Page 27 of Hellbent
I exhale slowly, gripping the knife harder than necessary, and slice the onion with my fingers curled under, my pulse loud in my ears.
“Good,” is all he says.
We don’t speak after that, but shift back into comfortable silence. After a while, I mutter, “This is nice.”
Ryder glances at me. “What is?”
I don’t know why I say it out loud, but I just shrug. “This. Doing something normal.”
I expect him to scoff, to brush it off, but instead, he just gives a small nod.
It feels like the first real, soft moment we’ve had.
By the time dinner is ready, headlights sweep across the driveway, catching the edges of snowbanks through the kitchen window. The others are back.
Something in me deflates. The afternoon with Ryder had somehow turned…nice. The return of the others means it’s over.
He grabs a stack of plates from the cabinet, gives me a look, and for a second I imagine he might almost say something. But then the front door swings open, laughter spilling in with the cold, and the spell breaks.
Ryder turns away, carrying the plates out to the dining room, and just like that, the space between us seals shut again.
Jake smiles when he sees me—a seductive, private smile just for me that makes goosebumps shiver over my flesh from head and toe.
“Hey, baby,” he murmurs as he walks toward me. His palm slides over the back of my neck, warm and possessive, as he bends down to press a kiss to the top of my head. It’s so gentle. So easy. And it undoes me. “I’ve been thinking about you all day.”
My stomach flips. God, he’s dangerous.
I look up, doe-eyed and mushy, a stupid grin already spreading across my face—
And then out of the corner of my eye I catch Ryder staring.
His dark brows knit together, jaw flexing, the hint of a frown pulling at his mouth.
The warmth in my chest snuffs out.
“When’s dinner?” Damian asks.
“Twenty minutes,” Ryder answers, turning his eyes to Damian. “Or whenever Wyatt gets here.”
“Good,” Jake says, stretching his arms over his head. “I need a shower.”
“Oh, me too,” I say, suddenly remembering my earlier towel debacle. A flush creeps up my neck.
“Perfect.” Jake winks, sliding his hand down my arm before lacing our fingers together. “You can come with me.”
His tone is casual. Playful. But it lands differently now that Ryder is here.
It’s Jake’s house too, I remind myself. He’s a grown man. I don’t owe anyone an apology.
So why does it feel like Ryder is witnessing something he shouldn’t?
Damian quirks a brow, a suggestive grin curling his lips.
I stand up, face warm, hand still entwined with Jake’s.
“We need towels,” I murmur, letting him lead me out of the room.
CHAPTER SEVEN
