Page 25 of Rinkmates

“Chill. You’re acting as if I’m about to kidnap you.”

I swallow, mustering up some strength to keep speaking even though he’s making my brain go haywire. “Well, depending on whatever romance novel you’ve been reading, that could be the start of a bestseller.”

He leans back a fraction just enough that I can see his smile, and suddenly, I’m eye to eye with him, captivated by the subtle hues in his irises—neither quite brown nor orange, but a warm whiskey color with a hint of golden amber that’s utterly mesmerizing. I’ve never seen eyes like his before.

I hold his gaze, feeling a playful glint dance from his eyes to my lips. Without thinking, I moisten them with a flick of my tongue.

“You read?” he asks.

I clear my throat. “Hm?”

“I asked if you read.”

“I do,” I reply softly, feeling his touch grow stronger against my back.

“What kind of books?”

Our hips brush against each other. That feeling. It’s like my whole body knows he’s there.

“Anything I stumble upon at the thrift store,” I say.

“If you could only read one genre for the rest of your life, what would it be?”

“I have a weakness for romance novels,” I confess, meeting his smile with a shy tilt of my head.

His smile widens, and his nose brushes against mine. “Then take some inspiration from them and touch me like you mean it. I don’t need a TikTok video of me squeezing a girl to death against a car.”

“Touch you? How?” I ask, feeling a sudden surge of awkwardness. Can one man really render me this speechless?

“Are you a virgin?”

“No. Why?”

“You act like it.”

“Better a virgin than a manwhore,” I shoot back, trying to regain my composure.

“There’s that fire. Touch me on my back.”

I reach out tentatively, my fingers brushing against his back. He presses his body against mine, and I let out an involuntary sound. Am I this needy? It’s been quite a while since I last had sex, but it’s not like it helps me or anything. I don’t get off having sex. I need my fingers or my vibrator. Why am I this thirsty now?

“Excited already?”

My throat tightens as I reach out, my fingers trembling as they make contact with his taut back, layered with muscles upon muscles. Jesus. All of him is hard. I wish I had longer nails so I could scratch him—hurt him. Just as I start to get lost in the moment, he interrupts with a playful tone, reminding me that this may not be as thrilling for him as it is for me. “Mm-hm, keep going like that, baby,” he teases.

I release my hold on him. “Okay, I think we’ve played enough. Let me go.”

His grin widens, infuriatingly charming. But he steps back, grabs my luggage, and nods to the doorman by way of greeting. “Come on.”

Once we reach Attie, Riley tosses him the keys and they fly through the air. “Thank you, man.”

And we’re in, away from all of his fangirls.

“So, you’re even too lazy to park your own car?” I say as we enter the elevator.

I can still feel the heat in my cheeks, but I try to shrug it off and act as calm as possible.

“He likes to drive my cars, so actually, I’m doing him a favor and he can use it whenever I’m away. Paint me the villain you think I am, but don’t be disappointed when you realize I’m not the bad guy you thought I was.”

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