“I’m sorry. I’m sorry, Ash. Please, just let me stay here tonight. I’ll take the floor, anything.”
I storm to my closet and grab some towels. “You can dry off in there, but don’t make a noise. I share it with Marcy.”
I switch on a lamp, tossing a pillow and blanket on my couch. It’s small enough for me to sleep on, but it’s gonna be a mission for him.
He emerges a few minutes later, shirtless, with jeans that should not hang so low.
“Take it off. I have sweats you can borrow.”
He cocks a brow. “They’re probably Dylan’s. Found it at the bottom of my closet. This used to be Marcy’s bedroom...”
I rummage through my bottom drawer and find them, flinging them at him. Instead of changing in the bathroom, he strips down to nothing right in front of me. How in the hell is he that huge half-mast? I know this because I know what he feels like at full. I clear my throat and look away.
“Why didn’t you go to Dylan’s?”
“I’m not looking for a beat down.”
“You can crash there.” I point to the couch, and he nods, stalking over there wordlessly. Those sweats shouldn’t look that good. He settles in, legs hanging off the sofa, a hand over his eyes, the blanket draped over his torso.
I climb into bed, watching him. “Why’d you come here?”
He turns, and his eyes drink me in. I realize then I have a white tank top and no bra. I pull a blanket over my chest.
“I’ve seen all that and more, Ash.”
My cheeks flame.
“To answer your question. I don’t have a lot of friends besides Dyl, and you’re the closest I’ve ever had to that.”
I scoff, “If this is how you treat your friends, I’m afraid of what’ll happen if I were your enemy.”
“I fucked up. I know that. I’m sorry, Ash.”
“I know you fucked up. What I want to know is why?”
He lets out a breath. “I don’t do relationships, kitten. Don’t do love. None of that.” He sits up, and the shadows across his face remind me that I may not be a serial dater, but I haven’t had a long-term committed relationship either. I dated my ex, Troy, for two months, and it was mostly just sex and getting high.
“Before my parents died. I thought I wanted that. Love. Relationships. But I haven’t wanted that in a long time. That doesn’t give me the right to behave the way you did. If you wanna be friends with someone, Ryder. You gotta let them in.”
“Yeah, but I’m not in the habit of fucking my friends, and I sure as hell wanna fuck you right now.”
I shake my head. “Go to sleep, Ryder.” I lie in bed and look at the ceiling.
“My mom. A couple of nights ago, she OD’d.”
“Ryder.” I turn toward him. “Oh, my—”
“She’s recovering. She’s in rehab now. I don’t know for how long, but she’s stable. I’ve been on this rodeo with her before, so I’m afraid to get my hopes up.”
He stares at me. “I didn’t know about your parents.”
I sigh, lying back against my pillow. “I don’t make it a habit of sharing that with strangers. It was the worst time of my life, and I’m barely over it. It’s been two years.”
“That’s barely any time at all. What happened?”
I spent the next hour telling him everything. I don’t know why I do, but the vulnerability he showed spoke to me. He told me his mom’s been an alcoholic since his little sister died. He wasn’t ready to tell me what happened, and I didn’t want to push.
When the silence stretches too far between us, I stand. Maybe it’s the secrets we shared or the night that blanketed them, but as I stalk toward him, slipping off pieces of clothing until I’m bare between his thighs.