Page 46 of Bite Your Tongue

“You’re right.” I sigh. “We should tell him we’re friends and we like spending time together. Unless you see reason to keep him in the dark. I mean, I don’t think he wants to knoweverythingwe do with that time.”

“You’re like a brother to him, so I trust you to tell him,” she says, and there’s absolutely no missing the apprehension in her voice. “And once you do, tell me so that I can call him and smooth things over.”

“I will, but there won’t be anything to smooth over. We’re friends, right? What’s the big deal?” I tell her, but I’m lying. Even I know this is going to be a fucking train wreck in the end. But I guess I must be drawn to carnage because I’m turning a blind eye.

She gives me a piercing stare. “My brother knows I’m never just friends with those who have penises.” She blows out a breath. “Okay. I think … I think we should at least try this friends-with-benefits thing.” She shrugs lightly. “Seems as though we end up naked every time we hang out anyway. Might as well make it structured, right?”

“Right.” I jerk my chin up and down. “Exactly my thoughts.”

I know what I’m entering into. I’m going to complicate the fuck out of my life by getting even closer to her. But if I’m lucky—and I mean, really, really fucking lucky—maybe she’ll realize she wants more. And I won’t have to be the sad son of a bitch I know I’m going to be when she cuts me off.

“One more thing,” she says, her gaze sharp and unapologetic. “I am emotionally unavailable, Ryder. Sex? That I can do. But the second you get the urge to tell me your feelings again? Bite. Your. Damn. Tongue. Do we have an agreement?”

She doesn’t budge, continuing to stare at me with zero fucking feelings. Maybe it’s an act; whatever it is, she’s good at it.

“Fine.” I nod. “But when we’re fucking and my dick is inside of you or my tongue is licking your pussy, if you have the urge toremind me we’re just friends … you biteyourtongue.” I give her a level stare. “It’s a mood killer. Deal?”

Pulling in a deep breath through her nose, she relaxes in her seat. “Deal.”

Once we’re out of the car and on the sidewalk, I nervously stuff my hands into my scrub pockets because even though this is exactly what I’ve been trying to avoid, here we are, acting weird with each other. The energy between us has shifted simply because of the conversation we just had. Now, unlike usual, when we’re trying to tell ourselves it’s the last time we’ll hook up, now … we’re basically promising that it’ll happen again. Sooner rather than later too.

Whether it was the smartest or dumbest idea ever, I’m not sure.

Ryder is so incredibly good-looking, and he smells delicious. He’s nice, he’s funny, and he’s obviously good in bed—hence why I keep agreeing to one more time. I know this isn’t going anywhere—guys like him may want to keep me around for a while because, yeah, I am fun, but I know I’m not the type he’s going to settle down with. So, maybe it’s all right to allow myself this little slice of sexual heaven. I mean, I get a friend out of it, too, so what’s the harm?

As long as I’m the one steering this ship, what is so wrong with enjoying someone’s company, having sex with someoneI’m wildly attracted to, but having zero expectations of it going deeper than that? My whole life, I’ve put too much weight on relationships, always being the one to fall hard and fast despite trying to pretend like I’m this fun and wild girl. I’m really just a bleeding heart, begging to be hurt. But it’s different with Ryder. He’s the one following me around. He’s letting me make the rules, and I have to say, I really love feeling in control for once.

“Thanks again for coming down here and hanging out with me for Christmas.” I smile. “And for helping me to get a few things crossed off my list.”

Truth be told, I had so much fun the past few days, and I’m not ready for him to leave. As much as I love Charleston—and I do—I miss home. Having Ryder visit from Maine was great, but now, I’m feeling even more homesick.

“Pleasure’s all mine, Brat.” He grins at me, making me blush. “Truly.”

“Well, I guess you should go in now,” I say, chewing my bottom lip. “Looks pretty busy today.” I shift around on my feet like a teenager on my first date with my hands still tucked into my pockets.

“Yeah, I guess I probably should,” he drawls.

As I take a few steps back, he flashes me a devious yet somewhat-still-boyish grin. “What, no hug goodbye? Friends hug, you know.”

I look thoughtfully at him, knowing he’s right. “I suppose they do.” I bite down on my lip hard to stop the smile from stretching across my whole damn face.

Friends don’t make each other’s insides feel the way mine do right now. But that’s what’s going on in my body. I’m nervous, and my hands are clammy. I’m saying goodbye to a man who is supposed to simply be a friend, but last night, we did things friends sure as hell don’t do to each other.

And I loved every second of it—annoyingly enough.

Without warning, his huge arms wrap around me, and I lean closer against his strong build. Friends may hug, but I don’t think their hearts beat this fast when it happens. I fight the urge to melt against him because that wouldn’t be appropriate for this agreement.

Pulling back slightly, he grins down at me before planting a kiss on the top of my head. “Thanks for a really good few days, Sail-On,” he murmurs against my hair. “It was a damn good Christmas, if you ask me.”

For a moment, we just stand there on the sidewalk, frozen in time and completely entranced in whatever this pull is that drags us together. Finally, he drops his hands from my body and reaches into his pocket before taking out his phone.

“Oh yeah, one more thing,” he utters gently, turning the screen toward my eyes. “And don’t freak out because friends also give each other gifts, so consider this a Christmas present.” He winks. “You know, since you smothered my face between your legs before I got the chance to give you this.”

I scoff, rolling my eyes, but when I look at the screen, my heart leaps in my chest. I take in the picture of a hotel that overlooks Times Square. I squint a little harder at the date and see that it’s for New Year’s Eve.

“You didn’t,” I whisper, my hand lifting to my mouth as I stare in awe.

“I did,” he says modestly. “You mentioned last night that you get New Year’s Eve and Day off because you’d worked Christmas. I took that as a sign that there was no better time than the present for you to check off another thing on your list.” He raises his eyebrows. “Although, after you went on that really nice andproperfirst date with that extremely good-looking guy last night, I’m not sure how he’d feel about you making out with a stranger at midnight.”

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