Page 66 of Coco and the Misfits

“I’m Coco. I’m?—”

“A friend,” Ryder says and takes my hand, leading me away from him. “Don’t mind him. He’s a moody bastard.”

“Is he okay?”

“Pack problems. That much I’ve gleaned, at least.”

“That’s sad.”

Ryder clinks his beer can with mine. “Yes. So we need to drink and drown the sorrows.”

“What if my sorrows have learned to swim?”

He swallows some beer, watching me. “I believe that. Tell you what. Let’s elope.”

I laugh. “What?”

“Let’s get out of here.”

“And go where?”

“I live at the end of the street. Wanna come up for a drink?”

For some reason, despite the earlier panic as I walked here, the answer comes easily. “Yes. Let’s go.”

I feel… safe around Ryder. Not because he’s a gentleman but because he seems to see me. See what I need.

Or is it wishful thinking?

We run down the street, holding hands. I laugh breathlessly as he pulls me against a fire escape and cages me with his arms.

“Coco,” he breathes, lashes shadowing his eyes. “Pretty Coco.”

I reach up and trail my fingers over the stubble of his jaw and cheeks, over his soft lips and that damned silver ring. “Like what you see?”

“Hell, yeah. Can’t you tell?”

“You stole a kiss,” I whisper. “That doesn’t mean anything.”

“I only steal things I like.”

“Things, or people?”

His eyes smolder. “Want me to steal you away?”

I huff a laugh. “Of course not.” Do I? It would sure solve my existential crisis.

“You want me to kiss you,” he says. “You’re desperate for it.”

“Like a Jane Austen heroine,” I breathe.

“Like that. Want me to run across a meadow to meet you?”

“With your shirt unbuttoned,” I demand.

“With the wind in your hair,” he whispers.

“Oh, kiss me, kind sir.”

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