Slowly I turn to face her, leaning a hip against the counter. Willa’s bravado fades a bit when she sees my eyes. “Willa, if anyone’s getting wrecked, it will be you.” Pushing off the edge, I take a step toward her and wrap a curl of hers around my finger. “I’ve always played clean with you, Sunshine, but I don’t have to.”
Her legs clamp together. “Is that a threat?” she manages hoarsely.
“No, Willa. It’s a promise.”
Spinning away, I step back to the sink, then squirt soap onto the plates and run more water. Her eyes are one hundred percent on my ass. I can hear her heart pounding from over here. It might take me a while, but I’ll convince Willa Sutter she’s safe to share everything with me, to take the leap and risk her heart with me, if it’s the last thing I do.
“Pack warm,” I say over my shoulder. “Washington’s chilly in March.”
26
Willa
Playlist: “Not Over You,” Guitar Tribute Players
“Willa, relax.”
I startle so hard, I spill half my coffee all over my lap. “Jesus, Bergman. A little warning.”
Ryder’s eyebrows lift over his sunglasses. “A little warning before I talk to you?”
Just…goddamn him. He was despicably lumbersexual to begin with, but now that he’s only working that week-old beard, it’s game over. His scratchy stubble does nothing to hide his soft lips which are, as I predicted, unfairly full while still masculine. Throw in the thick, smoky lashes, enviable cheekbones, a jaw you could cut glass with, and I’m ruined. I am a puddle of shameful lust.
Then there’s, ya know, his whole personality. He’s an asshole, in the right ways. He shoves back when I shove first, when he knows I’m looking for a harmless fight and I need our snap and sizzle. He finds weird ways to figure out my feelings and moods without making me feel like I just had another soul-draining chat on the shrink’s sofa. He makes the best fucking Swedish food and he knows exactly how to give a back rub. His hugs are life-affirming.
He’d be very easy to fall in love with. If I did that sort of thing. Which I don’t. At least, when I’m able to keep up all my boundaries and walls and distancing mechanisms, most of which were ripped away from me the moment he stuffed me in his Explorer, then made us hop a flight to Seattle and drive the gorgeous terrain of Washington State.
And I voluntarily agreed to this bullshit.
I grumble something noncommittal and stare out the window, looking at my surroundings as we drive south on I-5. It’s Ryder in topography. Evergreens and still waters running deep. It’s intoxicatingly beautiful.
Ryder’s barely touched me since we boarded. Our only physical contact was me falling asleep on his shoulder. To my horror, I drooled extensively. I only know this because when our plane landed roughly and I snorted awake, his entire shoulder was soaked. Ryder seemed unfazed but I wanted to shrivel into my seat with mortification and disappear.
That’s all. No easy hugs, no playing with my hair. No kisses to my forehead when I fall into his chest which is the best target for my frustration with the world. The center console between us in the SUV feels both a mile wide and a millimeter thin. Too much. Not enough.
I’m losing my mind.
“I’m edgy,” I finally manage.
He smirks like a sexy asshole. “Ya think?”
“Are we almost there?”
Ryder nods, checking his mirror before he takes a soft left turn. I stare at him, caught in one of those moments where I find it particularly surreal that I can both see his face and hear his voice. I liked him so much when I had neither of them. How can I resist him now?
“Where the hell are we?”
Ryder grins. “If I told you, I’d have to kill you.”
“Not funny.” I smack his arm and bruise my hand. “Jesus, Bergman. You been juicing on me?”
“Do you know me? Juicing is an environmental disgrace. It wastes valuable fibrous contents of fruits and vegetables—Ow!”
I found that special spot beneath his elbow and pinched. “You know what I mean. ’Roids. Juice.”
His throat works as he swallows. I watch his Adam’s apple bob and have to fold my arms across my rock-hard nipples. “Had to do something the past couple of months,” he says.
“What’s that mean?”
Ryder glances at me briefly, before his eyes travel back to the road. “I was worried about you, Sunshine. Kind of went crazy for a couple of weeks. Got drunk daily for a stretch, then realized working out compulsively was a better coping strategy.”
My throat’s a desert. My heart slams in my chest. “Oh.”
Ryder clears his throat and points ahead of him. “That’s it.”
My jaw drops. A breathtaking A-frame greets us as we roll down the gravel path. Floor-to-ceiling glass perches between deep wood beams that triangulate the house. Everything’s either rich brown, dark green, or cerulean blue. Spruce and pines, boundless sky, shining water not far off. A dense patch of woods surrounds the house, only cleared enough for a magnificent waterfront view.
“The property’s private,” Ryder says, throwing the car in park. “You can wander the woods topless, skinny-dip—” His swallow is thick. “It’s yours for the using, I mean.”
I’m flabbergasted. “Ryder, this is crazy nice.”
He shrugs. “Dad invested well for a while and bought it. Wisely paid it off promptly. When the recession hit, he lost most of his investments, but at least this was paid for. The older siblings take turns throughout the year visiting and doing maintenance work. It’s how we earn our use of it.”
“You don’t pay someone to maintain it?”
“No.” He stares analytically at the house like he’s itemizing a to-do list. “That kind of upkeep costs more than my parents can afford.”
I roll my eyes. “You guys seem like you’re fine financially.”
“Well, Sunshine, sometimes looks are deceiving. Yes, Dad’s a doctor, but there’s seven of us, and all but the last two of us have gone to college and racked up tuition costs. Plus, we’ve had some shit come up throughout the years that drained finances pretty quickly.” He looks away to the water and sits back in his seat. His hand drifts reflexively to the external receiver he wears behind his ear. “It’s why this took so long. We had to prove to the insurance company that hearing aids weren’t working, and that meant—”
“You had to suffer with them for a while, to prove how insufficient they were.” After Mama’s years being sick, I’m familiar with what bastards insurance companies can be. “Ry, I’m sorry. I didn’t know.”
He smiles softly, before pushing open the car door. “It’s okay. I didn’t tell you, did I? Come on, let’s stretch our legs a little bit.”
I follow him out of the car, heading for the trunk, but Ryder wraps his fingers around my wrist and tugs gently. “Leave it. First, I want to show you something.”
He turns and walks toward a narrow dirt path in the woods.
“But I’m hungry,” I whine. A granola bar flies over his shoulder and hits me. “Wow.”