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My hand slides to the lock and I click it into place.
I don’t want him coming in here again.
“Good night, Ryder.”
And with that, I go to bed.
My work schedule is complicated. Ryder is complicated. I try not to think about that night a handful of days ago, but it’s hard. I could have had him. Could have thrown caution to the wind and accepted that offer.
A one-night stand? They happen. Nights of passion that go nowhere except into friendship? They happen. And relationships, too. I’m no stranger to any of those things. But I don’t do friends with benefits.
I’m not against it. It’s just not a scenario I can see myself fitting into. If I make room for someone, I want a relationship. I want them to want me the way I do them—all of them. And Ryder Sinclair doesn’t give his all to anyone.
Oh, in the moment, I’m sure. And—
Nope. I’m definitely not going to imagine him having sex and what it’s like.
Instead, I go back to my complicated micromanaging and molding of Ryder.
Maybe that’s all it is. I have to spend all my time with a hot man. It’s no wonder I’m crushing hard, no wonder I want him. I’m immersed in him.
Problem is, I thought the longer I spent doing this, the weaker the attraction would get. But he’s more than he seems on paper. And every layer is intriguing. Both the good and the bad.
The last two nights I needed a break. And I also needed to spend time working out our next phase.
And just like some kind of kid with burning ears, Ryder arrives in my office. Without knocking.
“No one was at the desk, so I came on in.”
“It’s almost seven, Ryder, and my receptionist has a life.”
There’s a half smile on his face. I know why. Lena is hot and just his type and she’s told me all about her fantasies about him. He’s probably got similar ones to hers.
“Pity. She seems…nice.”
I narrow my eyes. “She’s off limits to you.”
“Hey, I just said she seemed nice, not that I wanted to bone her.”
“But you would.”
“I’m pleading the fifth. Besides…” His gaze slides over me in my suit. “I like you.”
I finish up, grab my bag and coat, and we head out into the SoHo night.
As we head to an upscale bar on Orchard Street, I give him a low glance. We find a table—Ryder can always get a table—and settle in. “Drinks are the plan?”
He’s ordered drinks and fries. The drinks arrive in short notice, just gin and tonic for me and a mescal on the rocks for him, and he sets his gaze on me. Waiting.
I shrug. “No one’s going to buy it if you just go out to galas and work events, or just see your brothers or we stay in. You go out. So we go out.”
“And you let me choose?”
I shrug again. “You have taste, Ryder, and this is a nice bar.”
The fries arrive and he takes one, and Lord do they smell good, they’re lightly spiced with smoked paprika from the earthy, sweet scent that carries that rich hit of smoke, so I take one, too, and moan.
“Jesus,” he mutters, eating his. “They’re good, but not that good. Or is that erotic sound you’re making for my benefit? Because I gotta tell you, Perry, you don’t need to up that game to hook me.”
