“Damn, woman. I’m just taking a break.” I stand up, following her to the front doors.
I catch the smell of whatever pretty little scent she wears, and I’m right back into that forbidden gutter.
“You can take a break after the gala,” she says like she’s my fucking coach, opening the gym door.
I stick my tongue into my cheek and smile at her as I pass. I fucking like a teaser.
Then, before she goes inside, she gives me that gentler expression, the one that makes me want to get closer, to see how fast I can make it turn into something insatiable.
What’s the point in fighting the tension between us when pushing her away is more distracting than giving in?
Sighing, I follow her.
It’s time to really think this through.
J U L I E
* * *
The next morning,we arrive at the airport at seven and wait at the terminal for a nine o’clock flight. No amount of coffee can wake me up, my eyelids heavier than ever.
I packed everything that previous night and barely got an ounce of shut-eye. I was too damn excited thinking about the tight black dress I plan to wear for the gala. It’s long and splits on my right side, cutting off at the shoulders, pairing perfectly with my nude pumps.
I can’twaitto wear that outfit in front of Ryder.
Lingering gazes from passersby affix to Ryder as we walk through the terminal. He’s muscled enough that the fabric of his sweats manages to accentuate him, something intimate and inviting about the informal wear.
As we sit and wait in the uncomfortable plastic seats, I open up my Kindle, which is precious to me now. It’s one of the few things to survive the wreckage of the house, as everything else is still inaccessible.
I hate napping in public, or else I’d just nod off like Ryder’s doing—he sits across from me with his hood up, eyes closed, and leans back with spread legs.
I open upa sci-fi book and I’m not even three pages in before a man sits next to me. Ryder’s eyes open, avidly observing.
The stranger asks, “I hate to bother, but can I use that charger at all?”
“Yeah, sure,” I state, eyeing my phone that’s plugged into the wall, although I swear I saw a charging station somewhere in the airport. Maybe he just needs to be close to his gate.
“Thanks. You’re a lifesaver,” he says, flashing a smile at me. I look him over—a typical, handsome guy in his thirties with styled blond hair, a five o’clock shadow, jeans, and a zip-up hoodie.
“It’s all good. Just killing time, anyway.” I motion to my Kindle.
“Yeah, I know what you mean. I’m usually here for a while, but running late today,” he says, the smile remaining. Something about his demeanor feels like he’s trying to flirt with me, especially with how he pays extra attention when our gazes meet.
“Anyway, just need that back by the time I board.” I nod to the charger.
“Thanks again,” he replies, looking back down at his phone.
I eye Ryder, who’s already smirking. I sigh with a defeated grin and peer out the window to watch a plane pull into the terminal. It startles me when the stranger leans over and says, “Name is Zach, by the way.”
“Julie,” I languidly reply, not giving him much of my attention. It’s nothing against him, I’m just not in the mood to be chatty with strangers. When Zach distracts himself with his phone once more, I glare at Ryder, whose smirk turns into a slight grin as he shakes his head and looks at his phone.
I, too, glance at Ryder’s phone, wondering what he does on there. Does he text people? If so, who? Does he have a little black book of the privileged women whom he spends his time talking to and thinking about? The women he puts cologne on for?I’m so hopeless.
My phone buzzes.
Ryder 7:46 AM: Can’t take you anywhere
I grin, feeling like I’m back in my first years at college.
