Page 77

“Stop that. Leave my sister alone.” Tyler frowns and leans closer, knocking Ryder’s hand away. “Why are you getting a divorce?”

“He. . . well. . .” Oh, just spit it out. What do you care if he wants to kill Austin? You wanted to kill him too. “He cheated on me with Brie.” And just as those words leave my lips, the thirty-some people in the backyard chose then to become eerily quiet. Not that any of them hear what I said, but Tyler sure does.

It takes my brother and Ryder a minute to comprehend my confession. While they attempt to understand why Austin fucked my friend, something I’m still trying to understand, Austin smarts off to the wrong person.

Ridge.

I don’t know how or what transpired, but I see Ridge knock Austin’s phone out of his hand and shove him back against the fence, his blazing glare on my ex. “He wants you to play catch with him. Put down your fucking phone and toss your kid the goddamn ball.”

Austin shoves Ridge back, hard and into a table of food. “Mind your own fuckin’ business.”

My dad jumps up from his chair, separating them, his hands on their chests, talking low and calm. Tyler and Ryder rush over, naturally, but nothing transpires. Austin retreats.

It pisses me off he even came. Why did he? It wasn’t because of Grady. He came so he could make a scene with Ridge. I follow him out the back gate to his Jeep.

“You know,” at the sound my voice, he pauses, shoulders tense, turning his head to look at me, “I don’t really understand what all that was about. Were you there to spend time with them or were you trying to make him jealous?” Pushing my hair from my face, I wait, gauging his reaction. “Because I really can’t tell anymore.”

His glare is masked by the sunglasses, his hands shoved into the pockets of his jeans. “I don’t care if he’s jealous.” And then he nods to the backyard. “Have you fucked him yet? I know something’s happened by his reaction to me being here.”

“Don’t bullshit me, Austin. Youcareif he’s jealous,” I say, ignoring his comment. “It’s your intention. Stop lying.”

“I’ll stop lying when you do.”

I’m so tired of this I don’t even have the energy to react to him, but I do reply with, “Fuck you.”

“No thanks.” He laughs and reaches for the door handle, winking. “I got your friend for that.”

Would it be too much to ask if he was to you know, crash his Jeep and get paralyzed to the point his dick no longer worked?

Maybe then he couldn’t be walking away all the time, trying to purposely have the last word. And he couldn’t fuck. Two for one.

Turning around, I walk back in the house to find Ridge standing in the kitchen, his arms crossed over his chest. My eyes go to his tattoos on his forearms, then his dark eyes.

“Where’s your husband going?” he asks, sarcasm lacing his voice.

Drawing in a heavy breath, I let it out, preparing myself for what he’s going to say next. I’m not sure how much more sarcasm from men I can take today.

He steps closer, and I can tell he’s had a few more drinks than I realized. There’s a flush to his cheeks, a slowness to his stare. He backs me up until I’m flush against the refrigerator door. I swallow away the words I know are coming.

His eyes dip to my chest, then higher to my lips. His left hand moves, cupping my cheek, his right still holding his drink. I can’t look at him. If I do, I’ll kiss him in front of everyone. I’m staring a hole in the door behind him waiting for someone to come inside and catch us.

He brings his drink to his lips to mask the sly grin forming.

Breathing out, his warmth washes over me. “When you were with him. . . did you think of me?” His voice lingers like his touch always does, wrapping around my mind like the suffocating vise.

I don’t say anything. I can’t. I’m speechless. Part of me wants to punch him in the face for being so arrogant. The other wants to kiss him stupid.

When I don’t say anything, he chuckles lightly, the action slow and drawn out. “I know you did. Even now. . . when you’re near him, I can see it in your eyes.” His left hand remains on my cheek, the tips of his fingers digging into the back of my neck. “You hate him.”

“Ridge. . . .” I sigh, sinking into the cool metal against my back.

“Why was he here?” His lips barely move over the words, his eyes penetrating my soul with their depth. He knows things I don’t even need to say.

“Grady asked him to come.”

“And yet he couldn’t even toss the kid the fucking football for a minute.” Ridge swallows over what seems like a lump in his throat, his feet shifting, but his eyes never leave mine. “I hate seeing him next to you. I don’t like this.”

“Like what?”