Page 14 of Straight to You

RYDER

T he worst part about being an adult is that the world doesn’t care if your life is falling apart.

Deadlines don’t pause just because your life has been hijacked by a psycho.

Emails don’t stop flooding your inbox because someone is sending you cryptic messages that leave a phantom itch under your skin and make you want to completely erase your online identity.

Clients still have launch dates set in stone and, rightfully, need their deliverables on time.

The grind doesn’t wait for you to catch your breath.

It’s fucking exhausting being a person sometimes.

We’ve spent the last two days holed up in Logan’s apartment, and while no new emails have come through, it’s still the only thing I can think about.

Every time I step into the closet to work, headphones on, mic in front of me, my thoughts spiral.

I’m paranoid to the point of second-guessing every sound I hear because that creep made it known they’re watching.

I’ve never struggled to record like this before.

Usually, I can lose myself in the story, but now I have to actively convince myself I can do this at all .

Logan’s been hovering in the background, offering coffee, shoulder rubs, and his general presence like a security blanket. He doesn’t say much about the stalker, but I catch him glancing at my phone every time it buzzes, watching me for any sign of a negative reaction.

I’m sure he’s falling behind on work, too, but once again, he hasn’t complained or said anything. His boss told him there’s no problem with him working from home as long as he gets everything done, so I know how important it is for him to stay focused.

That’s exactly what I need to do, too.

I need to make some real progress on my to-do list before I lose another day with absolutely nothing to show for it.

I’m still making my way through the hockey romance, and while it’s the kind of book that usually makes me smile while I read, I’m struggling with it.

It’s hard to read something light and funny out loud for an audience when it feels like the world is crumbling around me.

The thought makes my stomach twist.

These creepy emails about how much this person loves my voice is going to be the reason I lose contracts because I can’t manage to pull it together to do my job. That’s what pisses me off the most. Not just the fear, but the way it’s derailing everything I’ve worked so hard to build.

I drop down into my chair, dragging my hands down my face. The closet isn’t as soundproof as my setup at home, of course, but it’ll do. Logan even helped me shove pillows into the corners the other day to help muffle the echo.

A knock at the door makes me jump, and I loathe that everyday things are causing such visceral reactions.

“Yeah?” I call out.

Logan opens the closet door with a coffee mug in one hand and a plate of toast in the other.

“Thought you could use a break since you haven’t stopped for lunch,” he says, setting them down on the small desk.

His hair is a mess like usual, sticking up in a way that makes him look annoyingly good, and he’s wearing one of his soft, lived-in shirts that cling to his chest. I feel like I’m seeing Logan in a new light, and despite all the stress I’ve been under, the nagging new desire I have for him hasn’t gone away.

The last couple of nights, Logan’s wrapped me up in his arms, and I haven’t even pretended to protest because it’s exactly what I need. It’s one of the only things that’s made me feel better, and I dread the moment we have to untangle ourselves for work in the morning.

Now, I spend all day counting down the minutes until I can be wrapped in Logan’s arms again.

I don’t think he realizes the effect he has on me.

This is the strangest and most complicated thing we’ve ever gone through, and he’s been my rock.

He’s made me feel loved and cared for in a way no one else has, anchoring me when I feel like my grip on reality is slipping.

I swallow and turn my attention to the coffee instead of whatever the hell my brain is doing right now. I exhale, wrapping my hands around the coffee mug and focusing on the heat seeping into my skin.

“Thanks,” I say, my voice softer than I mean it to be.

“How’s recording going?”

I let out a sigh and tell him the truth. “About as well as you’d expect when you’re trying to record a rom-com while your life feels like a horror movie.”

“Don’t be too hard on yourself. You’re still doing better than most people would be in your shoes.”

“Yeah, well, most people aren’t lucky enough to have a personal assistant-slash-bodyguard-slash-coffee delivery guy on hand,” I say, smiling up at him, trying to lighten the mood.

“Don’t forget emotional support roommate-slash-best friend,” he adds, grinning back at me.

The banter helps a little, it always has.

Humor is our way of taking the edge off when things get tense.

But as soon as the silence settles between us, my smile falters, and I see Logan’s face fall in response.

And fuck, I hate that. I hate that I’m dragging him down with me.

I know he’s just as worried as I am, but he won’t let himself show it, not while I’m already falling apart.

We can’t both break, so he’s holding it together for both of us—and I love him more for it.

“Ryder,” he says more seriously now. “You know you don’t have to push yourself this hard, right? Nobody’s expecting you to be perfect. You can take a few days for yourself if you need them.”

“I can’t,” I say, shaking my head. “There’s too much riding on this project. I already pushed back the deadline once before shit even got complicated. I can’t do it again.”

He doesn’t argue, just looks at me and nods. “Okay,” he says finally. “But don’t forget to breathe, alright? And maybe give yourself a little grace. Let me know if there’s anything I can do.”

I nod, expecting him to turn and leave, but instead, he walks right over, leans down, and presses a soft kiss to my forehead. My mouth drops open at the gesture without my permission, and he walks away, flashing me a small smile over his shoulder before closing the door behind him.

And I feel like my entire concept of reality just shifted.

I’m not sure if it was the coffee or the forehead kiss, but my evening has completely turned around. For the first time since this mess began, I was able to record a decent amount of work without my thoughts spiraling out of control.

I only have one more scene to make it through tonight before I’m ready to call it a night and head to bed. The scene is, well, spicy as the book world says, so I want to do it while I’m feeling good.

Detailed sex scenes aren’t new to me; they’re a pretty standard part of my job. I’m sure I’ve narrated hundreds of them over the years, but these hockey boys are filthy. I quickly skim through the book before I press record, and I feel my cheeks heating at what I’m about to narrate.

As the scene builds, I drop my voice into that low, sultry tone everyone seems to eat up.

My words come out thick with tension as I give voice to the character’s desires.

I add in a few moans, groans, and grunts to bring it to life, and by the time I hit the climax, my face is hot, and I’m grateful no one can see me.

When I reach the end of the chapter, I hit stop, turn off the mic, and drop down into my chair, letting out a deep breath. I rub my eyes and smile to myself because I feel really good about everything I’ve recorded since this afternoon.

Heading out of the closet, I walk into the bathroom to splash cold water on my face and brush my teeth to decompress before I get into bed with Logan. The last thing I need is to be all keyed up while he rubs his ass into me.

When I walk into the bedroom, Logan is smiling at me. “You good?” he asks, watching me as I settle under the covers.

“Yeah. Really good, actually.” I exhale, still a little breathless. “I finally feel like I found my groove again. ”

He smirks. “Sounded like you found your flow from out here.”

My stomach flips, and the casual way he says it catches me off guard. “You…heard that?”

“Bits and pieces,” he says, looking at me with a grin. “You get all…” He trails off, “Breathy. Kind of hard to ignore when you’re moaning like that in my closet—even if it is just for the mic.”

“Shut up,” I mutter, yanking the blanket over my head to hide the heat rising to my face.

Logan laughs and hooks his fingers into the edge of the blanket, trying to yank it down. “Oh no, you don’t,” he says, voice full of amusement.

I hold my ground, gripping the fabric tighter, refusing to let him pull it down. Laughter bubbles out of me anyway, and before I know it, he climbs on top of me, straddling my waist to try to pull the blanket down.

“Logan—” I laugh as he yanks the blanket away from my face, triumphantly.

His grin is wide and teasing, but the second he looks down at me, something shifts in his expression.

The look is so intimate. He releases the blanket and plants his hands on both sides of my head, his weight is pressed into my hips, and I feel my cock start to stiffen beneath him.

Fuck.

He doesn’t move, though, as his smile shifts into something unreadable that looks a lot like desire mixed with confusion. The air changes, and I don’t know if we’re still play-fighting or if…if this is something else.

Can he feel me getting hard?

My pulse is hammering now, and I don’t know what the hell I’m supposed to do because the urge to buck my hips up into him is strong. Fuck, I need to get him off of me before I do something stupid.