Bittersweet Symphony (Bittersweet #4)(11)

“Come with me,” he demands, releasing his hold on me. His hand gently grabs my forearm as he pulls me in the direction he wants us to go.

“Hello, let go of me. I can walk. I am not a toddler,” I say as seriously as I can. In reality, no woman in her right mind would be screaming and yelling at him if he was pulling her somewhere against her will. Well, except me. I, Kennedy Chaps, am a different kind of breed, and I’m damn proud of it.

The second the words come out of my mouth, he releases my arm.

“I didn’t say you were a toddler, but obviously you’re not good with directions.” He smiles and winks. He smiles and f*cking winks. Is there anything this man can do that doesn’t make me want to combust into a raging fire?

“Clearly you’re not good at hearing.” I can’t help the smartass responses that come out of my mouth when I’m around him. He has this cockiness about him that makes me want to slug him and hug him at the same time. It’s a strange feeling.

“I’m all ears, baby, all ears.” His tone is flirty, and I can’t pull my eyes away from his.

“Just shut up and let’s go.” I growl, trying to hide the fifty shades of red my face is sporting.

“The carriage awaits my lady.” I glare at Ryder before walking away from him. The only problem is that being a short person means the distance I walk is nothing to him. When you’re tall, you can take long strides, and Ryder always takes long strides.

“This is your car?” I ask in awe as we approach a sleek, black Dodge Challenger. I know shit about cars, but damn, it was hot and sleek. Did I say sleek?

“Why yes, what else would I drive?” He asks, his eyebrow raises as he unlocks it. I/m afraid to get in it, to even touch it.

“Are you getting in, Blondie?” The sound of the horrible nickname he gave me has me shooting daggers at his head. He knows just which buttons to push.

I grab the handle to open the door; he already had the key in the ignition and was ready to take off. I slide into the seat, my jeans gliding across the leather. The interior was masculine and powerful. The engine roars and we’re off.

“Ever been in a car like this, Blondie?” Ryder asks, his eyes dragging from the road and back to me.

I clench my teeth together as a small smile peeks from his lips. I’m positive he did what he did to get a rouse out of me.

“You call me Blondie one more God damn time, and I will cut you.” My eyes are serious, but from his expression I can tell he isn’t taking me seriously. Who am I kidding? I wouldn’t even take me seriously. However, I will hurt him if he says it again.

“Calm down, God you’re so damn feisty. I kind of like it” His words freeze me into place. I don’t want to hear the words like and me in the same sentence coming out of his mouth.

I angle my body away from his, my eyes watching the scenery outside.

“You want to know why I call you Blondie?” He asks, I can feel his hot breath on my ear. It causes small pieces of my hair to fall onto my face. I want to push them out of the way but am afraid to move.

“Not particularly,” I say, trying to sound completely unenthused when really I would love to know why he calls me Blondie, why he even takes the time to hang out with me or talk to me. No one notices the girl with nothing. No one but him. Strange how the most tortured souls can find others in a crowd of people. Hurting people seek out other hurting people. There’s a reason why people say misery likes company.

“Well, I’m going to tell you anyway.”

He pulls us into a parking spot at one of the local fish taco stands.

“I call you Blondie…” His fingers glide over my arm, the sensations he draws out in me scare me. The goose bumps he causes scare me. He scares me, in a good way.

“Because of your hair… It’s a sunshine color.” His fingers delve into my hair, and it takes every fiber of me not to lean into his touch, to relish in the touch of being wanted.

“It’s called blonde, Ryder.” My craving for him can be heard in my voice; so instead of sticking around to hear his comment, I open the car door and exit, refraining from slamming the door. His car is too beautiful to be abused.

“Hence the nickname Blondie,” he says laughing. His laughter is a fuel booster to me. I walk a little bit faster hoping to get to the stand before him.

His arm reaches out so his fingers can dig into my shoulder as he stops me, turning my body in toward his. “Slow down, sunshine, I never meant to make you angry.” His eyes look everywhere but where they should.

“Knock it off with the nicknames then.” I hit him softly on the chest. I really meant to push myself out of his arms, but it didn’t work. It came out softer than needed.

“What, would you rather have me call you Kennedy?” His voice is laced with a coldness that settles into my chest.

“Yes,” I hiss. My eyes meet his. There’s a heat between us, and it sizzles with the potential to burn everything in its wake if we allow it to.

“Why are you so closed off? Why don’t you get close to people?” he asks in a hushed voice. His questions cause an earthquake of anger to develop within me.

“I could ask you the same questions, Ryder. Why don’t you get close to people? Why are you so closed off? Huh?” I’m mocking him without thinking. We know hardly anything about one another, but we know enough to know that the other is struggling. We are two people using different forms of vices to deal with what life has handed us.