Chapter 11

Jayden

Everything with Ryder has been going good this past week, almost too good. It scares me.

"Jayden, something is going on with you. I can tell. I didn’t come to Sand Dunes on your night off just to talk to myself like I’ve been doing for at least fifteen minutes now," Mimi says. She's stirring a strawberry daiquiri with her tall red straw.

"Yeah," I say, tucking a strand of hair behind my ear. "It's just... Ryder."

"Spill." Mimi leans in to listen me.

"He's been so sweet lately, like when he gave me his jacket last night because I was cold. It's just..." I trail off, my hands weaving through the air. "I don't get it, though. I'm not his usual type—no six foot tall, strikingly gorgeous model. I’m just... me."

"Jayden, stop. You're amazing." Mimi's words tumble out, earnest and a little exasperated.

"Am I? Or am I just convenient?" The question hangs between us.

"Girl, you need to give yourself some credit," she insists, but her encouragement gets lost in the space where my confidence should be.

"Kind of." I let out a breath. The truth is, I'm afraid of what it means to be liked by someone like Ryder, afraid of what it says about me—or doesn't say. Maybe I'm just the girl standing at the edge of the dock, never quite making it to the party.

“You know I’m right,” she reassures.

I swirl the last of my margarita in its glass. "But what if he's just settling for me?" The words slip out, and I cringe at the insecurity lacing them.

"Settling? Jayden, you're kidding, right?" Mimi's voice is high pitched. She snatches a napkin from the table, scribbling something down before thrusting it toward me. "Read this."

I squint at her messy scrawl—'Jayden Sommers: Good luck charm.'

"Remember when Ryder said that about you?" She raises an eyebrow. "He doesn’t throw words like 'good luck charm' around lightly."

"Possibly." I lean back against the booth.

"Listen to me," Mimi continues, her hand warm on my arm. "You need to be confident in who you are. If Ryder wants to date you, it's because he sees something special. You're a great catch, Jayden, and it's high time you start believing that."

"Hmm…" There's a tremor in my voice, one I'm not proud of.

"Believe me." She gives me a reassuring squeeze. "And if he doesn't appreciate what he’s got, then he's not worth your time."

Mimi's right; I've always been the girl who dives headfirst into whatever challenge I set out to conquer. Maybe it's time I bring that same fearlessness to this... whatever it is with Ryder.

"You’re right," I say. "Okay, I'll give this a chance."

"Yes, girl!" Mimi grins.

We chat for a little while longer before we head home. The entire time, something is still not settling with me.

So as soon as I close my bedroom door and I'm alone with the echo of her confidence-boosting pep talk. As much as I want to be the girl who believes in herself, doubts are pesky little buggers.

What about the dating service Ryder was using? The thought slinks into my mind, unbidden and persistent. I shake my head, trying to dislodge the idea, but it sticks like caramel on teeth.

"Curiosity killed the cat," I mutter to myself, but damn it, I've always been more of a dog person—loyal, eager, and sometimes too nosy for my own good. My fingertips tap-dance across the laptop's keys, coaxing it awake. The screen blinks at me, a blank slate waiting to be filled with whatever secrets I'm about to uncover.

"Match Me Bunny," I whisper under my breath, the name of the exclusive matchmaking service Ryder mentioned in passing once—the one with the cute yet risqué logo. My pulse dances a jittery samba as I type it into the search bar. Why am I doing this again?

The webpage loads, all sleek blacks and reds, the silhouette of a bunny poised like it knows all your deepest desires. There's no list of services, no menu of kinks offered. It's discreet, classy even. But there, I get a tiny glimpse into Ryder's world—a world where he sought out connections, or something darker... more primal.

"Ryder, what are you into?" I breathe the question, and the silence holds its breath with me. My imagination conjures images of him, those intense blue eyes that have seen things, done things.

I snap the laptop shut. The sound reverberates through the room.

I lean back against the couch cushions. Ryder Raines has ways of making me feel like I'm teetering on the edge of a cliff—exciting and terrifying all at once. Now, thanks to a spur-of-the-moment click, I'm a step closer to understanding the man who claims I'm his good luck charm.

Am I ready to know the full depths that this could go to?

I open the laptop again and hover the cursor over the more information button. With one final glance around the empty room – as if someone might catch me snooping – I click. The website for Match Me Bunny is frustratingly coy, a veil of discretion draped over its services like a silk scarf. It whispers promises, hints at secrets, but gives nothing away. Elegant fonts and soft pastels, it's all very tasteful. Too tasteful.

What the hell is he into? I keep scrolling through vague descriptions of "intimate compatibility" and "exclusive events." It's like trying to read a menu in dim candlelight, only knowing that everything is probably out of your league.

I close the laptop once more with a sigh. My mind spins back to that night, the yacht party at Love Beach where I'd almost made a spectacle of myself. Thank God for Ryder's impeccable timing, finding me on the dock before humiliation had a chance to claim me.

I can still feel the firm grip of his hand around mine as he steered me away from the glitz and the laughter that didn't include me. "You don't belong there, Jayden," he'd said, and I'd told myself it was concern in his voice, not pity. Now, I have my doubts.

I should have felt cherished when he came to my rescue. Instead, I'm left wondering if I was just another problem for him to fix.

"Ryder Raines, you've got some explaining to do," I whisper to no one, my fingers tracing the edge of the laptop. My thoughts drift to his tattoos again, those intricate designs that must mean something more than they let on. Like the website, they're a language I haven't learned yet.

If only he'd trust me to tell me what he likes, what he’s possibly missing from me. If only I could be brave enough to ask for them.