Page 38 of Bite Your Tongue

I stare at the list, unable to take my eyes from it. Suddenly, the thought of doing all these things with Saylor rushes through my brain. I want to be there for all of them—and not just to make sure it’s me she’s kissing when the clock strikes twelve or to ensure she doesn’t kiss Morgan fucking Wallen either. Though that’s part of it for sure.

“Are you reading my list?” Saylor says from behind me, though luckily, there’s no anger in her tone.

When I turn toward her, I almost stumble back because she looks so fucking pretty. Her hair is wet and brushed back from her face, which has not a single ounce of makeup on it, and somehow, she’s even more beautiful than ever. She has a white T-shirt on, which so clearly shows off that she isn’t wearing a bra, and my dick awakens, twitching a few times in my pants. Her sleep shorts display her smooth legs, and I picture having them wrapped around my shoulders while I devour her pussy on this countertop.

“Ryder?” She raises an eyebrow. “Are you going to answer or continue to stare?”

Shaking my head, I swallow. “Uh, yeah. Yeah, I did read it. Sorry.”

“Why?” She folds her arms over her chest, which only pushes her tits together, giving me a perfect shot at her cleavage and making my mouth water. “Why did you read it, I mean?”

“It was just there,” I say, trying to stop my eyes from floating back to her tits, but it’s fucking impossible. “And since it’s right on the fridge, I figured you weren’t trying to hide it.”

She stares at me for a beat before she lets out a small laugh. “Yeah, I don’t really care. It’s not like it’s a list of all the dicks I’ve seen or anything.” She shrugs nonchalantly, looking at the food. “Well, that looks good, and I’m so hungry right now.”

I point to the stool. “Come sit, my little bucket-list maker, who is horned up over Morgan Wallen even though he throws chairs off of balconies and who wants to be a stand-up comedian.” I pause. “By the way, I noticed that one was crossed off.”

Thank fuck it’s not the Wallen one. I’d have zero chance with her if she got with that handsome fucker.

Taking a seat, she bobs her head up and down. “Yeah, so I tried the whole stand-up-comedy thing, thinking I’d be great at it.” She shrugs nonchalantly, completely unbothered. “Turns out, not so much. I’m really not all that funny.”

“What?” I frown. “That’s not true.”

“I know, right?” She shakes her head. “It seems the motherfuckers who attend those things do not have the same sense of humor as me. Oh well though. Probably wouldn’t have paid much unless I turned into, like, the next Jerry Seinfeld or Kevin Hart, right?”

“Or Adam Sandler,” I point out. “That dude is rich.”

“You’re not helping me feel less like a loser, asshole,” she scolds me.

“Sorry, sorry,” I say quickly. “You’re right, babe. Fuck that comedy bullshit.”

“That’s what I’m saying.” She nods in agreement. “Who needs that crap? Not me.”

The thing is, she is funny. She knows it too.

I stare at her, grinning like an idiot and admiring her for being so open, even though I think it’s just surface level. Saylor is much deeper than she leads on—I just know it. Eventually, she’ll let me in. And I didn’t come here just to be further put into the friend zone—I mean, sure, for now, I’ll settle for that. The truth is though, I want this girl. If I didn’t, I wouldn’t be here.

“I’m going to help you complete this list, my bratty one.” I point at it. “I see one we can do before I fly back on the twenty-sixth.” My eyes roam the list. “Possibly two, if we play our cards right.”

“What?” Her eyes widen, but I’m not sure what emotion is driving them to do so. It could be excitement or maybe fear. “That list—it’s things I should do before I settle down. You know, by myself.”

“Why?” I challenge her, walking around the small bar and taking a seat before sliding her a plate.

“Well, because I’m trying to be independent. And strong.” She sighs. “I’ve chased every boy who’s so much as looked my way since I was twelve years old, Ryder. I need to learn to stop doing that.”

“But you’d check things off that list with Gemma, wouldn’t you?” I ask, raising an eyebrow. “What’s different about me?”

“You have a penis,” she deadpans. “That’s what’s different.”

“A big one too,” I say, nudging her side and making her roll her eyes.

Putting my hand over hers, I lean a little closer. “My point is, you and I are friends. Gemma is your friend. Why can’t I do the same shit she gets to do?” I pat her hand gently. “I get it—you’re on this self-finding adventure that doesn’t involve dicks. That’s great and all, but I still want to be your friend.”

“Is that all?” She narrows her eyes. “You just want to be my friend?”

“I do,” I say truthfully, even though I know inside, I also want more than that. “So, just fucking let me, damn it.”

Her eyes roam my face—searching for anything that says I’m bluffing, I’m sure. She may not know this, but I have one hell of a poker face, and I’m pretty fucking desperate to be close to her in any capacity.

---