Page 24 of Running For It

Who was he kidding? “That’s exactly the way this works.”

Ramsey placed a finger under my chin and turned my face toward his. “This isn’ttit for tat. We’re not keeping score. You’re a friend who needs help, and Hunter can help. If one of us needed something, you’d do the same.”

“What would you need from me?” I wanted to take back the question as soon as I asked it. Mostly because I hated feeling like I couldn’t contribute—and what was I offering them in return, for everything they were doing?

“You know better than that,” Hunter said. “If you don’t, I’m telling you now. Money and connections get a lot of things done, but not everything, and frequently not the important things.”

There was an underlying thread in his voice I couldn’t identify.

“So, I’ve got this.” He dialed.

Mythank youwas muffled by his talking to whoever picked up on the other end.

I listened intently to his half of each conversation, trying to tell how things were going. It didn’t work. He briefly explained the situation each time, followed by short, pleasant answers, and then he’d hang up.

The fact that he kept making calls made my heart sink. We landed, and he was dialing more people. We were getting in the car, when hewhooped. “Got it.”

The car was big enough that two bench-seats faced each other in back. Ramsey slid in next to me, and Hunter took the spot across from us. Everything about his expression and posture saidpleased.

“Eight-plex in Sugar House. All of them two-bedroom, two-bath,” Hunter said. “The new owner had everyone move out because he’s remodeling, but the bank held his financing. The place is empty for at least two months, and your kids can stay there. No charge. He’ll write it off as a donation.”

“You’re the best.” I leaned across the divide, to give him athank youhug.

“I wanna be the best.” Ramsey’s pouty voice was exaggerated. He wrapped an arm around my waist and yanked me into his lap.

I squirmed more than was needed to get comfortable, feeling him half-harden underneath me. “You are the absolute best.”

“Mhm.” He scraped his teeth over my neck. “At what?”

“Everything? What are you looking for?” I teased.

Ramsey bit my shoulder hard enough to draw a yelp, sending a spark of desire through me. “Something sincere would be nice,” he growled.

“No one hurts me like you do.” That sounded bad. “I mean that in the best way possible.”

“Mhm,” he repeated, settling his hands on my hips and moving me into my own spot.

Had I offended him?

Eleven

Ramsey leaned in, to hover his lips near my ear, his warm breath teasing my skin. “You need a little pampering, in case there’s more agony later,” he said in a stage whisper.

“I have no idea what that means.” Was it supposed to be sexy? Threatening? I was pretty sure it meant he wasn’t offended by my comment.

He chuckled. “I thought it was a clever segue, but maybe not. You have an appointment at the hotel salon in about”—he looked at his empty wrist—“fifteen minutes.”

If pressed by the right person, I had to admit I missed this part of dating Ramsey. The part where certain things that I considered luxuries and he considered necessities were paid for by default. I’d have to be pressed hard, though, because even admitting it to myself made me feel selfish. “If you insist.”

“I do.”

We reached the hotel, and Ramsey gave my hand a quick squeeze and promised they’d see me in a few hours, and a member of the staff showed me to my appointment.

The stylist yanked the scrunchie out of my hair with a sigh. “At least it’s not elastic. Says in your appointment notes you can do whatever you’d like, as long as you don’t cut more than a couple of inches off.”

Because of course Ramsey sent instructions. Those weren’t as specific as usual, though. “I could have you dye it blue?”

“In the amount of time we have? Yes, if you want to destroy these gorgeous curls.”

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