“Thanks.”
So much for keeping the reason I’m here to myself.
Then the nurse turns to Brylee. “And they’re waiting for you.”
“They?” I echo, nonplussed.
The nurse winks at me and turns away to talk to another guy asking for directions.
What’s going on here?
Brylee offers no explanation. She waves at me and flounces away, leaving me to stare after her.
Color me confused.
But Mom is waiting, and I have enough problems of my own without adding
a cute Trouble with a capital T to the list—no matter how bright.
Chapter Nine
Angel Dongs
Ryan
I step out of the gym to flurries of snow. The ground is already covered, and despite the cars passing by, there’s that crisp quiet in the air I associate with snow.
It’s like being inside a snow globe, and I grin as I tilt my face up to the light gray clouds, letting the flakes tickle my cheeks. I’ve always loved snow. Back when our family home wasn’t a museum but a real home, warm and bright, with flames leaping in the fireplace and flowers in the vase on the table…
Yeah. Way to spoil the mood.
With a sigh, I head toward my car, shouldering my duffel bag, my sneakers crunching lightly in the thin white cover of the sidewalk.
That’s when I see him.
Riddick.
I’m pretty damn sure it’s him, although I’ve only seen him once, and what does that say about me?
He’s taken cover in the entrance of a shop across the street, and he’s smoking, eyes closed, one arm braced on the wall.
He looks unreal in the falling snow. With dark hair falling in his eyes, that strong body nonchalantly leaning to the side, his jacket open and his T-shirt stretched over his chest, he looks like a movie star, like… a rebel without a cause or something.
Or maybe I’m still high on endorphins from my work-out and can’t think straight.
And yet my feet refuse to move away. I study the breadth of his shoulders, his long legs, his strong jaw, the way even from a distance his mouth looks kissable. Fuckable.
The hell’s wrong with me?
With a grunt, I start to turn away, still staring at him, goddammit—when I see him step onto the sidewalk, and falter.
What the—?
I’m crossing the street before my brain has issued a conscious command, jogging between cars as he stumbles a little, the cigarette falling from his hand.
“Riddick!” I yell his name, as if that will stop him from dropping like a stone before I reach him.
Slipping in the thin layer of snow, I make a desperate grab for his arm as he starts going down.