Page 9 of Release Me

“Suit yourself.” He squeezes the back of my neck. “You and Ryan will have agreatsummer together.”

I groan.

5.Ronan

Connor lingers at the door, watching me empty two grocery bags’ worth of food onto the counter. “You sure you don’t want to come? Someone will be selling a ticket outside.”

“Scalper prices to sit by myself at a concert? Nah, I’m good.” As much as I’d kill to see the X Ambassadors, the cost will be way too steep.

“’Kay. I’ll swing by to change and grab you when it’s done. That blond from the beach today texted me. She’s gonna meet us at the club and she’s bringing a hot friend for you.”

“Hot by whose standards?” I ask around a sip of beer. Usually when girls have to sell their friends like that, the results are underwhelming.

“Does it matter? Sherrie said she likes to suck dick. You gonna say no to that?”

Tasha loved to suck my dick.

My cock twitches with the memory, even if that memory is now laced with bitterness. Maybe a good blow job from another woman is what I need to get over her.

Connor nods toward the fridge. “Bottom shelf is yours.”

The lowest shelf, when I’m over six feet tall. “Shouldn’t Ryan take the bottom shelf?”

“If you wanna move Ryan’s food, be my guest. I’ll be home in about three hours. You might not have fully bled out by then after she stabs you for touching her things.” With a slap against the wall and a “See you in a few,” he’s gone.

I study the fridge, shaking my head at the middle shelf, which is clearly hers. Everything is neatly lined up and packed in glass containers. Fruit, vegetables, yogurt. Food groups that are sorely lacking from Connor’s shelf, which is basically beer, hot dogs, and ketchup.

The bottom shelf is on the lowest rung, leaving little room. I don’t need a lot, but this is ridiculous. Ryan’s a good foot shorter than me. The shorter people get the lower shelves. Those are the rules of life. She’s going to have to learn to deal. And if she wants to yell at me about it?

Fine. So be it.

I take a big swig of my beer.

And then set to shifting things around.

“Is that all you got?”I watch highlights of the Panthers getting their asses handed to them by the Leafs. I guess I can’t say much—Indiana doesn’t even have an NHL team. Still, I can’t get behind this.

I check my watch for the hundredth time. It’s after eleven. I’m showered and dressed and finishing off my fifth beer. This big, fluffy brown sectional may be the most comfortable thing I’ve ever sat in. If Connor doesn’t get back soon to drag me out, I’m not going anywhere tonight, no matter how hot this friend of Sherrie’s is. And based on the picture he texted me, she’s a solid nine, though I’m reserving final judgment until I see her in person. The catfish stories are real.

Keys jangle in the hallway outside our door. A few secondslater, the door flies open and Ryan strolls in, arms laden with textbooks and a grocery bag. Her eyes skate over me as she kicks the door shut behind her, but she doesn’t say anything.

“Hey. You need help?” I offer, a blip of regret stirring in the pit of my stomach as she heads for the kitchen. I shouldn’t have taken the liberty to change things around without talking to her. Not until I smoothed over this morning’s debacle.

I don’t feel like getting yelled at again.

“No thanks,” she says curtly, dumping everything onto the countertop.

I watch her as she opens the fridge.

And stops dead.

“Hey, I hope you don’t mind, but I swapped our things around, seeing as you’re shorter than me. I lifted the shelf though, so you have as much space as before.” After a lingering pause, I add, “Connor said you’d be okay with it.” I owe him one for not telling me about Ryan in the first place.

After another long moment of silence, she sets to sliding her groceries onto her shelf, not saying a word, but also not threatening bodily harm. I watch, because I can’t help myself. She’s wearing black leggings, and her firm ass looks fantastic bent over in the fridge. My dick starts to harden.

I sure as hell can’t letthathappen.

And I can’t let this tension go on either. We just got off on the wrong foot is all. Collecting my empty beer cans, I climb off the couch and make my way over to the kitchen to stack them in the case. “I’m sorry about this morning.”

---