes had passed, I looked out the window and noticed Ryder’s truck was gone from the spot he’d parked it, and I was hungrier than ever. Time for dinner.
I pulled Ryder’s key out of my pocket and grinned, remembering the look on his face when he gave it to me. I’d sure gotten lucky when I met him—he was just a nice guy. There was no doubt about it.
Walking into his place was like a breath of fresh air—literally. He really had figured out something to get rid of the smell, and instead of the gross boy smell I had encountered while living in the Drexel dorms, only that rich, warm, summery smell—his smell—greeted me. His bed was the same frame as mine, but everything else was different. There were luxurious–looking, slate-gray sheets with a black duvet and at least eight pillows with cases in the same colors. The covers were rumpled, which only made me think of Ryder lying between them.
Then, like a wild animal, my brain switched to discovery mode. Was there any makeup around? Discarded lace panties? Tossed-aside condom wrappers? Anything to suggest Ryder had a girlfriend or even a fling or a one-night stand?
But after a few minutes, I had my answer. No. There was nothing. Not even an errant tube of lip gloss. There was, however, a cowboy hat hanging off the back of a chair, and a huge, obviously plastic toy snake on the ground beneath it. I wondered if those were somehow related to his second job or just things a typical guy would have lying around his place. Aside from the toy snake, some flip-flops were tossed in another corner, but otherwise, the place was spotless.
That’s when my eye caught on a picture frame glinting golden on top of his small dresser. I was starving, but I had to know who was important enough to populate the lone frame in this place.
The photo inside nearly made my heart stop. Ryder had his arm slung around another guy, a few inches shorter than him, dressed in Army fatigues. Even though the guy had a hat pulled down on his forehead, shading half of his face, I could see how similar their faces were—the slope of their noses, the hard corner of their jaws. This guy was blond, not dark-haired like Ryder, but I would have bet anything they were related. Something about their wide grins let me know, without a doubt, that they were ecstatic to be together.
Still, it looked like the picture had been dug out of a trash can. One corner bubbled with water damage, and various other creases and dents marred its surface. So weird. If I actually ended up having to stay here more than a few weeks, maybe I’d get brave enough to ask Ryder about it.
Another stomach growl reminded me what I’d come over here for.
I crossed the room and rummaged through Ryder’s fridge and freezer first and found some frozen pizza snacks and gross frozen mac-and-cheese dinners in there, just like he’d promised. Even though I wanted something hot and hearty, even cold cereal sounded better than that shit. Then, as I was about to close the freezer door, my eye caught on a frost-covered plastic-wrapped square of something in the back corner of the freezer. I reached back and wrenched it free.
“Aha!” I said to no one when I discovered it was a slightly freezer-burned pound of ground beef. “This is promising.”
I glanced over at the oven and saw a frying pan, so I chucked the long-forgotten meat into the sink and set a stream of hot water over it. I practically got giddy when a look through Ryder’s cabinets yielded dry spaghetti and a can of spaghetti sauce. A growl ripped through my stomach at the possibility of homemade spaghetti and meat sauce.
I snacked on a fistful of frosted shredded wheat while the meat thawed enough for me to break apart in a pan, and I got the water rolling at a full boil in another big pot on the stove. Ryder even had real plates and silverware, and I set two of them out on the spotless countertop. The sauce smelled heavenly when it mixed with the browning meat, and I let myself remember all the times Mom and I had stood over the stove together, throwing together the simplest dinners for two exhausted girls at the end of a long day—sometimes as late as ten or eleven by the time she got done with a shift and all the paperwork that came after.
That reminded me—I’d have to call the hospital to check in before bedtime.
I couldn’t find a colander in his place, so when the spaghetti was al dente, I carefully tipped the water out, holding the cover on and wincing as the steam hit my arm. It was all worth it when I spooned the sauce over the noodles and breathed in the scent, then covered Ryder’s with a plate and set it inside the fridge.
His bed looked so comfortable that I decided I’d just take a seat there, flip some channels, eat dinner, do the dishes, and go back to my own stinky bed. Which I would deal with first thing tomorrow.
Some cheesy crime investigation show played as I happily twirled pasta and munched. I only vaguely cared about the killer, since I pretty much knew who it was anyway, and I hummed my pleasure at a full stomach and a high pile of
soft pillows behind me.
I woke up in a dark room with the tangy taste of old tomato sauce in my mouth. And the warm, rich smell of Ryder surrounding me. I sat bolt-upright, gasping, as my head whipped around the dark room. I had definitely gotten up, washed my dishes, and gone back to my room after eating that spaghetti, hadn’t I? I’d definitely planned on it. But even before I blinked the dryness out of my eyes and really took everything in, I knew—I was still in Ryder’s room.
I was still in Ryder’s goddamn room.
And as my eyes fell on the other side of the bed, I must have jumped a full six inches as I sucked in a high-pitched gasp. There, under the covers I’d fallen asleep on top of, was Ryder’s gorgeously messy head of hair, rising up into the strong slope of muscled shoulders.
The sight of him sleeping, his gorgeous, full lips slightly parted, took my breath away. My God, I wanted to devour them. I wanted to devour him. A thrill shot up my core as I thought about my lips against his, trailing down his skin in the same way his had started on mine. My brain warred with itself. I wanted so badly to lift those covers, wiggle under them, and slowly remove the clothing from that gorgeous body piece by piece. That could be romantic, right? No, Andi. That would make you a rapist.
I held back a whine as I carefully shifted away from him and slowly propped myself up, knowing my ample butt would cause the mattress to shift. The rustle of the duvet when my left foot hit the floor made me wince, but my heart full-on stopped when Ryder sucked in a breath and rolled toward me. Still asleep, he slung his arm around my waist like it was the most natural thing in the world, and mumbled, “Come back to bed, baby.” Then he made a low “mmmm” sound and pulled me toward him.
My heart stuttered back into action again as I settled back down on top of the covers, my head against his shoulder.
Um, what the hell was I supposed to do now?
On the one hand, Ryder’s breath tickling against my neck already had me five kinds of hot and bothered. On the other, who did he think I was? Was he dreaming of a girlfriend, or did he know it was me? If he knew it was me, why the hell was he calling me “baby”? And if he wanted to get frisky with me, why was he fully clothed and under the covers when I was on top of them?
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