Only When It's Us (Bergman Brothers #1)(25)

But now, with a few days to cool off, I realize that if Ryder upped the ante with the hearing aid stealth move, I just went all in with my little peep show. As I wait for him to arrive at my apartment, I’m left wondering, Now what?

I don’t have time to think any longer, because there’s a knock at the door. When I open it, I’m met with Ryder, holding a hand over his eyes. My phone dings.

You wearing actual clothes this time?

I smack his stomach. It earns a soft oof from Ryder, as his hand falls. His green eyes are dark with mischief and he tips the brim of his ball cap in greeting, then walks past me.

As I spin on my heel, my eyes narrow. He’s up to something. I can feel it. Perhaps I didn’t consider my strategy as longitudinally as I should have. I didn’t really think that Ryder would take my sartorial provocation and be vindictive—there’s some bookstore vocabulary for you—I kind of expected him to choke on his tongue in class and leave it at that.

I think I may have miscalculated.

Ryder slowly lifts his messenger bag off his shoulder and sets it on the table. I watch his hands as they unbuckle the latch and slide out his computer. It’s like weird IT soft porn, watching the way the laptop slips out of his bag, how Ryder’s hands curl around the screen as he sets it upright.

A flush crawls up my chest and warms my neck. My cheeks pink. Shit, it’s hot in here.

“Right.” I clear my throat.

Ryder glances up and gives me a once-over. With his finger, he outlines my sweats-from-head-to-toe appearance then mimes applause. Thank you, he signs.

“Please.” I roll my eyes. “Don’t act like you didn’t like what you saw.”

Removing his phone from his pocket, he types quickly. His jaw is tense, his eyes laser-focused on his screen. I didn’t say I didn’t.

My fingers tighten around my phone, as my gaze drifts up to his. Our eyes lock in the world’s longest stare. That is until Ryder’s face tightens with concern as he scrunches his nose and sniffs.

I whip a glance over my shoulder to the kitchen. “Crap!”

Rushing to the stove, I pull the soup off the burner, then scrape the wooden spoon across the bottom of the pot, searching for scorched spots. Thankfully I don’t find any. “It’s not burnt…”

My voice dies off. Ryder is standing right behind me, heat pouring off his body. I close my eyes, and can’t help but picture my back to a roaring fire, the snap of its flames jolting me with surprise. I’m assaulted by the pungent fragrance of evergreens. He smells like a Christmas tree, the faint ghost of snow still on its branches.

Ryder leans in, then grasps my hand that holds the spoon. My eyes pop open as my body snaps to attention. With his other hand, he sets his palm on the counter. I’m caged in.

I glance up, so he can see my mouth when I speak, but before I can say a word, I freeze. His eyes are on me, his pupils blown wide, barely a ring of forest green surrounding them. Our mouths are inches away, our breaths faster and rougher than they should be.

“S-sorry,” I whisper. My tongue darts out to wet my lips. Ryder’s eyes dip, following its path. “I forgot to turn down the heat. I don’t think it’s ruined, though.”

Ryder releases my wrist and brings his hand to my face. I flinch, expecting some teasing flick or tug, any one of his many provoking touches. He pauses and frowns.

I would never hurt you.

He doesn’t say it. Doesn’t sign it. Doesn’t text it. But the words hang in the air, as invisible yet substantial as the crackling atmosphere between us. Slowly, his fingers drift against my curls, gently tucking them behind my ear. His thumb traces the shell of my ear, down my neck.

Oxygen doesn’t fill the air anymore. Or, if it does, I can’t find it. Goose bumps dance across my skin as every neglected corner of my body roars to life. My heart beats in unfamiliar places. My fingertips and toes. Low in my stomach. Right between my legs.

Ryder’s thumb settles at the hollow of my throat. His eyes lock with mine, reminding me how much he says with his eyes, how expressive they are. His lashes are thick, and while I thought they were black, now I see they’re sable, a rich, smoky brown. They don’t blink as Ryder leans toward me. Time suspends. My lips part as his grow closer.

He freezes, a breath away from my mouth. I’m doused in the haze of pine trees and manliness. My entire front is scorched by the heat of his body. Just as I begin to lean in, breaching the tiny remaining gap between us, Rooney barges through the door.

She stops as she sees Ryder and me leap apart so violently, I nearly fall into the sink. Her eyes bounce between us as a slow, satisfied grin lifts her mouth. “Am I interrupting something?”

Ryder shakes his head, lifting his ball cap and raking a hand through his hair, before he replaces it and tugs it low over his eyes.

“Nope,” I manage. My voice couldn’t be any huskier. Clearing my throat, I turn back to the soup. “Dinner’s ready if you’re hungry.”

Ryder clears his throat, too, and moves to the silverware drawer, getting spoons. Rooney’s eyes flick once more between us as her grin widens. “Thanks, I’m not hungry just yet. I’ll take a rain check.”

The moment she turns the corner for her room, our shoulders drop with relief.





Willa





Playlist: “High (& Dua Lipa),” Whethan, Dua Lipa