Page 96 of Catcher

London repeats herself. “Jump his bones, Ruby.”

“Jesus Christ.” Promise shakes her head.

“I’m serious.” London looks at us like it’s the most logical choice.

Promise sighs. “As much as I hate to agree with London and one of her ridiculous ideas, I actually agree with her on this one.”

I snap my head in her direction. “You can’t be serious?”

London sits up straighter, looking smug.

I shake my head. “No way. I can’t do that.”

“Why not?” Sadie asks.

I look at the three of them as though they are nuts. “Because what if he rejects me? I’d never be able to live that down.”

“He’s not going to reject you.” London rolls her eyes at the notion.

“You don’t know that,” I counter.

“He’s a warm-blooded man with a dick,” London volleys back. “They are simple creatures.”

“Look, Ruby,” Promise cuts in. “What happened to you obviously scared Catcher. You said it yourself, the man is terrified you’re going to break. You’re going to have to show him you’re not made of glass.”

London nods. “Yeah, girl, get you some. Just climb on top and ride him until the sun comes up.”

Just then, the back door swings open. Catcher strides in, sweaty and shirtless, grass clinging to his skin in tiny green flecks. His chest rises and falls, and when he reaches into the refrigerator for a beer, the muscles in his back flex. The sight of him makes my mouth water.

London, Promise, and Sadie go quiet in unison, the way women do when they’ve decided something without saying it out loud. Promise starts gathering trash and empty cartons. Sadie grabs her purse, and London is suddenly on her feet.

“We should head out,” Sadie announces.

“What? You just got here,” I protest, but my eyes keep drifting past them to the kitchen where Catcher leans against the counter, beer in hand, clueless about the effect he has on me.

Promise presses a quick kiss to my cheek. “Get some rest, Mama.”

Sadie squeezes my hand. “Call if you need anything.”

London lingers last, eyes cutting to the kitchen and then back to me. She gives me a slow, wicked smile and mouths two words, Jump him, before she turns and walks out the door.

The house settles into quiet the second they’re gone, and all I can hear is the soft hum of the refrigerator and the heavier sound of Catcher moving around in the kitchen. I tell myself to breathe, to act normal as I let my feet carry me into the kitchen.

Catcher is standing at the counter, half turned, beer bottle tipped to his mouth. A bead of sweat slides down his throat when he swallows. His gaze lands on me and holds, sharp and steady. “Have a nice visit with the girls?”

I nod but say nothing. For a second, neither of us moves. The air between us feels thick and charged. Catcher’s eyes heat as if he can hear what’s going on in my head and all the things I want to do to him.

London’s words flash through my head like a dare. I let out a breath that tastes like surrender. “Fuck it.” I fill the space between us and launch myself at him.

The beer clinks against the counter as Catcher reacts on instinct, hands banding around my waist and lifting me as if I weigh nothing. I wrap my legs around his waist, arms around his neck, and his eyes flare, surprise first, then something darker and hungrier. “Ruby,” he starts, like he’s about to remind me of every reason he’s been holding back.

“Don’t,” I whisper, pressing my forehead to his. “I need you. Please, Catcher.”

My plea is his undoing. The sound he makes in his throat is low and rough, and then his mouth is on mine, hot and possessive, as though he’s been starving for my taste. When he finally pulls back, his eyes search mine, like he’s still trying to decide if he’s allowed to want this.

I kiss him again in answer, slower this time, and whatever restraint he’s been clinging to finally gives way. Catcher’s arms tighten, and he turns, carrying me out of the kitchen, down the hall to the bedroom, where he kicks the door shut. He sets me down on the edge of the bed.

“Catcher—”