Page 43 of The Import Slot
I break the hug and look at him. “Wanna know what happened on my date?”
“Do I want to know?”
“I spent over half the time talking about you.” I poke his chest, but it backfires and hurts my finger; his chest is a solid wall. “Ouch.”
“Me? What about me?”
“It’s not important, but I had to leave. I realised something.”
I pull him into me, press my lips ever so slightly against his, and feel him relax.
“I take it you aren’t seeing him again, then?” he breathes.
“No, I’m not. Are you seeing the redhead with a nice ass again?”
“That was literally nothing. Bettsy fucking around,” he says.
“Oh.”
“Were you jealous?”
“Yes, I was. Because I don’t want to be friends with you, Ry.” I say.
“Have you been drinking?” he asks.
“Yes, but I’m not drunk. I know what I’m saying and what I want,” I say.
“You’ve missed your last train.”
“I needed to talk to you.”
“Stay here tonight, and we’ll talk in the morning.”
I feel so disappointed and also annoyed at myself for drinking. I want to talk now, but I know he’s right. “On one condition,” I say.
“What?” he asks.
“One hundred per cent honesty,” I say, and he nods, grabbing his hat from my head and popping it back on himself.
“When have I ever lied to you?” he says.
“Not lied but you’ve been shady, ergo grey sweatpants.” I wiggle my eyebrows at him.
He grabs me and slings me over his shoulder, and I yelp, hammering on his back.
“Not this again. Put me down.”
“I can’t help it. I think your ass is phenomenal.”
He gives it a playful smack before setting me down on his bed.
“Do you think about my ass a lot then?” I say.
His silence tells me everything I need to know. He darts to his wardrobe at light speed, throws me a t-shirt from his stack, and leaves the room.
I strip off, bar my underwear and fling the t-shirt over me. It smells like Ryan and I feel my nipples harden. Fuck, he’ll notice those, but I’m horny as fuck now and that spank did not help matters.
I check if Danny is around before going back to the kitchen. Ryan has resumed his drills, and I can feel his eyes on me when I walk past him to get a glass. But he ignores me, making out he’s still fully engrossed on the puck.
