Page 58 of Hellbent
I cross my arms. “Well, that’s not very gentlemanly of you.”
Ryder picks up the bottle and tops up both of our glasses. “You looking for a different answer?”
I force a scoff. “Just making conversation.”
He studies me, expression guarded, like he’s weighing whether or not to push. Then, finally—
“Next question.”
“Okay.” I search my mind, wondering what I dare ask. “Do you ever go on dates at all, or is it always just…random fucks?”
His fingers pause on his glass, but only for a fraction of a second. Then he lifts it to his lips, taking a slow sip before setting it back down. When he speaks, his voice is smooth and unbothered.
“Depends.”
I narrow my eyes. “On what?”
“The situation.”
“That’s not an answer.”
He gives me a crooked smile. “Sure it is.”
I roll my eyes. “Fine. Let me rephrase—have you ever actually dated anyone, or is it all just one-night stands?”
His smile drops. The shift is subtle but unmistakable.
“Once,” he answers, serious and final.
I want to pull the thread, ask for more, but there’s something in the way he says it that tells me not to.
Then, just like that, he exhales and shrugs, easy again. “A man’s got needs, Maxwell.”
I exhale sharply, shaking my head. “And there it is.”
He laughs—actually laughs—then lifts his glass to his lips. “What about you?”
I blink. “What about me?”
“You’ve never had a one-night stand?” His gaze holds mine, genuinely curious.
“No,” I tell him honestly, shaking my head. “My last relationship was eight years long.”
He tilts his head, considering. “I guess one night’s not enough for you.” A beat. His voice stays easy. “Or one man.”
It takes a second for his meaning to hit me. Jake and Damian. A flush creeps up the back of my neck, but I force a dry laugh. “Wow. Subtle.”
He shrugs as he repeats my words back to me. “Just making conversation.” He leans back into the couch, broad shoulders shifting, the muscles in his arms flexing beneath the thin fabric of his t-shirt. “I’m not judging.”
I raise a skeptical eyebrow. “You sure about that?”
“No more than you are.”
“Ha.” I reach for my drink, trying to shake the warmth spreading under my skin. “Fair.”
For a few moments, we drink in silence. The warmth of the whiskey seeps into my limbs, loosening something in my chest, while outside, a loud clap of thunder rattles the windows.
Ryder drapes an arm along the back of the couch, his large, tattooed hand drifting closer. His other hand rests on his glass, turning it slightly against his knee. “You settling in at the garage?”
