Drop Everything Now (5 page)

“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?

After a few minutes of trying to get my heart rate and breathing under control, and staring at the ceiling trying to get focused, I turned my head to look at his face. Which I totally shouldn’t have done because the only thing I wanted to do at that moment was mash mine up against his.

Ryder’s breathing fell back into a deep-sleep pattern, and his grip on my waist loosened. I could probably have snuck out now, but watching his eyelashes flutter ever-so-slightly and feeling his gentle breath blow into the narrow space between us was so peaceful that I didn’t know if I could tear myself away from him if I tried.

Plus, my sheets were stinky.

It was only a few minutes before sleep took back over, and I drifted off again.

Sunlight glowed bright through my eyelids when I finally woke up. I rolled to the side slightly and stretched my arms high over my head. It was the smell of coffee that jolted my memory.

My eyes flew open as I searched the room for Ryder, and I sat up when I saw an exhibit of such masculine deliciousness I had to work hard to stop myself from drooling.

There he was, leaning against the counter that I never cleaned last night, holding a steaming cup of coffee in his hands and grinning that lopsided grin at me. In blue, pinstriped pajama pants; a sleeveless undershirt; and bare feet.

I hoped there was a hospital with a good emergency room nearby because I was about to have a full-on coronary.

“The first time you sleep over and you don’t even clean up? Is this how it’s gonna be between us?”

I pulled my knees to my chest and pressed my forehead against them. “I can’t believe I fell asleep here,” I groaned.

“I can’t believe you slept through me getting home six hours ago, getting under the covers, and probably snoring.”

I almost told him he was beautiful when he slept, that he didn’t snore the least bit. Almost mentioned that he had pulled me to him in the middle of the night and called me baby. Almost asked why he hadn’t just woken me and taken me back to my own damn room. But something held me back.

“I’m so sorry,” I said. “God, I was so tired…”

“I was just joking about cleaning up. You made me dinner, and I was starving. Thank you.”

I smiled back, then realized how gross and tomato-fuzzy my teeth were, and pressed my lips back together again. “Well, I should…ah…”

“Yeah,” he said. “We need to leave in about an hour, so if you want to get cleaned up… I mean, not that you’re dirty… I mean… Shit. Let me start over. Would you like some coffee?”

I laughed. “Um, to go maybe? Black? I am so gross, and I should at least brush my teeth.”

Without a word, he turned and poured a big travel mug full of strong-smelling brew, and I stepped up to him, reaching around in the tight space to grab my keys off the counter. When he grabbed my hand and his eyes looked right into mine, the sensation was so heady I could have fainted right there. He moved closer to me, paused for the briefest moment, and then went right in for another kiss.

This one wasn’t hard or desperate like last night’s; this was gentle, testing. His lips were soft and his breath was everywhere, and I wished with everything in me that I had brushed my teeth. After a few seconds, he drew back, watching for my reaction. But my breath—there was nothing I could do about the atrocious smell, and I did not want to ambush him with it. So I stepped back, and his face fell.

“Thank you,” I said to the ground. “Um, for everything. You know.”

He cleared his throat and took a step back himself. Oh, God. Did he think I didn’t like the kiss? Did he think I didn’t want to do it again?

“Ah…” I stammered, covering my mouth slightly. “Morning breath.”

“Oh, yeah. Totally,” he said, suddenly very interested in the creamy coffee in his cup. I looked back down, and goddamn, even this man’s feet were sexy.

“Okay, so…we’re leaving when? Nine thirty?”

“Yeah,” he said. “Meet me down there?”

“Sure,” I said, catching his eye again and smiling briefly. Then I brushed past him and reached for the door handle. “Thanks again,,” I said. “Really.”

He ticked his chin up, and I could have sworn he winked as I ducked out the door.

One hour, three vigorous tooth-brushings, and a lot of deep breathing later, I’d tugged and pulled at my cutest graphic t-shirt, a faded gray number that said, “Secret Identity.” I hated myself for only packing my most comfortable stuff, but seriously, who goes home to take care of their mom in the hospital and meets the hottest guy on the planet?

Once again, I told myself to focus—something that was becoming more and more necessary with this guy around—and called the hospital. The on-call nurse told me they’d started Mom on a light neuropsychological therapy regime, where she’d be till one. I explained that I had a new job, but I should be able to get there by the end of visiting hours. Butterflies fluttered in my stomach. I had no idea exactly when I’d be done, but I reasoned I’d just call again if the case were different.

The next stressful call was to Dr. Sullivan. When I briefed her on Mom’s situation—that it could take weeks, or even months, for her to fully recover—she asked me the toughest question since I’d left Philly two days ago—: “What’s your plan?”

I took a deep breath and ran my hand back through my half-dried hair. “I don’t know. I mean, obviously, I’ll need to keep up with work, right? Do you think I can do assignments remotely?”