“You’re just teasing me. That’s all you do, Ryder. You poke and tease and make fun of me.”
Holy shit, was that what she thought? Was that why she was always so prickly toward me? “That’s not true.” I carefully took her other arm and tried to rub them both to calm her.
She pulled back, leaning against the outside of the building. I hated how defeated her expression was.
“Trina.”
She looked at me, and while she was trying to appear tough, I could see pain in her eyes and I hated myself for putting it there.
I searched my brain for what I could say to make her see that I wasn’t making fun of her. Taking a chance, I repeated the first words of her poem, “My heart beats for you.”
Before she could yell or hit me or both, I leaned forward and captured her lips with mine.
8 Trina
I wanted to yell and scream. I wanted to hit and punch him. I wanted him to never stop kissing me.
I ignored the warning bell sounding in my brain and gripped his shirt, holding him to me, kissing him back. He tasted like a man should; sexy, dark, with a hint of whiskey making me wonder if he snuck a shot before going on stage. He moaned, the sound of it reverberating through me, awakening all my senses. His hands held my hips like they’d never let go as his tongue slid along the seam of my mouth, asking for entrance that I eagerly allowed. His tongue was hot, wet, and knew exactly what to do as it danced with mine. I’d kissed men before, but I’d never been kissed like this. Those other kisses had been nice. Kissing Ryder was a full-on body experience, heady, and intoxicating at the same time.
The door to the building opened and an elderly couple exited, the woman tugging at the man’s hand and pulling him against her as they started to kiss.
“Oops,” she said as she saw me and Ryder. With a giggle, she pulled the man back into the building.
With the hypnotic haze broken, I looked at Ryder and all my anger and embarrassment flooded back. I had the urge to slap him, but I knew my anger was more at myself for letting him kiss me…for kissing him back, so instead, I pushed him away. Because I was too angry and upset to form words, I stalked to the parking lot to find my car and drive home.
As I searched for and didn’t find my car, I remembered I’d come with Ryder. God dammit. Fine, I’d walk. In fact, maybe I’d just quit this stupid bet and go back to my own home.
Seething with all sorts of painful things I wanted to inflict on Ryder streaming through my brain, I started walking to town. I’d made it about a half a mile when Ryder’s truck pulled up beside me. The window on the passenger side slid down.
“Get in,” he said.
I ignored him.
“Trina, don’t be an ass. Get in the truck.”
I glared at him. “Don’t you have a dance to play at?”
“I told them I had an emergency. The rest of the band can cover for me. Now get in.”
“No.” I hated feeling like a petulant child, but better that than getting in the truck with Ryder. I couldn’t trust him. Hell, I wasn’t sure I could trust myself as I could still taste him on my lips. My body wanted to taste more of him. Traitorous hormones.
“I can see you’re heading back to your place. Sinclair will view this as you losing the bet. That Harvest Festival speech is a good five minutes long at least. Are you saying you’d rather talk in front of the town than get into this truck with me?”
I stopped short, hating that he was right. Public speaking or Ryder. Both options sucked big time, but in the end, I felt I could manage Ryder. I was sure my head would explode if I had to speak in front of all of Salvation.
Grumbling, I climbed in the truck. He turned around and headed back to his place. At least he wasn’t talking, I thought as we rode in silence. How the heck did I get here? My life was so ordered. So balanced. Now I felt like it was tilted on its axis and I didn’t like that feeling. It was too reminiscent of the chaos in my life growing up. All the moving around. All the wondering how we’d live when my father lost yet another job. The time my mother went grocery shopping and never came back. The day the divorce papers came from California where apparently she’d gone to live. By the time I was ten years old, I knew that if I was going to make it in this world, it was up to me. I couldn’t rely on anyone. Not my father. Not my mother. No one but me.
The only moment of security I remember feeling while growing up was right after my mother abandoned us when I was ten, and my father left me alone to go look for her. When Sinclair’s mother heard I was by myself, she had me go stay with them. The Simms were a happy family. There was laughter and music in their house. Sinclair and Ryder played all the time. They didn’t have to make dinner or mediate between their parents. Everyone was nice to each other. Someone, I suspect Sinclair, would every now and then leave me a flower in my backpack or on my bike as a way to make me feel better when I did miss my parents.
When my father showed up again, I didn’t want to leave the calm and happiness of the Simms home, but of course, I had no choice. I was sent back into the chaos. Interestingly enough, when my dad left me again the last time when I
