Page 17 of Ryder

He was being a nice guy, doing the right thing, and I acted like a brat when I didn't get my own way. And all he got for his efforts was a punch in the face. I still cringe at the memory. Not that I want to remind him of that anytime soon.

“You wanna see where I live?”

I shrug. “Why not? I came all the way out here.”

He looks more unsure than I’ve ever seen him, but eventually, he holds out his hand to me. I take it, reveling in his warmth as he pulls me behind him. “Stay close to me. Don’t look at anyone, or make eye contact, got me?”

Shit. What was I getting myself into? Still, I manage to say, “Got it,” as cheerfully as I can.

Seeing Ryder in his own environment is thrilling to me. As kids we’d always played at our house, or outside, but never at his place. I’d never once seen him in his home. He didn’t have the upbringing we’d had, I got that, but kids without money could have loving parents. It isn't rocket science. When I think about the bruises I used to see on him as a kid, it makes me sad. I know if my parents had seen them, they’d have reported it. Even though they were strict, they weren’t bad people. They wouldn’t agree with child abuse. They’d just been ripped off by his dad. They hated his family, but it wasn’t Ryder’s fault. He got very good at hiding a lot of things, until one day a teacher saw and got involved. It only made matters worse at home, and then we didn’t see Ryder for weeks. I’ll never know what happened to him for those few weeks, but when he returned back to school, his stutter had returned.

Tears well in my eyes, but I hold them back. Approaching a wild, crazy MC clubhouse in the middle of a party isn’t the time to go down memory lane.

His hand tightens in mine as he pushes the doors open. Inside it’s dark, kinda dingy, and people are swaying drunkenly to the music. Some guys play pool, others throw darts, but I don’t see much because Ryder’s pulling me through the room like his pants are on fire. When one of the bikers’ eyes meet mine as we pass, I immediately cast my eyes downwards. He calls something out, but Ryder keeps moving toward a set of stairs. Then we’re taking them in a rush, managing to get to the top of the landing before anyone stops us. My heart is racing from the adrenaline.

Well, not just that, if I’m being honest. Ryder has his back to me as he shoves one hand into his jeans pocket and rummages around. I stare at his profile, unsure how I lived without seeing his face for five whole years. Handsome doesn’t even seem to cut it.

He’s like the James Dean of motorcycle bad boys. I snort at my own joke.

He turns to look at me over his shoulder. “Shouldn’t be here.”

My eyes meet his. “But I am.”

He tugs me along to the far end of the hallway, the last room on the left. He shoves the key into the lock, then pushes the door open and pulls me inside. It’s quieter up here. The thumping music barely makes a dull roar, and I’m thankful. I’ve had a couple of drinks, clearly — I wouldn’t have had the liquid courage to come all the way over here myself — but the pounding in my head isn’t from any of that. It’s because I’m in Ryder Cane’s bedroom.

I glance around. His bed is unmade and there are clothes scattered on the floor. He lets go of my hand and reaches to pick them up. I smile to myself.

“So, this is the love shack?” I roll my lips. “It’s quaint.”

“It’s a shithole, but it’s free, and usually I’m here pretty much by myself unless there’s a party.”

I look around the room. It’s small, but other than his unmade bed and the clothes — which are now stacked in a pile on the floor — it’s not so bad. There’s a huge picture of a Harley Davidson on a poster above his single bed. I wonder if this is where he brings chicks up. Do they share his bed? Does he give them something to dream about? I’ll bet he does… There’s a small bookshelf crammed with books. I forgot about Ryder’s fascination with novels, though I never actually saw him read one.

“You like thrillers?” I thumb to the bookshelf.

“Why’d you really show up here?” he demands.

Okay. Not exactly the cheery reunion I had going in my head.

“I told you. It’s my birthday and you owe me a dance.”

He levels me with his gaze. “You came here to dance?”

My cheeks heat. Oh. I mean, it wasn’t my sole reason for being here, but I’ve waited five years for this opportunity to finally be alone with him, and he isn’t pushing me away.

If he wanted me gone, he would’ve called that cab downstairs.

“What if I did?”

He sits on the edge of his bed, then rubs his face with his hands. “You don’t know what you almost did out there. Luckily that was Harlem and Jett?—”

“Explain it to me then.”

He lets out a long puff of air. “Babe, you’re too pure for this club.”

It’s not the first time I’ve folded my arms over my chest tonight, and I’m sure it won’t be my last. “I’m not a child anymore. I can take care of myself.”

“I can see that,” he mutters.

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