toe to toe with mine. “I don’t regret meeting you. And I sure as hell don’t regret bringing you here. It’s what comes after that I’ll always regret.”
My brows furrow. “After?”
“You going home.”
“Ryker,” my voice breaks along with my heart. I’d rather him say I’m too much drama for him. I stand up, our chests a fraction from touching. “My father–”
He presses his finger to my lips and nods in understanding. “I didn’t think it’d hurt this bad saying goodbye.”
It was painful the first time. This time might cause damage to my heart. “We’ve definitely gotten ourselves into a predicament.”
“Who knew how much this Ball Boy would like the Island Girl?” I didn’t. For a few quiet moments, I revel in our embrace, knowing the end is near, but there’s nothing that can change it.
He drops his hands, each gripping a side of my hips. I can’t control the heat between my legs when his smile quirks to life. It’s like my arousal is connected to a damn string that flicks on when his lips curl up.
“Since you told me to go fuck myself, I think you owe me a dance.” He’s getting better at figuring out what I said in French. His fingers add pressure. “The one where these move really fast.”
I’ve missed his playful tone the last couple days and I need it more than ever now. But I don’t feel like dancing.
I dig my face into his shirt, letting his smell cocoon me. The tension in my shoulders release. “Whiskey, it’ll be okay,” he murmurs empty words because he has no idea. “Feel like making some cookies?”
I draw my head back. “You’re kidding, right?” Not the best time to request cookies.
“It’ll help you relax. Max has a stocked kitchen, and he said it was cool.”
“I don’t want to inconvenience him any more than I already have.” He waves me off before grabbing my hand, leading me out the door. Truth is, it will help. I haven’t been in the kitchen for a couple weeks and I miss it. It’s the one place I can tune out my problems and do what I do best.
But first, we need to talk. I stop walking, yanking on his arm, and he glances over his shoulder at me. “Wait, I have to tell you something,” I swallow the panic rising inside my chest. If he needs a reason to feel better about sending me home, I’m about to give it to him. “Remember when I told you about the foreigners I had affairs with?” He nods sharply. “Well, I looked one up. Because he’s a lawyer and I thought maybe he could help me.”
“I told you to trust Max.” He looks at the phone sitting on the bed. “Did you contact him?”
I shake my head. “No. He’s dead.” Panic courses through me. “I looked for the other two men out of curiosity. They’re dead too.” His eyes widen. “What if this has something to do with them? What if I’m cursed? Or you’re in danger because of me.”
He looks at me with an incredulous stare. “Whiskey, you’re overthinking things. I’m sure their deaths were a coincidence.”
God, I hope so.
I pause, hands covered in cookie dough, at the trill of a phone. Max answers from the living room and joins us in the kitchen. Ryker sits at the bar and we both stare at Max for an update. Three dozen cookies sit on the counter and I’m working on the fourth batch. The last hour I’ve immersed myself in sugar and flour, but the impending question has lingered in my mind. Why am I here?
Max holds the phone away from his ear and a male voice screams on the other end. “It’s for you,” Max says, handing the phone to Ryker. He sighs and takes it.
“Aiden, what’s going on?”
My fingers squeeze the dough, anticipation mixed with unease when Ryker closes his eyes and color fades from his cheeks.
“I have no idea. She doesn’t either.” He listens and his jaw tics as he paces the kitchen floor. “Why do they still have her?”
I gasp, holding my hand over my lips. They still have Addison? Ryker shakes his head at me and mouths, “It’s okay.” Is it? Because it doesn’t sound like it. It’s been hours already.
After a couple minutes, he hands the phone to Max, and he walks out of the kitchen to talk to Aiden in private.
“This is all my fault,” I cry. What’s worse, I don’t even know why.