Page 79 of Say Yes to the Nemesis

“We’ll be all right,” he says. He grabs the brown bag and opens it. “I think we got away with it this time.”

He hands me a large paper cup.

“If this is drip coffee, I don’t really want it. I only like sweet, milky coffee. Preferably?—”

“A tall white mocha?” He arches a brow. “Yeah, I know. It’s what you always order at Java Monkey. I even got it with caramel drizzled on top.”

My mouth opens and closes. Ryan knows my regular order? How?

“Don’t look so surprised.” He smirks. “I’ve only seen you order it like five hundred times. I’m telling you, Rustin. I know you.”

“Uh… thanks.” I blush as I grip the cup in both hands, like I need the warmth. Sure, it’s the middle of summer. But my head is spinning and I feel like I need to hold onto something to anchor me.

I wonder again if he has been paying more attention than I thought. Ryan contentedly sips what I think is an iced Americano or a black iced coffee. Not what I would’ve guessed.

Then he looks into the bag, eyeing the variety of bagels and cream cheese packets. “This looks good. Should we go downstairs?”

“Are you kidding? I am never leaving this bed again.”

He gives me a sharp look. “Eating in bed is disgusting.”

I ignore him and pluck a cinnamon raisin bagel from the bag. I take a bite.

“I’m still doing it,” I declare.

He smirks. “Gross.”

I sip my coffee and then recline, stretching out and smiling at him. “What if I said you could eat it off me, if you’d rather?”

“That’s the best suggestion you’ve ever had,” he growls.

He pounces immediately, knocking the bag of bagels to the floor and tackling me into the pillows.

I don’t disagree.

twenty-two

RYAN

I’m lyingin bed just as dawn begins to break, changing the light pouring in the window from heavy and blue to a swirl of gray. Wren is tucked up against me. I swear to God, it feels like some kind of trick. Like if I move too fast, she’ll vanish.

I spent so long fantasizing about having sex with her that I never realized how fulfilling the other part would be. The part where she fell asleep in my arms. Her skin is warm, her breathing steady. Her face is pressed against my chest and her hand curls against my hip like I’m someone she trusts. That wrecks me a little bit.

That trust burns in my chest. Not because I deserve it, but because I desperately wish I was the sort of man who did.

It’s unexpected, but the fact that she’s been so unabashedly needy for the last thirty-six hours blows my mind. I stay still and watch her for longer than I should.

When her eyes flutter open, she gazes up at me. For just a moment, the combative version of Wren is gone. She kisses my jaw, then my neck, then my chest. Each kiss is like a fuse, lit and burning slow. I want to explode.

My heart nearly stops every time she does it. My body hardens. I skip ahead in time, anticipating that she’ll wantme. That she’ll straddle my hips and grind into me. My body reverberates with need.

But then her phone buzzes.

Wren groans and hesitates. Then she reaches for it. Looking at the screen, she screws up her face. “There’s a 7 a.m. production meeting,” she says. “Top secret, of course. I have to go.”

“Are you sure?” I kiss her bare shoulder. She shivers.

She smiles at me and bites her lip. Of course, I get it. I already know that she’s the producers’ behind-the-scenes plant, the secret crew member embedded in the cast. I just hate that it means she has to pretend.