Chasing Mr. Wrong (Chasing Love 4)

“Good. I don’t want that either.”

“Dinner sounds like a date. The kind I already turned down.”

“So you won’t go out to coffee with me or do anything that resembles a date, but truck sex is on the table?”

She pursed her lips, but she couldn’t deny…

“Yeah, that’s basically it.”

“You make no sense to me, sweetness,” he said, and the smell of him was getting to her. Rough, raw male, spice and sweat, all mixed with a hint of cologne. It was enough to make her crazy.

She made no sense to him? The truth was that she didn’t make sense to herself, either. She could do sex, no commitments, no dates, no expectations. Just sex. But Ryder was trying to make their interactions walk a line between friends and lovers that felt like a tightrope. One minute polite and cordial, the next wild and wanton.

“I’m not looking to date you,” she said, more for her own good than his.

He leaned back against his truck. His tool belt swayed a little, and she couldn’t help but imagine him wearing nothing else.

“Oh, I know that, sweetness,” he said with a sly smile. “So then you’ll have no problem coming over for dinner? Just two people having a meal. I promise to be on my worst behavior.”

She laughed a little, and he tilted his head to examine her with interest—a look like that did funny things to her chest.

“So long as we understand each other.”

“I understand that we want two different things. I’m going to do my best to show you that just hanging out can be worthwhile.”

She started to tell him that was the problem. She didn’t do “worthwhile,” not when she was never around long enough to get attached to anyone. The risk of losing them was too great, and she refused to ever experience that pain again.

Except Ryder wasn’t asking for her to get attached. He was playing their usual game, and she finally understood that those rules might be what would help her get another piece of him without her taking the risks she knew to avoid. This way they could stay temporary. This way she could stay safe. This way she could maybe get her lips on his again. And she’d love seeing him try to stop her.

“You mean you’re going to try to deny me?”

“Yes, ma’am.” His eyes roamed over the length of her and melted her core instantly with a single sweep of that gray gaze.

Casual was good. Casual was where she operated. Because she’d leave, he’d stay, and life would go on. He wanted dinner? She wanted sex.

“Looks like I’m going to have to bring my A game then, Mr. Diamond.”

“Game on, sweetness. Game on.”

Chapter Eight

Ryder was either the biggest idiot on the planet or plain delusional. Because he knew, knew, he was waging a losing war against Whitney, but here he was, yet again running into the fray, half-cocked and ready to go. Literally.

But this was a fresh battle. One on his home turf, which gave him the advantage. She wanted him for sex, which he had to admit made his chest puff out a little with pride. But he wanted to attempt to maintain some kind of damn willpower, because if he kept up this habit of bedding her every time he saw her, it was going to be a tricky summer.

He stirred the Top Ramen and checked on the Bagel Bites in the oven. He couldn’t cook for shit, but he needed Whitney to come over to his house for a very important reason. Dinner was the best excuse he’d come up with. And if he could make it through tonight without wanting to lay her down every time he looked at those sexy thighs, he’d consider himself a winner.

The past few days she’d barely looked at him, had spoken even less, and that bothered him. He should be happy she was maintaining distance, but all it did was heat his blood every damn day that he saw her and she ignored him. He’d watched her work, slinging drinks and running plates to tables. Smiling, laughing, and engaging with other customers. But not him. He was…jealous.

Everyone else got to see her smile. They got to hear her voice. He didn’t. Platonic or not, that couldn’t continue, either. Yes, he needed control, needed to keep boundaries, but he couldn’t watch her and not get a taste of her presence. It was a special kind of torture and he was dangling somewhere between trying to date her, trying to be her friend, trying to bed her, and trying to stay away from her all at the same time.

He blew out a breath. It was exhausting. But he could do this. Could keep his will power. Be friends. Be in her company and be a gentleman of sorts. Because giving in to the wild was a bad idea. But staying away and missing out on all her light was frustrating as hell in its own right.

Maybe he was a selfish bastard. Wanting her the way he did. Wanting to be near her. Wanting to feel that high she made him feel, but wanting to keep control…

A knock came at the front door. Excitement flooded through him like he was eight and Santa had shown up early. He forced himself not to run and open the door.

He stopped, took a long, measured breath, and then opened the door.