Hideaway (Devil's Night 2)

And then he turns to her and grabs her phone. “Go for it. I’ll take the picture.”

Ryen’s amused eyes flash to me, immediately turning dark, because she clearly doesn’t want to eat anything Lady and the Tramp-style with me.

But she doesn’t back down or feign shyness. Walking up, she grabs a bar stool and steps up on the prongs to raise herself higher. She’s not short, but she’s definitely shorter than my six feet. Leaning in with her lips parted, she stares into my eyes, and my fucking heart is going wild. It takes everything I have not to unwind my arms and touch her.

But she stops. “I’m coming at you with my mouth open,” she points out. “You gotta show me you want it.”

And I can’t help it. The corner of my mouth lifts in a small smile.

Fuck, she’s sexy.

I didn’t expect that.

And I fold. I hold up the marshmallow and open my mouth, holding her eyes as we both lean in and take a bite, pausing a moment for Dane to take the picture. Her eyes lock on mine, and I can feel her breath on my lips as her chest rises and falls.

My body is on fire, and when she leans in farther to bite off a bit extra, her lip grazes mine, and I groan.

I pull away, swallowing the goddamn chunk whole. Damn.

She chews the bit of marshmallow, licking her lips and stepping down off the stool. “Thank you.”

I nod. I can feel Dane’s eyes on me, and I’m sure he knows something is wrong. I toss the skewer down on the bar and meet his eyes. He’s wearing a coy smile.

Fucktard.

Yeah, okay. I liked the marshmallow, Dane. I’d like to eat a dozen of them with her. Maybe I won’t rush home quite yet, okay?

My phone buzzes in my pocket, and I take it out, seeing Annie’s name. I hit Ignore. She’s probably wondering where I am with her snacks. I’ll call her back in a minute.

“So…” Dane says. “All these pictures you’re posting on the page…you don’t have a boyfriend who’s going to come hunting us down,

right?”

I tense. Ryen doesn’t have a boyfriend. She would’ve told me.

“Nah,” she replies. “He knows I can’t be tied down.”

Dane laughs, and I stand there, listening.

“No, I don’t have a boyfriend,” she finally answers seriously.

“I find that hard to believe—”

“And I’m not looking for one, either,” she cuts Dane off. “I had one once, and you have to bathe them and feed them and walk them…”

“So what happened?” Dane asks.

She shrugs. “I’d lowered my standards. Too low, apparently. After that, I got picky.”

“Does any man measure up?”

“One.” Her eyes dart to me and then back to Dane. “But I’ve never met him.”

One. Only one guy who measures up. Does she mean me?

My phone vibrates again, and I reach in my pocket, silencing it.

I glance up and see cameras flashing all over and spot people taking a pic in front of the graffiti wall to the right.