flips the sign from open to closed, I’m more than ready to get out of here and find out if he’s all talk or if he plans to deliver on all of his promises.
“Should I follow you in my car?” I ask as we step outside, into the dim light of the single streetlamp lighting this corner of the street.
“I live at the building at the end of the block,” he says, pointing down the road. “It’s a two minute walk, if you’re cool with it.”
“That works,” I agree.
The night is warm and quiet, the only sound distant traffic and our shoes on the pavement as we walk.
My heart is in my throat, and my stomach knots the closer we get to his building. I’m not usually one for random hookups. Not that it’s never happened, but usually I know the guy more than a few hours of flirting. And then, of course, there’s my semi-monthly sex with Hudson that I always promise myself will never happen again, until the next time he calls me in the middle of the night or shows up at my apartment unannounced, and I’m too weak to resist. Again. Over and over. Always.
“Having second thoughts?” Riot asks when we reach the outside door of his building.
“What? No, why?”
“You got quiet; I thought you might be rethinking,” he says.
I step closer, my nose filling with the scent of sweat and alcohol that’s clinging to him. Under normal circumstances, it might not be an appealing smell, but for some reason, it works on Riot. The hopeful smile on his lips doesn’t hurt either.
“I was thinking, but I’m pretty sure that’s why I’m here. Didn’t you promise to cure me of that? At least for a little while?”
“I promised to make life less complicated for a few hours,” he corrects.
“And it’s my thoughts that are making life complicated,” I conclude. “So, take me upstairs and make me stop thinking them.”
“You’ve got it,” he agrees, finally pushing his key into the lock and opening the door.
He leads me to the second floor and into his small apartment.
“You probably won’t believe me when I say this, but I never pick up guys at the bar.”
I snort a laugh as I toe off my shoes. He’s right, I don’t believe that for a second, but it’s nice to feel special, if only for a few minutes. So, I decide to pretend it’s true. It’s a nice fantasy, being so sexy and irresistible that a man like Riot would discard his usual standards and bring me home because he can’t stand the thought of passing up a chance to get his hands on me. A shiver runs through me at the thought.
“What made me different?” I ask, more than willing to fan the flame of the fantasy as I step closer, tilting my head up to look at Riot’s gorgeous face, his chin rough with dark stubble, his eyes a piercing blue, his lips full and so tempting.
He snags his fingers through my belt loops and pulls me against him. His body is large and might be imposing in another circumstance, but right now it’s hard and huge in all the right ways. He’s taller than both Hudson and Leo, who are just about my same height. My mom was right: I had a late growth-spurt after all. But I’m not thinking about either of them tonight, I scold myself.
“I don’t know, there’s just something about you,” he says, lowering his head slowly, giving me the chance to end things, to change my mind, to walk away now and go back to my normal life with my complicated feelings and unrequited love.
I close the gap between us, pressing my lips to his. They’re even softer than they looked, but firm under mine as I sweep my tongue along the seam until he parts them to let me in.
Riot
I’ve been watching him for months. I know that makes me sound like a stalker, but it’s hard not to notice Bishop with his sweet good looks, his eyes full of too many emotions for me to parse at any one time, a smile, but rarely a genuine one, always on his lips. Every Friday night he comes into Twisted Cherry with his friends, and every Friday night I’ve tried to think of something to say to him. Then, tonight, when he came up to the bar, he looked so sad and so fucking tired, I knew I couldn’t let him walk away without