Page 66 of The Flavor of Us

Ashton shrugs, his grin turning wicked. “He’s got a better shot than I do. Besides, Ryder’s good at reading people. He’ll know how to handle her.”

I shake my head, biting back a laugh. “He’s got his work cut out for him, but I know he’ll win her over. He’s stubborn like that.”

“Like someone else I know,” Ashton teases, leaning in close.

Before I can argue, he kisses me, soft and slow, like we’ve got all the time in the world. My heart pounds against my ribs, and for once, I don’t try to push it away. I kiss him back with everything I’ve got, pouring every bit of hope and want and love into it because this, right here, feels like the start of something bigger than me.

“You’re really mine? Like really, really?”

Ashton laughs, setting me back on my feet as he tucks a few stray strands behind my ear. “We wanted to ask much earlier but we both had a few commitments we had to clean up. I didn’t want to ask and then immediately run, Tati. But yeah, I’m really yours. Yours and Carleen’s and Ryder’s.”

“I accept. Now, how long do you think it’s going to take for Carleen to say yes?”

“Not long. He’s been wearing her down the past couple weeks. You should have seen them a few days ago, cuddling on the couch—”

“Wait, what? And you didn’t immediately come get me?” I can’t believe I missed that. Ryder and Carleen together are always special moments.

“You were fucked unconscious, little doe. The perfect smile was plastered on your face and I wasnotruining that.”

Chapter thirty-three

CARLEEN

The kitchen feels quieter than usual, save for the faint hum of the fridge and the obnoxiousslurpof Ryder sipping his coffee from across the room. I scrub at a stubborn spot on the counter, pretending I don’t notice him. But I do. Oh, I definitely do. He’s perched on one of the barstools, broad shoulders hunched slightly as he holds his mug with those ridiculously big hands.

Another loudslurpcuts through the silence.

I sigh, dropping the rag with a wet smack and turning around. Ryder’s eyes—those sharp, clear blue ones—are already locked on me, unreadable under the faint crease of his brow.

“You’re not even drinking that,” I say flatly, crossing my arms over my chest.

His lips twitch like he’s fighting a smirk. “Just enjoying the atmosphere.”

“Bullshit.” I jab a finger in his direction. “What’s going on, Ryder? You’re acting weirder than usual. And considering your usual is lurking silently in corners like some broody gargoyle, that’s saying something.”

His smirk finally breaks free and it’s unfair how devastating it looks on his face. I called him a fucking gargoyle and he’s just sitting here, like he walked out of a goddamn magazine. Unfortunately, he did. I have several of them in my living room.

He sets the mug down with deliberate care, his long fingers lingering around the handle. I brace myself, fully expecting some half-assed explanation or a deflection. What I don’t expect is him rising from the stool and closing the distance between us in three slow, calculated steps.

His presence is huge.Ryder’s always been larger-than-life, but right now, he’s everywhere—crowding my senses, filling the space around me. And when he stops in front of me, just close enough that I have to tip my chin up to meet his gaze, I stop breathing altogether.

“Carleen,” he says, voice low, rough, a bit of his Alpha purr pushed into that one word. Before I can form a single thought, his hands come up—one cradling the side of my face, the other sliding around to the small of my back—and then his mouth is on mine.

I don’t even think. My body reacts on instinct, arms wrapping around his neck as I melt into him. He kisses me like he’s been holding back for years, like he’s finally letting go of whatever leash he’s had on himself. It’s intense, consuming, and I’m right there with him, tilting my head to give him whatever he wants.

He lifts me without breaking the kiss, setting me down on the kitchen counter like I weigh nothing. His hands grip my thighs, keeping me anchored to him as his lips move against mine, pulling soft, breathless sounds from deep in my chest. But thenmy brain catches up with my body and a flicker of panic shoots through me.

“Ryder,” I whisper against his mouth, my hand pressing flat against his chest. “Red.”

He stops immediately. Like a switch has flipped, he pulls back, his forehead resting against mine as he takes a deep, steadying breath. His broad chest rises and falls under my palm, and when he finally lifts his head, his expression nearly undoes me. There’s regret there, shame even, but mostly—goddess—there’s so much care.

“I’m sorry,” he rasps, voice barely more than a whisper.

“Don’t,” I say quickly, wrapping my arms around his neck again and pulling him closer until his head rests on my shoulder. “Don’t apologize, Ryder. You didn’t do anything wrong. I just… I need a second.”

He nods against me, his breath warm against my neck. My fingers find their way into the short strands of his dirty blonde hair and I hold him there, my chest tight with something I can’t quite name. It feels fragile and massive all at once and I know if I let it slip away, I’ll regret it forever.

After a moment, he lifts his head, his blue eyes soft now, vulnerable in a way I rarely get to see. His hands settle on my thighs again, thumbs brushing over the fabric of my leggings.

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