Page 4 of Rolling 75 (The Noire Brothers #1)
That thought has my mother’s sage advice slamming into me. “The things you find most endearing about a potential partner when you first meet them will often be the very traits that annoy you down the road.”
She said a lot of other profound things, but that’s one that stuck.
I miss her even more now that I’m a mom.
She died hiking thirteen years ago, falling off a steep ledge on a path she’d traveled countless times.
The tragic losses of her and my dad still sting, but at least she was doing what she loved.
While they’d been deliriously happy together, she viewed the world practically, so I suppose that advice was her way of telling me the honeymoon doesn’t last forever.
Ryker and I have been platonic for nearly twenty years, so that probably doesn’t apply here.
Something about him is different tonight though. Even so, he was right. In so many ways, he is my home. But he can’t stay, and I have to.
Still, I take his hand because it’s obvious the only way this doesn’t turn into a Wild West duel is if I go with him.
He kicks his chin toward my half-filled champagne flute with a lopsided grin. “Go ahead and finish it.”
I happily chug it without argument, but guilt swarms me, so I set the empty glass down and turn to Chad. “I’m sorry about this.”
Ryker scoffs as we step away, and he draws me into his side. “You’re sorry about walking out on him, huh?”
So, that’s how this is going to go. Great.
When we make it back onto the street and are past the crowd, I lean into him and keep my voice low. “What the hell are you thinking, tracking me down here? In the middle of town? Do you have any idea how reckless this is? You’ve compromised this whole placement for me.”
He keeps me tucked into his side, our hands threaded, but he doesn’t spare me a glance. “It doesn’t matter. You’re not staying.”
“Yes, I am.”
“No, you’re not.”
“Ryker—”
“Merc—”
“It’s Alice.”
“Not to me.”
He stops in front of an all-black Bentley, unlocking the doors with the key fob.
God, he really doesn’t fit in here. It pisses me off.
Everything I’ve done to stay under the radar and keep to myself, and he swoops in with a spotlight.
The whole town will be buzzing about this, which is the last thing I need.
“I’m parked over there.” I point toward my beat-up Toyota Prius.
He shakes his head. “You’re coming with me.”
Standing my ground because I can already tell he’s here to steamroll anything I have to say, I cross my arms over my chest and dig my heels into the gravelly pavement. “You can follow me, but I’m taking my own damn car.”
“You are never driving that piece of shit again,” he declares in his commanding growl.
This side of him is nothing new. It’s just not normally directed at me. But I have countless recollections to draw from of how this type of standoff went down with his younger siblings, specifically his little sister, Rena.
I fling my focus around, worried we’re already making a scene. No one is paying any attention to us, but maybe I need to ensure we keep it that way. “Fine. I’ll come with you. Nelly can bring me back to get my car in the morning.”
The glint in his icy blues makes it clear he still wants to argue, but he lets it go.
He opens the passenger door for me, only to pause, as though he’s having second thoughts. Pushing it shut, he wraps his arms around me, his mammoth limbs swallowing my frame, his warmth and scent and presence engulfing me.
“Just one minute before we fight.” He buries his face in my hair, breathing me in, and his chest shudders.
It’s like all the pain of the past seeps into my bones. But the comfort that used to be mine does too. So, I loop my arms around his waist and melt into him. My eyes burn with the realization that I haven’t had anyone embrace me like this in … I don’t even know how long.
Definitely not since I left. I’m always the one doing the holding, the rocking, the consoling. Keeping everything together.
As if Ryker can sense my heart-wrenching bewilderment, he palms my head, keeping my face nestled against his steel pecs. No words. Just peace, solace, hope.
Safety and protection.
Coming home.
He clutches me tighter and kisses my hair, and an unbidden whimper escapes me. He always knows what I need.
This isn’t a hug. It’s a revival.
What is he doing to me?
And, fuck, did he always smell this good? Like seduction, leather, and depravity with a hint of cloves. Cozy corruption.
The whiff of everything that lies behind one of his secret doors is waking up forbidden fantasies.
That’s my angry libido talking. I dangled skydiving in front of her and never jumped. Yes, I’m aware skydiving isn’t actually code for anything sexual, but I’m working it in. And I do think there’s something close. Anyway, of course there’s some confusion. She’s on the hunt for a thrill.
But this is Ryker. My best-friend Ryker. Pissed-off Ryker.
I can’t think of Ryker like this. He’s … more.
And with that, reality smacks me in the face, along with the aroma of fried foods wafting over to us, so I break our connection. “Let’s just go.”
That hug will cause as much of a gossip frenzy as us bickering.
His eyes coast over me, so much hurt swimming in them. But he chokes it back, tucks me into the car, and snaps my buckle, like I’m a child. Then he gets in and takes off.
For three grueling minutes, he doesn’t speak. He needs to find his words. He won’t like what I have to say if I start this conversation.