Crash Into Me

hall. “What are you doing?” he demanded, low and vicious. “What the fuck are you doing?”

He didn’t have a clue. And with Jamison’s taste still lingering on his lips, it was hard to think. Hard to breathe.

“It’s not—” He stumbled over the words, forced himself to stop and take a deep breath. Then he tried again. “I didn’t mean anything—”

“You were practically doing my sister in the hallway and it didn’t mean anything?” Jared interrupted, pushing him.

It was the straw that broke the camel’s back, and this time Ryder shoved back, hard. He watched with absolutely no satisfaction as Jared stumbled a little at the unexpected blow. “Stop putting words in my mouth.”

“Well, start coming up with your own, because what I just saw was bullshit, Ryder. Total bullshit, and if you were sober and thinking clearly, you’d see it, too.”

He was sober and he did see it, though he was the first to admit he wasn’t thinking clearly. That was the problem. He hadn’t been able to think clearly since he’d seen Jamison in the audience the night before. But how did he explain that to Jared, when he’d just been caught pawing his sister with all the finesse of a fifteen-year-old with his first girl?

Head down and gut burning, Ryder turned and headed back toward the living room—and away from the bedrooms. If they were going to do this, the whole suite didn’t need to know about it.

He grabbed a couple of bottles of water out of the mini fridge, tossed one at Jared. For a second it looked like his best friend was going to fire it back at him—straight at his head—but eventually he uncapped the thing and took a long drink.

Silence hung thick and expectant between them until Ryder finally said, “She came out here because she couldn’t sleep. I think what happened with Max affected her more than she wants to admit.”

“So, what? You decided a little time between the sheets with you was what she needed to stop thinking about what that bastard did to her?” Jared asked calmly. Too calmly. Sixteen years of friendship and bitter experience had taught him that the quieter his lead guitarist got, the angrier he was. Judging from just how low his friend’s voice had become, Ryder figured Jared was pretty damn close to ripping his head off, even if he had stopped trying to shove him around.

Ryder gritted his teeth, hung on to his own temper by his fingertips. “We had waffles, watched a movie. And then…”

“Yeah, I saw the and then,” Jared snarled at him. “Stay the hell away from Jamison, man. She’s off-limits and you know it.”

There was a part of him that wanted to argue, but he couldn’t. Not really. Jamison was off-limits, and kissing her had been all along. Trying to change that now was crazy. Especially when all he could do was hurt her. “I know she’s off-limits, man. I made a mistake. It won’t happen again.”

“Damn right it won’t. You don’t need to go anywhere near her for the rest of our time here.”

Normally, he’d be damned offended that his best friend thought he couldn’t be trusted around his little sister. But seeing as he’d been caught in the middle of stripping her naked—not to mention the fact that he’d had a raging hard-on for the last twelve hours, totally courtesy of Jamison—Ryder was having a hard time working up any righteous indignation. He had no intention of touching Jamison again—ever—but that didn’t mean he didn’t want to. Which pretty much made this whole damned conversation unbearable.

Jared finished his water. He tossed the bottle into the nearest trashcan, then crossed the room. He didn’t stop until he was right up in Ryder’s face. “I asked if you heard me. She’s not one of your legion of groupies. Don’t screw around with her.”

“I’m not.”

“She’s my sister, man.”

“You think I don’t know that?”

“I don’t know what to think. Hell, most of the time I don’t have a clue what’s going on in your head. If someone had asked me yesterday if I trusted you with her, I wouldn’t have thought twice. But after what I just saw…” He shook his head. “We both know Jamison’s had a thing for you for a decade.”

Jared’s words sent a dark thrill through him, had his dick twitching all over again. When he was in his early twenties, he’d known she had a crush on him. But she’d been in high school at the time. The idea that she still felt something for him…it made him— He put the brakes on, locked that shit down tight. Now was not the time to think about how easy it would be to get Jamison into bed. “Have I ever done anything about it?”

“Not until now.”

He growled low in his throat. “How many times do I have to tell you I’m sorry? That it won’t happen again?”

They stared at each other, stale-mated for long seconds. Then Jared closed his eyes and took a few deep breaths, and all of the aggression seemed to flow out of him. “Look, I’m sorry. I’m not trying to bust your balls, Ryder. I’m really not. But, dude, you go through women like you go through condoms. Like they’re cheap, disposable, and mean nothing more than your next fuck.

“Which is fine. I get it. I really do. If I had all your shit to deal with, I’d probably do the same thing. But you know Jamison deserves better than that.”

“Don’t you mean she deserves better than me?”

“That’s not what I said.”

“No, but it’s what you meant. Isn’t it?” He waited for Jared to protest, to tell him he was being stupid. Taking things out of context. But, in the end, his best friend didn’t say a word—and Ryder couldn’t blame him. He knew Jared was right, even as he felt the weight of the other man’s disapproval all the way inside of himself, deep down in the spots he worked so hard to pretend didn’t exist anymore.

He ignored the twinges of pain, refused to even acknowledge them. Instead, he smiled the cocky, lead singer grin he was known for all over the world, and said, “You don’t need to worry about me taking advantage of Jamison. After all, she’s not exactly my type.”” The implication was that the fault was with her, not him.

Nothing could be further from the truth—he’d always been fascinated by Jamison’s deep waters, by the complications and contradictions that made her different than the other women he knew—and he waited for Jared to call him on his bullshit. But before he could, Jamison walked into the room, shoes and coat on. Shoving her crazy, sexy curls out of her eyes, she snarled, “And who exactly said that you’re my type?”

Ryder’s stomach sank at the anger Jamison didn’t try to hide. And the hurt that she did. Once again, he’d screwed up and once again, he had no one to blame but himself.

Chapter Eight

She wanted to hide.

Wanted the floor to open up and swallow her whole.

Wanted to crawl under the couch and never, ever come out.

Or, barring any of those scenarios, she at least wanted to bury her face in her hands and pretend the last hour and a half had never happened.

Why, oh why, hadn’t she stayed in her room? Why had she woken Ryder up? And why had she stayed with him, pushed at him, when it was obvious that he wasn’t interested in her? That he would never be interested in her?

It had been humiliating to stand there listening to Jared talk about the crush she’d had on Ryder. Had been even more humiliating to listen to Ryder dismiss that crush—and her—as nothing. As not being his type—which she knew was just another way of saying she wasn’t sexy enough for him. Wasn’t pretty or glamorous or skinny enough for the rock star he was. One would think she’d have learned her lesson by now. It wasn’t the first time she’d been rejected, after all. She’d thrown herself at Ryder at seventeen and he’d turned her down. hard. What had made her think that things would have been any different tonight?