Page 30 of Something Tangled Something True (Rosa Ranch #1)
Shit. I played right into that.
I take a gulp of water, stalling. “I just think it's… inappropriate. You know, small towns talk and all that.”
This time, a deep chuckle fills his chest, and my blood hums again.
“Noted, darlin’,” he says, bringing his mouth impossibly close to my ear without actually touching me. “But I can’t make any promises when you look at me like that, eyes all glazed with nipples that could cut glass.” He looks down at the offending body parts, and my face flames.
I smack his chest. “None of that,” I scold.
“Right. ‘Boundaries’,” he says with a chuckle, taking a step away from me, hands up in surrender.
We head out to the parking lot with his hand on the base of my spine, his impressive body now covered by the shirt he was wearing earlier.
Several women stop to tell me how lucky I am to have a man like Ryder who isn’t afraid to make a fool of himself for his woman.
Though “fool” is not a word I’d ever use to describe Ryder.
Like the gentleman he is, Ryder runs ahead to grab my door handle, just in time to open it for me. I roll my eyes at him, hoisting myself inside as he makes his way around to his door.
He cues up the music but turns the volume down.
We head home, and he raps his knuckles against the steering wheel, an anxious habit I’ve seen him do our whole childhood.
I reach out, pressing my hand gently on his to still the motion. His eyes flit to mine before fixing on the road. “What’s on your mind?”
He flips our hands, placing them on the seat between us and rubbing soothing circles on my wrist with the pad of his thumb.
“Was that too much, darlin’?” His words sound so small and unsure, and it tugs on the strings of my heart.
“Not at all, Ry. The class was incredible. It was so much fun getting to dance in a class setting, and…” I trail off, not sure if I should actually speak the next words.
“And?”
I let out a huff of air before finishing. “ And that last part was—” I clear my throat. “It was really fucking hot,” I finally say, the words coming out in a rush.
A deep rumble leaves his chest, and his thumb clamps down on my pulse point. “You’re not allowed to say things like that,” he scolds, shaking his head but keeping his eyes trained ahead.
“I guess it’s a good thing we don’t share a bed,” I joke, trying to lighten the mood.
“You can say that again,” he agrees, his voice deadly quiet. It sends another thrill of need racing through me before I can stop it, but thankfully, we’re almost halfway home.
“Wanna order in for dinner and watch TV? I’m kind of beat after that class,” he tells me when we get inside.
I release a little sigh of appreciation. “That sounds amazing. Pizza good?”
“Hell yes,” he says, sounding excited at the prospect of carbs and cheese. Who doesn’t love carbs and cheese? “I’ll place an order. Go wash your smelly ass,” he jokes, setting our water bottles on the kitchen counter.
After I’ve showered and slipped into a pair of worn-out sweats and another one of Ryder’s shirts I’d stolen doing laundry, I curl up on the couch and check my texts.
My Wifey For Lifey
How’d dance class go?
You won’t believe me when I tell you…
Puta, spit it out and quit toying with me.
He accidentally booked…
Always the fucking suspense with you. Jesus Cristo.
A pole dance class. And it was really fucking hot.
My coochie is SCREAMING!!! Ring, ring, ring! It’s your ovaries calling! They’re telling you to let that man slide on in.
I’m afraid you’re forgetting what this really is… But also… Would it be so bad? If I did give in??? Ugh. So hard to resist, especially after that lap dance.
LAP DANCE? You said POLE dance! When did the lap dance happen?!?!
End of class, Ryder volunteered us to be the example for the class on a little chair routine. Except, it turned into a not so little lap dance, with Ryder making good use of his namesake, GO, RANCH DADDY, GO! Yeehaw, little doggy!
“Ranch daddy?” I hear Ryder call from the kitchen. My head is on a swivel, and my heart plummets. Is he monitoring me like Russ had been? “I got a text from Mayte that says, ‘Yeehaw, Ranch Daddy,’ followed by a GIF of a muscular bottle of ranch riding a horse. Is there something I’m missing?”
My shoulders shake with laughter, and my heart climbs back into my chest cavity. Of course , he doesn’t have my phone tapped. “She’s a tyrant,” I confirm.
He takes a seat beside me on the couch, stretching out his long legs in the gray sweatpants he’s now wearing.
Facing me, he quirks a brow and asks, “If I’m Ranch Daddy, does that make you Ranch Mami? ”
“Definitely not, and don’t repeat that to anyone else,” I tease.
Ryder smirks, shifting closer to me, his gaze flicking across my face. “Ranch is my favorite dressing.”
Because it’s creamy and delicious just like…? Nope, definitely don’t say that out loud .
The doorbell rings, saving the day.
We decide to watch something on cable that neither of us is really paying much attention to, and when I open the pizza box to pull out a slice, my jaw nearly drops.
A white pizza with ricotta and hot honey. My favorite.
“How’d you remember?” I ask, my eyes swinging to his.
“I remember just about everything when it comes to you, Lola.”
I swear, if he keeps on like this, I might combust.
To make matters worse, he picks up a slice of his own and dunks it in a cup of ranch .
This man has no right to make salad dressing erotic. No fucking right.