Page 19 of Wicked

“Thanks, Ryker. That means a lot to me.”

On her way to the bedroom, she faces me.

“Ryker, can I ask a favor?”

“Sure.”

“Um, will you . . .”

She clears her throat. Sets her hands on her hips. Bends at the waist. Comes up for air and blows out a breath. I’m dizzy watching her.

“Will you spend the night with me in my bed?” Soft pink colors the arches of her cheeks.

And here I thought I’d be kicking it on the couch.

Shock and awe.

I’ve spent less than a week with Harper Garrix, and one thought crosses my mind, further sealing my fate.

Missy who?

8

Ryker

Iwipe my sweaty palms on my pants. Swallow a few times. Shoot Harper furtive glances as she tugs down the covers.

Short pink shorts. Satin cream tank top, the points of her nipples poking against the thin material. My dick is doing the same to the front of my jeans.

I’ve never slept with a girl before. Yeah, I’ve banged my fair share of coeds, but to snooze with a girl and the end goal not be coitus? Doesn’t happen.

“If you’d rather sleep on the couch, I understand. It’s just”—she shrugs—“I don’t want to be alone tonight.”

“Your friend Shephard—”

“Would get mixed messages if it were him in your place. I never want to do that to him.”

Meaning that at some point in their “friendship,” she did.

“Did you set the alarm on your phone? You absolutely cannot be here when he shows up at my door.”

“Your tone is getting me highly suspicious, Harper. I won’t be the other man in this relationship,” I tease, but I’m dead serious.

“Yet you’re into open relationships.”

“A mutual understanding. What we have is—”

“Temporary and not a relationship, so ‘mutual’ is not in the cards.”

“But you’re willing to let me share your bed. Insisted.”

“To comfort. Not to fuck.”

Oh, hell no. Proper Harper did not say that crass word. And it turns me on for two reasons. One, I’m a douchebag. Being turned on by crassness is a given. Two, Harper isn’t the prude I pegged her to be. My dick twitches, and I don’t know if I can keep my beast in my pants.

“You can,” she says, reading me like an open book.

Or is it the way I’m staring at her eyes, her mouth, and her tits?

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