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But to what end? To tell me he’s thinking about me?
Or simply to piss me off.
No. It’s to get a reaction out of me and force a confrontation.
Two can play at this game.
I hesitate with my hand on his doorknob, listening intently. No sound. The door creaks as I push it open. My pulse skips a beat at the sight of his bed—unmade, the sheets tangled in a ball. His work clothes are strewn over the dresser, along with a fistful of change and scraps of papers. Receipts, though I see phone numbers scrawled on the backs. God, he’s as bad as my brother. Did he get those numbers today while trolling the hotel beach, pretending to work?
Another wave of dismay washes over me. If he brings someone home and I have to listen to them have sex … I don’t think I’ll be capable of shrugging it off so easily.
There’s not much I can do in here to irritate him. It’s already a mess. I could clean his room, toss out all those phone numbers. Would he care?
I know one thing hewillcare about.
I dart over to his nightstand. Inside the top drawer is a box of condoms—economy size. “Pig,” I mutter. Let’s see how far he gets without these.
There’s not much else in the drawer. A tube of lubricant, unopened. My cheeks flush. We definitely didn’t need that. There’s also a framed picture. I pull it out and study it. It’s of Ronan in a graduation gown, his arm around a stunning brunette. She’s smiling broadly, her arms wrapped around his waist. They look like they’re in love. I’m guessing this is his ex.
He’s holding a certificate in his hands. It’s difficult to read, but I manage to make out the University of Indianapolis label.
Ronan went to college?
Why the hell is he working in the outdoor crew at Wolf, then?
Shaking my head—I really don’t know anything about the guy I slept with last night—I set the picture back into the drawer and slide it shut.
The sound of keys jangling in the front door has my heart racing. I bolt, intent on getting out of Ronan’s room before hecatches me. But my baby toe catches the corner of the bed frame, and I go down like a sack of rocks, my vision blurring as pain shoots through my foot.
I’m fighting the tears as I hear Connor’s booming voice from the living room and footfalls approaching in the hallway. I have just enough time to shove the box of condoms under the bed before Ronan appears in nothing but shorts, his T-shirt thrown over his shoulder, his bare chest glistening with sweat.
Surprise hits his face. “Ryan?”
“What?” I snap. The pain is beginning to subside. I force myself to stand and face him.
He leans against the door frame, a knowing smirk growing on his face.
Connor appears behind him. “Ry? What the hell are you doing in here?”
“Looking for something.”
His face screws up. “In Ronan’s room?”
“Yes, in Ronan’s room. Because Ronan likes to touch my things without asking.”
Ronan settles a heated gaze on me. “I can’t help myself. I like it when you scream. At me.”
Struggling to keep my cool—even as my cheeks grow hot—I hobble toward the door, noting the volleyball under Connor’s arm. “Trying to pick up women at the beach again?”
Connor grins. “Not trying. Succeeding. They’re meeting us later.”
The change of topic worked. Unfortunately, the answer isn’t what I wanted to hear. My stomach flips. “Great. Let me by, please?”
Ronan watches me intently as I squeeze past, making every effort not to touch him.
I don’t come out of my room again until they’ve left.
18.Ronan