Page 127 of Ryker

He climbs on the bike and holds it steady for me for me to mount up. Badass level unlocked!

I graze his ribs with my nails and hold his shirt while he starts the engine and backs us up. I’m so excited I could squeal.

“Hold on to me tighter than that, Tara.” When I don’t comply, the bike jerks forward and slams to a stop, making me crash into his back. My ass left the seat! Holy shit, that was scary. My grip tightens around him like an anaconda. “Good girl.”

Ryker blazes through traffic, cutting between cars. Every time I think I know which direction we’re heading, I’m wrong. Twenty minutes later, we pull up to a butterfly conservatory. There’s only one car in the parking lot.

Leaving my helmet on the seat, we walk towards the front door where there’s a big, “CLOSED” sign.

“Damn.” I would have loved to see this place. I’ve never been here before.

Ryker’s not disappointed like me. Hell, he doesn’t even seem surprised that it’s closed. That devious smile is back on his handsome face as he pulls out his cell and texts someone.

I narrow my gaze. “What are you up to, Mr. Hudson?”

“No good.” A few seconds tick by and the door opens. “Thanks for this, Max.”

“Lock up when you’re done.” The employee hands him the keys and walks out.

“You got it.” Ryker holds the door for me and tips his head. “After you.”

Something tells me he had this planned in advance. “Are private tours another club perk?”

“No, it’s a Ryker perk.” He laces our fingers together and leads me through a lobby with a gift shop, educational posters, and a circular ticket desk. Bumping a black rubbery door with his back, we enter a dark space that’s warm and muggy. “I think after this, I’ll have entirely bared my soul to you,” he says, pushing through another black door.

We step into a jungle.

Huge tropical trees, flowers, and low-lying plants give the vibe of a wild fairy forest. There’s a well-worn yellow brick road painted on the concrete floor with little arrows guiding us through the building. A huge black butterfly net drapes two stories above us. It’s incredibly humid and colorful. Long, skinny pedestals stick out of the ground with bowls full of watermelon slices and other fruits. Butterflies flutter all over the place—on branches, blooms, and the feeding bowls.

A tiny white one flies over Ryker’s head and lands on the railing that keeps visitors from encroaching on their territory.

“That’s a cabbage white.” Ryker watches it closely. “They only live one to two weeks, usually.”

I had no idea butterflies had such short lives. “She’s so sweet.” There’s a tiny black dot on her wings that looks adorable. She takes off only to land on Ryker’s head.

This is just too cute.

“That over there,” he says, pointing at a blue and black one, “is a red-spotted purple butterfly. It likes to eat dead things, sap, rotten fruit, and shit.”

“Tasty.” I lean over the railing for a better look. The wings are almost metallic blue and I wonder if they’d feel like velvet. “How long do they live?”

“A week or two,” he says, softly.

“Butterflies don’t live very long.”

“Nothing really does.” He pushes away from the railing. The butterfly on his head flies off and heads over to a purple cone-shaped flower. “I used to come here a lot in the beginning.”

We take our time strolling through the conservatory. There’s so much to see and learn. The only sound in the place is from the mist machines and the trickle of an artificial water feature. It’s lovely.

“Knox used to work here in high school. He’d let me in through the back and I’d sit and just… be.” Ryker drops onto a bench and stretches his arms over the back of it.

Directly across is a monarch plaque. The black and orange butterflies, however, are nowhere to be seen. Did they all die? Are they sleeping? Hiding?

Orange slices sit untouched on a plate by some rocks.

“What do monarchs eat?” I sit next to him.

“Nectar.” His gaze slides over to me and slips down to the apex of my thighs. “They eat and reproduce a lot.”

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