Page 18

I let the water run over my body, easing my aching shoulders—a token of today’s shift.

Even as I stand here, alone, I can’t wipe the smile off my face.

Today might have just been another day at work, but tonight was sort of incredible.

All because Ryder made it that way.

He took me to an ice rink, and we went skating, and if that wasn’t sweet enough, we walked around Charleston, sipping hot chocolate and looking at the Christmas lights while holiday music flowed through the air.

I felt like I was in a cheesy Hallmark movie, and yet I didn’t want to turn off the television because I was having too much fun.

For a Christmas Eve that was supposed to be lonely, it ended up being one of my favorites yet.

If this were another time—a time before I suffered ultimate betrayal from a man I’d thought I could trust—I would be diving in headfirst, not even thinking about the consequences; let’s face it—before everything happened with Rowan, that’s how I went about life.

But that was before, and now, I want to be smarter.

More guarded.

I also made a promise to myself that before I ever found Mr. Right and settled down, I would cross off every to-do I had written on a list. The things consist of everything I’ve dreamed of doing, but not gotten the chance.

Even as a single woman, school and then work have packed my days so full that there’s just never enough time.

I’m going to make time though.

And I’ll do it before I promise forever to a man.

Running my hands through my hair, I make sure there’s no more conditioner left in it before turning the water off.

To be honest, my insides were throbbing to invite Ryder into the shower with me.

He’s been so sweet tonight, and even him coming to Charleston was such a kind gesture, but I know that’s not what I need to be doing.

And by that, I mean …

I don’t need to be doing Ryder Cambridge.

Even if I want to.

Stepping out of the shower, I grab a towel and bend forward, wrapping it around my head to dry my hair before grabbing a second for my body.

Growing up, I shared a bathroom with my brothers, and they’d always bitch that I used too many towels, but they didn’t understand what it was like to have long-ass hair that dripped down your body unless it was wrapped in a towel.

Walking in front of the mirror, I take my hand and rub a circle against the glass to clear the steam from it.

Staring back at me is a woman who looks happy, but I know she’s happy for the wrong reasons.

That small smile and look of peace are only on her face because a certain man came to see her.

And I know this girl.

I’ve spent nearly twenty-three years with her.

To sum her up in a sentence …

she’s boy crazy.

She needs to get her shit together.

She needs to figure out how to be happy by herself.

I sit in the kitchen, waiting for Saylor to walk out of her bedroom after taking a shower.

When there’s a knock at the door, I know it’s DoorDash dropping off the food we ordered, and I get up and rush to get it.

When I open the door, I expect the food to be sitting on the step and the delivery guy to be on his way out.

Instead, he’s standing there, bag of food in hand, looking down at his phone.

“Hey, so … I think you might have made a mistake on the tip. It’s, uh … a lot more than I probably deserve,” he says, slowly lifting his eyes from the screen.

His eyes grow wide, and he stares up at me.

“Holy shit, you’re … you’re Ryder Cambridge.”

I panic a little because people might think I live here now and start harassing Saylor.

That’s the last thing I want, and I should have been smarter when I answered the door.

This guy seems excited to see me though, and I don’t want to come off as a dick.

“Yes, I am.” I nod. “And, uh, no mistake. Merry Christmas, man.”

“Jesus, thank you—thanks,” he stammers, standing there, stunned.

“Hey,” he says, stopping like he’s nervous to finish his sentence.

“So, you can say no, but could I get you to sign my hat?”

“Sure,” I say, nodding.

“Do you have a marker?”

“Oddly enough, I do.” He chuckles before fishing in his pocket and eventually pulling out a Sharpie and handing it to me.

Taking the hat from his head, he passes it my way.

I grab it, trying to ignore the fact that it’s sweaty as fuck because this dude seems nice and he’s working on Christmas Eve.

After signing it, I hand it back to him, snatching the bag from his other hand.

“There you go, sir.”

“Thank you. Thank you so much,” he says, staring at the hat in disbelief.

“And thanks again for that tip. When I saw it, I was excited. But then I was worried it was an error.” He swallows thickly, holding his hand up.

“Merry Christmas, Mr. Cambridge.”

I smile at him because there are a lot of people who would have seen a five-hundred-dollar tip and taken the money and never asked another question.

This dude actually waited around to be sure.

“You too, man. Have a good night.”

Slowly, he backs away before going back to his car, and I head inside, locking the door behind me.

I know it wasn’t much, but the tip and the autograph meant something to him, and for that, my Christmas Eve is even better than it already was.

Saylor still isn’t out of her bedroom yet, so I decide to get everything out of the boxes and get it ready for her.

It takes me opening about six cupboards before I find which one holds the plates, but finally, I get it right.

When I walk to the refrigerator to get some ice for the drinks I got us, something stops me.

On the front of the fridge, behind a magnet, is a list. At the top, it says Before I Settle Down List .

I know I shouldn’t read it; it’s probably private.

But curiosity killed the motherfucking cat, and it’ll kill me too.

I read each one in order.

1. Do stand-up comedy.

Unlike the others to follow, there’s a line through that one.

2. Spend New Year’s Eve in Times Square and kiss a hottie at midnight.

That one is annoying because I don’t want her to kiss anyone if it’s not me.

And seeing as she’s not kissing me right now, I don’t want her kissing any other fuckface.

3. Go on a proper date (that doesn’t end with sex).

4. Get a tattoo.

5.

Go to a Morgan Wallen concert.

(Making out with him would be a bonus.)

6.

Watch Wicked on Broadway.

7. Go to France (not the one at Epcot this time).

I stare at the list, unable to take my eyes from it.

Suddenly, the thought of doing all these things with Saylor rushes through my brain.

I want to be there for all of them—and not just to make sure it’s me she’s kissing when the clock strikes twelve or to ensure she doesn’t kiss Morgan fucking Wallen either.

Though that’s part of it for sure.

“Are you reading my list?” Saylor says from behind me, though luckily, there’s no anger in her tone.

When I turn toward her, I almost stumble back because she looks so fucking pretty.

Her hair is wet and brushed back from her face, which has not a single ounce of makeup on it, and somehow, she’s even more beautiful than ever.

She has a white T-shirt on, which so clearly shows off that she isn’t wearing a bra, and my dick awakens, twitching a few times in my pants.

Her sleep shorts display her smooth legs, and I picture having them wrapped around my shoulders while I devour her pussy on this countertop.

“Ryder?” She raises an eyebrow.

“Are you going to answer or continue to stare?”

Shaking my head, I swallow.

“Uh, yeah. Yeah, I did read it. Sorry.”

“Why?” She folds her arms over her chest, which only pushes her tits together, giving me a perfect shot at her cleavage and making my mouth water.

“Why did you read it, I mean?”

“It was just there,” I say, trying to stop my eyes from floating back to her tits, but it’s fucking impossible.

“And since it’s right on the fridge, I figured you weren’t trying to hide it.”

She stares at me for a beat before she lets out a small laugh.

“Yeah, I don’t really care. It’s not like it’s a list of all the dicks I’ve seen or anything.” She shrugs nonchalantly, looking at the food.

“Well, that looks good, and I’m so hungry right now.”

I point to the stool.

“Come sit, my little bucket-list maker, who is horned up over Morgan Wallen even though he throws chairs off of balconies and who wants to be a stand-up comedian.” I pause.

“By the way, I noticed that one was crossed off.”

Thank fuck it’s not the Wallen one.

I’d have zero chance with her if she got with that handsome fucker.

Taking a seat, she bobs her head up and down.

“Yeah, so I tried the whole stand-up-comedy thing, thinking I’d be great at it.” She shrugs nonchalantly, completely unbothered.

“Turns out, not so much. I’m really not all that funny.”

“What?” I frown.

“That’s not true.”

“I know, right?” She shakes her head.

“It seems the motherfuckers who attend those things do not have the same sense of humor as me. Oh well though. Probably wouldn’t have paid much unless I turned into, like, the next Jerry Seinfeld or Kevin Hart, right?”

“Or Adam Sandler,” I point out.

“That dude is rich.”

“You’re not helping me feel less like a loser, asshole,” she scolds me.

“Sorry, sorry,” I say quickly.

“You’re right, babe. Fuck that comedy bullshit.”

“That’s what I’m saying.” She nods in agreement.

“Who needs that crap? Not me.”

The thing is, she is funny.

She knows it too.

I stare at her, grinning like an idiot and admiring her for being so open, even though I think it’s just surface level.

Saylor is much deeper than she leads on—I just know it.

Eventually, she’ll let me in.

And I didn’t come here just to be further put into the friend zone—I mean, sure, for now, I’ll settle for that.

The truth is though, I want this girl.

If I didn’t, I wouldn’t be here.

“I’m going to help you complete this list, my bratty one.” I point at it.

“I see one we can do before I fly back on the twenty- sixth.” My eyes roam the list. “Possibly two, if we play our cards right.”

“What?” Her eyes widen, but I’m not sure what emotion is driving them to do so.

It could be excitement or maybe fear.

“That list—it’s things I should do before I settle down. You know, by myself.”

“Why?” I challenge her, walking around the small bar and taking a seat before sliding her a plate.

“Well, because I’m trying to be independent. And strong.” She sighs.

“I’ve chased every boy who’s so much as looked my way since I was twelve years old, Ryder. I need to learn to stop doing that.”

“But you’d check things off that list with Gemma, wouldn’t you?” I ask, raising an eyebrow.

“What’s different about me?”

“You have a penis,” she deadpans.

“That’s what’s different.”

“A big one too,” I say, nudging her side and making her roll her eyes.

Putting my hand over hers, I lean a little closer.

“My point is, you and I are friends. Gemma is your friend. Why can’t I do the same shit she gets to do?” I pat her hand gently.

“I get it—you’re on this self-finding adventure that doesn’t involve dicks. That’s great and all, but I still want to be your friend.”

“Is that all?” She narrows her eyes.

“You just want to be my friend?”

“I do,” I say truthfully, even though I know inside, I also want more than that.

“So, just fucking let me, damn it.”

Her eyes roam my face—searching for anything that says I’m bluffing, I’m sure.

She may not know this, but I have one hell of a poker face, and I’m pretty fucking desperate to be close to her in any capacity.

Once I had a taste of her, it was over.

But if she needs a friend, I’ll be the best fucking friend Saylor’s ever seen.

But I’m also going to make her fall in love with me.

She just doesn’t know it yet.

Finally, she smiles.

“Okay, fine. As long as you don’t start saying that sappy shit you said at the airport, you can help me cross off things on my list.” She points her finger at me.

“But if you start any funny business, forget about it.”

I hold my hands up defensively.

“Me? Funny business? Wouldn’t dream of it, babe.”

“Good. I don’t want to cut your dick off, but I would,” she says seriously before pointing toward the small living room.

“If we’re real friends, we’ll take this food to the couch and watch trashy Netflix shows.”

“What the fuck are we waiting for then?” I say, standing and taking some plates in my hands.

“Get your ass on the couch.”

I like being her friend, but I want more.

And what she doesn’t know is, we should be friends with benefits, but it’s not the right time for me to pitch her that idea. Not yet.