For miles only the countryside surrounded us, dark and empty. Finally, we turned down a deserted dirt road. On either side of us were acres and acres of farmland and not much else. This is where I lived — in the middle of nowhere, Texas. Population — a few people, but plenty of cows and horses.
Within minutes, we were driving along my gravel driveway, leading to the only home in sight.
“Your dad’s not home?” Ryder asked when he saw the dark house.
“No. He’s in Dallas for business.”
I opened up the car door and was surprised when Ryder turned off the ignition and climbed out of the truck.
“I’ll walk you in.”
I couldn’t say why the butterflies took flight in my stomach or why my hands started to shake when I attempted to unlock the front door, but they did. I had been alone with Ryder plenty of times but tonight felt different.
In the kitchen, I flipped on the light and grimaced. His face looked awful, painful. To think those bruises were there because of me…hurt.
“Your face looks horrible. Have a seat. I’ll get something to doctor it.”
“Its fine. Don’t worry about it,” he said, taking a seat anyway. That put his eyes closer to my level, making my nervousness double and my heart pound.
“Doctoring you is the least I could do after you defended my honor,” I said, teasingly.
A smile slowly spread across his face. Stretching out his long legs, he watched me closely, studying my every move.
Ryder’s a friend. Only a friend. The words kept replaying in my mind as I headed to the bathroom for the first–aid. What was wrong with me that I needed to remind myself of our friendship all the time?
For some reason, I dropped the butterfly bandages twice before walking back to the kitchen.
When I rounded the corner and saw him, I almost stumbled. He had taken off his hat, leaving his hair messy and flattened. He looked innocent and sweet. Nothing like his true self. As I poured antiseptic on a cotton ball, he ran a hand through his hair, making it spike all over. Now he looked like the bad boy I knew him to be.
Taking a deep breath, I stepped toward him. He spread his knees so I could stand closer but I kept my distance. Even this close, I could smell his aftershave, something clean and manly, unlike the heavy cologne that Ben wore.
“You don’t have to do this, Maddie.”
“Sure, I do. Someone needs to be my guinea pig so I can practice my nursing skills. Might as well be you,” I teased.
He grinned and put a hand on my hip. “What’s your deal? I’m not going to bite,” he said, pulling me forward to stand between his legs. His hand lingered on my hip a second before dropping away.
I blushed as the skin on my hip burned beneath my dress. His eyes were now level with my breasts and his legs were mere centimeters away from my thighs. One more small step and I would be in his lap. Where I wanted to be.
What was wrong with me?
I avoided his eyes as I put the cotton ball on his cheekbone.
“Shit!” he hissed.
“So you get tattooed but you can’t handle a little burn. What’s wrong with this picture?” I asked, unable to hold back a grin.
He laughed lightly. His eyes dropped down to my chest and quickly back up again. My blush returned, turning my face a bright red. I quickly placed the butterfly bandage on the cut, needing to hurry and get away from him before I made that straddling wish a reality.
Wetting another cotton ball with antiseptic, I leaned closer, planning to put it on his lip. Instead, he took it from me and placed it on the cut himself. Hissing, he closed his eyes at the pain.
I was still standing between his legs when his blue eyes opened and looked at me, searing me with heat. I took a step back, putting a safe distance between us.
“You and your boyfriend still an item?” he asked, putting the hat back on his head.
“Yes, Ben and I are still together.”
“Is it serious?”
I shrugged indifferently. I was not going to tell Ryder that Ben had been pushing me to have sex. Ryder and I shared everything but our sex life (or in my case, lack of one) was not something we talked about. Thank goodness too. I hated his promiscuous behavior. Ryder was the ultimate player and seeing him with so many women hurt. A lot.
He stood up, towering over me. The kitchen suddenly felt small and crowded. Intimate, if kitchens could feel that way. Moving closer, he ran a finger underneath the spaghetti strap of my sundress. Shivers raced across my skin.
“This dress is dangerous,” he whispered.
“It’s just a dress, Ryder.”
“It’s more than just a dress, Maddie. It makes you look so innocent and sweet. Ripe for the taking. You don’t know what that does to guys. Your boyfriend would kill you for wearing it to a bar.”
“He doesn’t tell me what to wear.”
“If I was your boyfriend, I wouldn’t want you to wear that unless it was to bed and then I would just rip it off of you. With pleasure.”
My breath caught in my throat as his eyes burned into mine and his finger continued to run across my skin.
Seconds ticked by on the kitchen clock.
He finally removed his finger and broke the silence, ending the moment between us. Whatever it was.
“I’m teasing, Maddie." he said with a smile, the heat leaving his eyes. "I like to see you blush."
I frowned and felt a tiny bit of hurt. Teasing like that wasn’t funny.
He stepped away from me, putting a safe distance between us.
"So I wanted to talk to you about something. Guess this is as good a time as any." He took a deep breath and let it out in a tumble of words. "I’m enlisting in the Army.”
I stared at him in shock, not expecting those words. His strong jaw flexed as he waited for me to say something. Words escaped me. I lost my voice. What do I say to that?
“I wanted you to be the first to know. I can get in as an officer since I have a college degree.” He leaned back against the table and crossed his arms over his chest. “I’ve got to get out of this town and decided the Army was the best way to do it.”
Words stuck in my throat. He wanted to leave? I guess I took it for granted that Ryder would always be here. To me, he was a constant and I couldn’t imagine my life without him.
“You can’t enlist,” I said.
One corner of his mouth lifted in a lopsided grin. “Leave it to you, Maddie, to tell me I can’t do something.” His eyes locked onto mine with intensity and his grin faded. “But before I sign up, there is one thing that I want to do.”
My heart went crazy as my imagination went wild.
“I have an appointment in a week at the military entrance processing station. They’ll do my medical evaluation and other tests to make sure I qualify. The place is right by your campus so I thought maybe I could go back with you. We could hang out for a few days, raise some hell just like old times.”
Ryder in my apartment? For days? Sleeping and showering? I could handle it. Well, maybe.
“I never raised hell, Ryder. You did it enough for the both of us,” I said with a nervous laugh. “But having you around sounds great. Who knows, maybe you will meet the love of your life and decide not to enlist.”
Ryder shook his head and scoffed. “When hell freezes over, Maddie. You know I’ll never marry. Too many women out there I haven’t met yet.”
I rolled my eyes. He thought it was all fun and games but I couldn’t stand to see him with so many women. He deserved better.
I decided the comment wasn’t worth fighting over. Now him enlisting, that was worth fighting over. Maybe while he was with me, I could talk him out of it.
“We’re leaving in two days,” I warned.
“Works for me.”
I followed him to the front door, trying not to notice the way his shirt outlined the muscles of his arms or the way his jeans hugged his butt. I wanted to smack myself for looking.
He was almost out the doo
r when he turned around. I winced at the sight of his battered face under the porch light.
“Lock the door behind me and call if you need anything,” he said, sternly.
I nodded. “Night, Ryder.”
With one more glance at me, he jogged down the porch steps and across the dark yard. Closing the door, I looked around the hallway, not seeing the childhood pictures of me on the wall or noticing the quietness of the house. My mind was only on Ryder.
Read the rest of Ryder and Maddie's story in Promise Me Darkness and Promise Me Light!
The following is an excerpt from Paige Weaver's contemporary romance, Sweet Destruction.
Chapter One
-Walker-
“We got a deal?”
I eyed the little weasel, tired of his bullshit. His punk-ass purple hair was a joke and so was the damn tattoo crawling up his head, making him look like he had road rash.
“I don’t race anymore,” I said flatly, crossing my arms across my chest and peering down at him. “I consult.” A good stiff wind blew against me right then, ruffling my black hair and sweeping it across my forehead.
“You consult? Ha!” the little weasel said with a snort. “Rumor is that you’re the one to beat. The mother of all street racers. You know your cars and you know how to drive them. If you go up against that asshole over there, you’ll easily double your money. Just toe the line, Walker. Toe the fucking line.”
I glanced over at the opponent standing a few cars away. The guy was big, at least two-seventy. His shaved head and numerous lip rings gave him a badass appearance. Didn’t help that his nickname was Edge. From what I heard, the guy had a thin hold on his sanity. Hence the name. Edge of crazy.
I checked out his ride. A 1970 Chevelle SS. Nice car. Decent performance. A little on the slow side, in my opinion.
I turned my gaze back to the weasel in front of me. He was bouncing from foot to foot, his eyes the size of saucers. Most of the people out here were either on something or about to be on something. It was obvious this guy had already snorted or smoked whatever he got his hands on for the night. Add to that the summer heat and the man was sweating buckets, rivers of it. It ran down his face and soaked the collar of his shirt, turning the material darker.
“I’m retired, Milo. Race your own damn car,” I said, ending the conversation and walking away. Truth was I didn’t race anymore but that had never been my specialty anyway.
Grand theft auto was.
“But his is a piece of shit, Walker! A goddamn trash can on wheels. I want some action on your car!” the guy shouted at me.
I ignored the little runt and headed toward my best friend, Bentley Ross, or as everyone liked to call him – Bent. He was one of the fastest street racers around. A real daredevil. He was leaning against my car, a 1971 Plymouth Duster, talking to some chick in fishnet stockings and whorehouse stilettos. My gaze ran over her, liking what I saw. The girl was blonde and built like a Victoria’s Secret model. Low and behold, she had a friend, too. A brunette standing right next to her. My night just went from good to goddamn perfect.
“Walker! I was just talking about you. You in or out?” Bent asked as I walked up, pushing away from the car to face me.
I glanced at the brunette. “If you’re talking about her,” I said, nodding toward the girl, my eyes drifting down her body. “I’m in. All the way.”
She was wearing thigh-high boots and an itsy-bitsy skirt. Just what I liked to see on a girl.
Bent smirked, reading my mind. “I meant are you racing? I know that’s what Milo wanted.”
I glanced around. Mustangs and muscle cars shared space with Hondas, Nissans, and Mitsubishis. This was my old stomping ground. The place where I once felt alive. The roaring of the engines. The screeching of tires. I loved those sounds. They used to be my life.
Now they were Bent’s.
“Milo can talk all he wants. I’m not racing,” I said. I didn’t street race anymore. Nor did I steal, chop, or go on joy rides with other people’s cars.
What I did was drink.
I took the beer that Bentley offered and popped the top. The aroma hit my senses, making my mouth water. It was my vice now. The one thing that dulled my senses and made me forget everything else. Alcohol. Tonight I needed it more than ever. It was damned hot, like a furnace cranked on high, and I was antsy, abnormally so. Only an ice-cold beer could calm me down and cool me off.
The brunette took a step closer, eyeing me up and down again with interest. “So if you don’t want to race, what do you want to do?” she asked in a seductive voice, the smell of her expensive perfume surrounding me.
I didn’t tell her that what I wanted to do was drag her to my car and bend her over. Flip that little dress up and show her just how fast I could make her cross that finish line.
Instead I took a step toward her. Time to lay on the bullshit. Tell her what all girls wanted to hear. Sweet-talking crap. It slipped as easily from my tongue as saying my own name. I played the game all the time. See who I could get, set my goal, and achieve it. Walk in with no emotion. Walk out with even less.
I snaked my hand around her waist, planning on telling her what I would much rather do than race a damn car, but Bent’s voice stopped me.
“What the fuck is she doing here?” he snapped, staring across the clearing at someone. His nostrils flared and his teeth were clenched. The man was a driver but damn if he didn’t have the attitude of a fighter instead.
I turned my head, searching the crowd. People milled between the cars and by the old industrial building. Talking. Laughing. Exchanging joints or passing booze back and forth. I didn’t see anything out of the ordinary. Just a bunch of college kids breaking laws and bragging about cars.
But then my gaze landed on her.
Samantha Ross.
My enemy.
Read the rest of Sam and Walker's story in Sweet Destruction!
About the Author
Paige Weaver is a New York Times and USA Today bestselling author. Many hours of her childhood were spent getting lost between the pages of a book, disappearing into other worlds. That turned into a love for writing at a young age.
Paige lives in Texas with her husband and two children. When she’s not writing or reading, you can find her chasing her kids around and living her very own happily ever-after.
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