Chapter 9

Jayden

I'm perched on a barstool at the Sand Dunes, laughing more genuinely than I have in ages. Ryder's just shared another one of his outrageous stories from the road with the Renegades, complete with wild gestures that are so unlike him.

"Jayden, you should've seen the other guy's face," he says, chuckling, his ice-blue eyes crinkling at the edges. His laugh is deep and infectious, making me laugh too.

"Ryder, I swear, you're full of it," I tease and nudge his side with my elbow. The neon lights overhead shine on his silver-flecked hair, and it feels like the rest of the bustling bar fades away, leaving just the two of us in our little bubble.

I catch him staring at me, something tender flickering in his gaze. My heart does a funny little skip—no. It’s not just funny; it’s terrifying because it's right then, that I realize I'm having real feelings for Ryder.

"Your smile, Jayen," he murmurs, almost to himself. "It's like it knows how to flip all the right switches inside me."

"Ryder, stop, you'll make me blush," I joke. I look away, feigning interest in a nearby game on the TV, but my mind is reeling.

"Wouldn't dream of it." His tone low, threaded with a hint of desire.

"Hey, why don't you come over to my place when you have time for dinner?" I blurt out, trying to sound casual. "I make a mean spaghetti carbonara."

Ryder leans back, and for a second, I worry he'll say no. "Come to my place instead," he suggests, and that one sentence sends ripples through the little fantasy world I've been building in my head.

"Your place?" I repeat. “The Man Cave with all your roommates? Umm…”

"First off, I only have two roommates since Asher moved out. Only Dakota and Kaleb are there now. Plus, it’s a six-bedroom house, so there’s a great possibility you won’t even see them." He nods with an intense gaze. "It's quieter. We can talk."

"Talk," I echo, my mind spinning. This isn't just a staged date for the sake of appearances. This feels like a step across the threshold into something undeniably real. Who am I kidding, I think we’ve already crossed that line the moment he filled me up with his cock.

"Is that okay with you?" His voice pulls me back from my thoughts.

"Yes, yes, of course," I assure him.

"Great." He grins. "It's a date then."

"A date." The word feels heavy and light all at once, these plans feel even more defined than just two friends going to a movie. Although, there was nothing happening during that movie that would put either of up deep in the friend zone.

***

Mine and Ryder’s schedules have conflicted for a week, but finally, I'm now balancing the sacks of fresh produce and spices in my arms as I try to ring Ryder's doorbell with my elbow. The door swings open, and I step inside.

"Hey, you made it," Ryder says. He takes a sack from me.

"Couldn't miss a chance to show off my culinary skills," I tease, placing the rest of the groceries on his granite countertop.

"Looking forward to it." His eyes crinkling at the corners as he watches me unpack bundles of basil and ripe tomatoes.

The kitchen is spacious, sunlight spilling in from the windows overlooking the beach. It feels lived-in, personal. The Man Cave suddenly seems less like a myth and more like a home.

"Where do you want me to start?" Ryder asks, rolling up the long sleeves of his charcoal tee, revealing forearms that have definitely seen their share of weights in the gym.

"Chop these," I say, sliding a cutting board and knife his way along with an onion.

"Got it, chef." He grins, making me laugh.

As I heat the pan, drizzling olive oil and letting it warm, the silence isn't awkward; it's comfortable. "So," I begin, stirring garlic into the sizzling oil, "tell me about your family."

"Ah, the Sommers Inquisition," he jokes, but obliges. "Well, I have four stepbrothers… that I know about, but none of us talk much. There’s probably more siblings out there in the world that my dad was a sperm donor for that I don’t even know about."

"Oh…" Is the only thing I can think of to say.

"It’s fine. See, I told you, my childhood was not the ideal happy go lucky kind," he replies with a shrug and goes back to working on his food prep task.

"Your turn," he says, sliding the chopped onions into the pan where they join the garlic dance.

"There’s only Sophie. She’s my younger sister, who is still in high school," I offer, stirring the concoction. "As for home life, I spent more time in the kitchen with mom than playing outside. She always said food was love, and I guess I took it to heart."

"Explains why you're here, cooking for me," he muses, leaning closer.

"Maybe," I concede, my pulse quickening. "Or maybe I just wanted to make sure you eat something other than protein shakes and takeaway."

"Guilty," he admits with a shrug.

The onions are caramelizing now, and I add a splash of wine, watching it bubble and steam. Ryder's quiet, his focus on the rhythm of our task, but there's a tenderness to the way he moves.

"Missed having someone to cook for," I confess without thinking.

"Yeah, I missed having someone who cares enough to ask about my childhood at all."

"Guess we've both been a little lonely, huh?" I glance up at him, finding his gaze already on me.

"Looks like it," he agrees with a warm smile.

I swipe a strand of hair behind my ear, watching the sauce thicken as it simmers. Ryder leans against the counter.

"We should talk about the Christmas ball," he says, breaking the comfortable silence that had settled between us.

"Right." I nod, stirring the sauce with more force than necessary. "The ball. Logistics."

He runs a hand through his hair. "It's in a few weeks. We should probably start planning what we're wearing, what time to arrive... all that stuff."

"Of course." I keep my tone light. "Can't have you showing up in jeans and a tee. The Renegades' reputation is at stake."

A ghost of a smile flickers across his face. "Wouldn't dream of it. I’m not worried. You'll outshine them all, no doubt."

Heat creeps up my neck, not from the stove but from his unexpected compliment. I focus on the pasta now, dropping it into the boiling water. "Just doing my part to make us look good, Ryder."

"Jayden," he starts, then hesitates. His gaze meets mine, but then he blinks, and his tone changes. "We'll need to coordinate arrival times. And maybe practice our dance moves?" He tries for humor, but it falls a bit flat between us.

"Sure, I'll dust off my dancing shoes." I laugh, but it's tinged with nerves. There's a palpable tension now, one we're both tiptoeing around—the conversation we're not having, about feelings that might be morphing into something real and terrifying.

"Good," he replies. "Can't have you tripping over my two left feet."

"Ryder, I've seen you on the ice. You're about as graceful as they come." I give him a playful wink, trying to bridge the gap that seems to widen with every word unsaid.

"Only on the ice," he counters. Our eyes lock, and there's an honesty there, a silent acknowledgment of the connection neither of us is ready to voice aloud.

I stand there, wooden spoon in hand, stirring the simmering sauce and watching Ryder as he rests on the edge of his kitchen island.

"Please pass the salt?" I ask, and the words sound too loud in the room.

"Sure." He slides the shaker across the countertop.

In my head, I'm a one-woman cheer squad, complete with pom-poms and high kicks. Just kiss me, you big, beautiful man. Tell me you want more than this faux-mance we've cooked up. Yet, my exterior is all calm composure.

"Something on your mind, Jayden?" His voice is soft, almost hesitant.

"Nothing much. Just... thinking about the Christmas ball." It's not a lie, but it's not the screaming truth either.

"Ah." He nods, then looks away, out the window where darkness has settled over Love Beach like a blanket. "It'll be fun."

"Totally," I agree, my voice an octave higher than normal. It's like we're two teenagers fumbling with the buttons of intimacy, neither of us quite sure how to undo the knot that's keeping us from what we really want.

There’s a beat of quiet, and I mentally nudge myself to fill it, though my brain is too busy chanting, Say something romantic, dammit!

"Did you ever go to dances in high school?" I blurt out.

"Once or twice," he says, a ghost of a smile appearing. "Wasn't really my scene. I preferred the ice."

"Right. Ice King Ryder," I tease. "Well, you're stuck with me now, Your Majesty."

"Stuck seems like the wrong word." His gaze locks onto mine.

"Does it?" I swallow hard, my heart pounding so loudly I'm sure he can hear it.

"Does it," he confirms, and for a flash of a second, I think he's about to bridge the gap, charge over the line, pull me into his arms and...

"Jayden, the sauce," Ryder points, and I blink back to reality just in time to see wisps of steam rising too rapidly from the pot.

"Shit!" I curse, giving it a frantic stir. Saved by the bell—or in this case, the basil. My internal monologue groans. Can we have one conversation that doesn't end with me wanting to jump his bones?