over. There was no way he was going to jeopardize that just because he suddenly couldn’t look at her without wanting to make her come.
Since just the thought of bringing Jamison to orgasm made him rock hard, Ryder shoved that shit down deep. Locked it up with all the other crap he wouldn’t let himself think about Then climbed the bus steps two at a time.
If Jamison wanted to go grocery shopping, he’d take her grocery shopping—and Steve would just have to wait until she was happy, schedule or no schedule. It’d be a good chance for him to smooth things over between them, get everything back to normal. Back to the easy friendship they’d had for so long.
Because no matter how much he wanted her, the last thing Jamison needed was to get stuck with him and all his fucked-up baggage. He wouldn’t ask that shit of anyone, let alone a woman as sweet and innocent and deep down beautiful as she was.
…
Jamison was surprised—and not pleasantly—when Ryder grabbed a basket from the front of the store and pushed it through the automatic doors like he did it every day. Like it hadn’t been months—maybe more than a year—since he’d last set foot inside a supermarket. The other guys were still snoring in the bunks, exhausted from the show and their late night, and she’d half-expected Ryder to crawl back into bed himself. What she hadn’t expected was for him to walk through a public place so nonchalantly, with not even a baseball cap or sunglasses in place to keep him from being recognized. Admittedly it was barely dawn and they were in one of the smallest towns in California, but still. Rock stars had shown up in stranger places than this.
He didn’t seem aware of her disquiet, though, as he asked, “Where do you want to start?”
“The produce department.” Her voice came out a lot huskier than normal, and she cleared her throat a couple times to try to get rid of the tear-induced lump in the middle of it. The last thing she wanted him to know was how uncomfortable it made her to have him tagging along with her. Or how much it still hurt that he didn’t want her on tour with the band. That he didn’t want her. “You guys need to eat something besides pizza every once in a while.”
“Hey, if you do it right, pizza has all four of the major food groups.”
“Yeah, but how often do you actually do it right?” As soon as the words left her mouth, she longed to take them back. All she’d meant was that Ryder and the others were much more likely to smother their pizzas in pepperoni and sausage than they were to put vegetables on them.
But that wasn’t how it had sounded, even to her. And judging from the wicked smile Ryder was currently wearing, the king of the double entendre had definitely caught the secondary meaning she
Before he could reply, she slapped a hand over his mouth. “Don’t say it,” she warned.
He just shook his head, as he protested his innocence with raised hands and wide eyes until she began to doubt her instincts. But just as she went to move her hand away from his mouth, he ran his tongue straight down the center of her palm in a long, decadent lick that had any thought of his innocence—or anything else, for that matter—spinning right out of her mind.
Not that she had any intention of letting him know how he affected her. “Nice,” she told him, making a deliberate show of wiping her hand on her jeans in disgust. But when he just stood there, grinning at her, she risked a quick glance down at the front of her hoodie, wanting to make sure the fabric was thick enough to hide her suddenly peaked nipples.
It was, but deciding she couldn’t be too careful, she put a few extra feet of space between them. Then, tossing him a careless smile she was far from feeling, she picked up a large bag of potatoes and slung it into the basket. She also grabbed some garlic, onions, ginger, and a variety of herbs she liked to cook with, depositing them in the cart Ryder rolled alongside her.
“So, any special requests?” she asked as she added corn on the cob for Jared, fresh green beans for Wyatt, and a couple bunches of asparagus for Quinn before reaching for a few plump eggplants for Jared—eggplant parmesan was one of his favorite dishes—and a bunch of salad stuff for herself.
Vegetables done, she cruised over to the fruit section, where she loaded the cart with all kinds of different berries for Ryder, along with apples, oranges, and pears.
“Peaches,” he said after a minute. He reached for one of the plastic produce bags and began filling it with the sweet, plump fruit. “I’ve been craving peaches for the last day and a half.”
She had no idea why the thought of peaches left her breathless all of a sudden, but it did. Maybe it was watching the way Ryder handled the fruit, his long, calloused fingers gently squeezing each one as he searched for bruises and imperfections. Or maybe it was the way he looked at them, like they were something else entirely.
Whatever it was, it was hot. Dragging her eyes away from his way-too-talented hands, Jamison unzipped her hoodie and tied it around her waist. Was it just her or was it getting warm in here?
“Anything else?” she asked after clearing her throat for what felt like the millionth time.
“Quinn will want Twinkies.”
She gagged. “That’s so not going to happen.”
He shrugged. “I’m just saying. The man likes his snack cakes.”
“Well, he’ll have to learn to like my snack cakes instead.”
Ryder arched a brow and she blushed all over again. Seriously? Who knew food shopping could be so fraught with sexual connotation?
“That’s not going to happen,” he finally said after a minute.”
She nodded jerkily, refusing to go there with him. “We should probably hurry up. Portland’s still a long way off and Steve only gave me half an hour to shop.”
Ryder shrugged. “He’ll wait.”
She wondered what that felt like—that bone deep assurance that you were important enough to wait for. Not that Ryder was rude about it. He wasn’t, usually, and neither were Jared or the others. But still, they’d changed through the years—not a lot at any given time, but little bit by little bit. Their confidence, always something to be reckoned with, was huge now, as was their sense of entitlement. She wouldn’t call it ego, exactly, but the guys had all grown into their fame through the last couple of years. Had come to take it—and their place in the world—for granted in a way they hadn’t before. In a way it still surprised, and unsettled, her to see.
Then again, it took a special kind of person—and a special kind of talent—to stand up in front of thousands of screaming fans every night and deliver the experience of a lifetime. Over and over and over again. There was nothing wrong with the members of Shaken Dirty being proud that they could do that. And that people wanted them to. Just because it still felt strange to her didn’t mean it wasn’t as natural as breathing to them.
“Hey, what are you thinking about?” Ryder paused the shopping cart by the bakery section, studied her carefully.
She almost blew him off. But then thought, what the hell? He’d asked, after all. “How much everything has changed in the last few years.”
“Has it?”
Was he messing with her? “Don’t you think so?”
“I don’t know.” He shrugged. Picked up a couple loaves of French bread and placed them in the basket. “It feels like we’ve been on tour forever. Now we just play bigger venues with more fans.”
“You’re the headliners now instead of just the opening band.”
“I get to sing. Get to play my music in front of people. Beyond that, the logistics don’t really matter.”
Oh, but they did. She gestured to the cart. “There used to be a time you couldn’t walk into a grocery store and afford whatever you wanted.”
“True.” He added an extra large pack of cinnamon rolls and a peach pie. “But I don’t think fresh fruit and vegetables are really that big of a splurge, are they?”
“What is it with you and peaches today?” She put the peach pie back, then headed for the juice and candy aisle. “If you want a pie, I’ll make one for you.”
He grinned. “I didn’t want to assume.”
“I’m the cook. It’s pretty much my job to make you whatever you want to eat.”
He scowled. “I wish you’d stop calling yourself that.”
“What?” she asked, mystified.
