Let Me Be the One (The Sullivans #6)(8)

She’d thought this fellowship opportunity was going to be a part of finally getting her life back on track, rather than finally being a reason to drag Ryan into her messy life.

He didn’t say anything when they got to her motel, but he didn’t need to. The disgusted look on his face said it all.

“You should probably stay with your car,” she suggested. Wouldn’t it be the icing on the cake if his fancy car was broken into or stolen, on top of everything else she’d already put him through tonight?

“Screw my car.” He looked around at the very sketchy men and women loitering on the sidewalk. “I’m coming with you.”

As they climbed the stairs, the sounds of yelling and crying and babies wailing felt like the perfect soundtrack to the fiasco of her life. She’d never wanted to be the woman in need of saving, had scoffed at girls like that.

And now, here she was, with her very own knight in shining armor.

The only saving grace in the whole thing was that it was Ryan. But even though rationally she knew he wouldn’t judge her, she was a little short on rational thought right now.

Mortification, on the other hand, was in healthy supply.

Especially when Ryan got to the bathroom before she could and walked face-first into the bra and panty sets she’d hand-washed in the sink. They were drying on the rusted shower rail, the towel holder, and the doorknobs.

Was he shocked by the fact that her underthings were more suited to a high-class kinkster than a woman who had been a virgin until she was twenty-two and had only slept with one man in her whole life?

She watched as, almost in slow motion, Ryan reached for a pair of panties and the matching bra. Her breath caught in her throat as his fingers slid over the lace.

“Pretty.”

She barely had enough breath left in her lungs to say, “Thanks.” She moved into the very small bathroom with him. “I can grab the rest of them.”

Only, to get to the colorful lace hanging from the curtain rod, she had to slide past the sink and the tub. Which was right where Ryan was standing, still holding her unmentionables. Every inch of her body that came in contact with his felt hot. Super-sensitive. Flustered, she yanked so hard at a particularly naughty bright pink thong that it nearly shredded.

She forced herself to stop, to take a breath, to re-center.

Ryan was her friend. The two of them were never, ever going to be lovers.

Never.

Ever.

So getting all flustered and out of breath and nervous around him like this was ridiculous. They were friends, and friends would be laughing about this.

She turned around and looked pointedly at the lingerie he was still holding. “You planning on keeping those for yourself? Don’t worry, I'm not going to judge you for whatever you're into,” she teased.

He held the bra up to his chest. “Do you think it’s my color?”

She laughed as she grabbed it from him and took the stack over to her bags. The dresser drawers had been too gross for her to take much else out, so she was ready to go as soon as she zipped her lingerie into one of her bags. Of course, Ryan took her bags from her, then held the door open for her, always the perfect gentleman.

Was it bad that, instead of appreciating that fact, she momentarily found herself wishing he’d act like a caveman instead?

Chapter Three

Vicki tried not to act like a total doof when Ryan pulled into the Sea Cliff neighborhood of oceanfront mansions.

All these years that they’d kept in touch over email and texts and the occasional phone call, in her head he’d still been the fifteen-year-old boy who liked to climb the big tree in his mother’s backyard. Sure, she knew he’d been a top draft pick out of college and was one of the best pitchers in pro baseball. But she’d never actually put it all together into what his life must be like now, had never compared her transient life with her ex-husband as they traveled between artists’ colonies in various countries with Ryan’s top-flight life as a bona fide celebrity athlete.

Within blocks of leaving her seedy motel, the San Francisco neighborhoods had become progressively nicer. For all that she’d wanted to keep up with Ryan’s life over the past years, she’d always been careful—too careful, she’d often thought since her divorce—not to rub her friendship with Ryan into Anthony’s face. So she truly had no idea how much Ryan’s annual contract with the Hawks was worth even though at his level it was probably public knowledge.

“This is me.” He clicked open the front gate and turned into the driveway of a positively gorgeous two-story oceanfront home.

Trying to act cool about it, despite the fact that her mouth was all but falling open, she joked, “Yup, I’d say your place is definitely at least a couple of steps up from my motel.”

He grinned at her. “I had a pushy Realtor, one of my Seattle cousins who was working in the city for a while. She knew I didn’t have a prayer of saying no to her.”

Vicki grinned at that, knowing exactly what kind of sucker Ryan was for his female relatives. It was so sweet, sweet enough that her heart did more of that melting thing it had already done way too much of tonight.

“When I told her the place was too big, she swore the value would double in under ten years. But she was wrong.”

“How wrong?”

Another grin came. “It tripled.”

“In that case, Chinese is on you tonight.”