Page 52 of Ride By Your Side

Snack plate it is.

“Well, what else do you call someone who locks themselves away in their room all day and only seems to make an appearance to grab something quick to eat?” she asks, leaning against the counter.

“Someone who's been busy,” I lie, even though I’ve spent my day wasting away, doom-scrolling through social media.

“Oh yeah? Doing what?” she challenges innocently, clearly seeing right through my bullshit.

“Does it really matter?” I ask, reaching for the ham, mustard, and a few other ingredients to throw together a sandwich.

“When it’s obvious you’re trying to avoid me, then yeah, it does,” she says, pushing herself onto the counter before crossing one leg over the other. For someone so short, she somehow has legs for days. I do my best not to let my eyes trace every inch of her bare skin as I set my ingredients down on the counter as far away from her as possible.

“Why would I be avoiding you?” I ask, trying to sound as innocent as she does while reaching into the cupboard for a loaf of bread.

“You tell me,” she challenges, a knowing grin spreading across her face.

“I already told you I wasn’t,” I lie through my teeth. That’s exactly what I was doing, and what I plan to do for the rest of the night. Hell, maybe even forever if I don’t get these thoughts of mine under control.

“Well, sorry if I don’t believe you, but you’re making a sandwich instead of one of those elaborate dinners you’re famous for.Clearly, something is up.”

“Maybe I just want something simple,” I state, the double meaning clear, especially when everything with Veronica seems so incredibly complicated.

“I don’t know. I think after being around you for a while and getting a small taste of things, I want the opposite. Simple is boring. I mean seriously, who wants mediocrity when you can have something much more fun and exciting?”

“Well, maybe not everyone is meant for fun and constant excitement. Maybe some people do much better with a simple and boring existence,” I suggest, reaching for the drawer nearher legs and opening it, doing everything in my power not to notice how incredibly tempting her smooth, silky legs look.

“I suppose you’re doing a good job of proving that to be true, but I don’t think that’s actually what you want,” she insists, as I chance a look up at her, just as my hand closes around a butter knife from the drawer.

“And what makes you think it’s not what I want?”

“Well, the way you’ve been doing everything in your power not to look at me until now, almost as if it’s causing you actual physical pain to look in my direction.”

If only she knew, because the truth is, it’s the complete opposite. Looking at her sends waves of pleasure through me, a warmth that radiates from my chest to my toes. It’s the avoidance that’s painful, especially when all I want to do is let my eyes explore every inch of her body. It doesn’t help that it’s so obvious that’s exactly what she wants from me, too.

“I’m looking at you now,” I offer, but soon force myself to look away as I do my best to create space between us, pulling out two slices of bread and getting to work on building my sandwich.

“You call that looking?” she asks, clearly amused.

“Was it not?” I challenge, sneaking a glance in her direction. God, everything about her is so fucking tempting, especially as she leans back on the heels of her palms, propping herself up in a way that makes my eyes want to travel every inch of exposed skin—especially the parts that are still clothed, as I can’t help but imagine what they look like underneath.

“Not really. Do you not like what you see?” she asks, tilting her head to the side and lifting an eyebrow.

I love everything about what I see, but I can’t say that, not aloud. “You know you look good,” is what I say instead.

“Maybe, but I think I’d still much rather hear you say it aloud.”

I close my eyes and let out a frustrated puff of air. “You look good,” I say, finally turning to truly look at her. “Was that good enough for you?”

The corner of her mouth lifts into a smile. “It was good, but I think it’d be a lot more fun if you actually showed me what you think about me too,” she adds casually, as if what she’s suggesting isn’t some big deal that could turn both of our lives completely upside down.

“I can’t do that.”

“Why not?” she presses, pushing off her palms as she leans forward, my eyes straying toward the cleavage peeking through, perfectly on display.

With every ounce of self-control I have left, I force my eyes to meet hers. “Because what I want to do with you isn’t something a person should ever do to their little sister’s best friend.”

“What about to theirwife?”

I let out a huff. “You’re only going to be my wife for a short time.”

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