BEST BAD IDEA (Small Town Sexy Book 2) Read online

  “My mom got a divorce,” Ryerson continues. “And I helped her resettle. Two years ago, she got sick, and all the family came back together—minus my asshole stepfather, and we took care of her until the end. All she ever wanted was for all of us to be together, she made me promise that we’d stay together as a family. And I don’t break my promises. So, yeah,” he looks up at me, “that’s why I was arrested.”

  My eyes have teared up, and I can imagine him trying to protect his mother. Raw and angry and young. I understood that entirely.

  “And your dad?” I ask.

  Ryerson pushes his plate away, and wipes his hands on a napkin. “Died when we were kids. He was a police officer. He’d be proud as hell to see Porter now.”

  “He’d be proud of you, too,” I say, making him smile. He watches me a moment, and then takes out his wallet and pulls out his card.

  “Want to go for a walk?” he asks.

  And I’m not sure, but this daylight version of us—it’s different from what I’m used to. It’s sweet and kind and attentive. It’s… a relationship, albeit an early version. But I agree quickly.

  Ryerson grabs the dog’s leash, and together, the three of us head to the park—Rufus making sure to walk between us the entire time.

  Chapter Ten

  The park is kind of busy, and even though it’s hot, we find a nice spot in the shade. I lounge back on the grass, and Rufus drops down next to me, rolling so that he’s against my side. I can’t decide if he’s snuggling or trying to push me out of the picture.

  “Oh, shit,” I say when my phone buzzes. “I forgot to call Frankie.”

  Frankie is blowing up my phone, asking if I’m coming into work, so I give Ryerson an apologetic smile and call.

  “Where are you?” Frankie asks immediately. “You okay?”

  “Yeah,” I say, absently reaching down to pet the dog. “I’m fine. Do you mind if I take the rest of the day off, though?”

  “Are you with that guy?” Frankie asks, more curious than anything.

  “I am,” I say, glancing sideways at Ryerson. He’s not looking, and instead stares out over the park.

  “I was worried,” Frankie says. “Text me when you get home,” he adds. “Let me know you got there all right.”

  “I will,” I say warmly, and hang up.

  “I have the rest of the day off,” I say, beaming. Ryerson smiles back, but it’s slightly troubled. I narrow my eyes. “What?” I ask.

  “Nothing. I’m glad your ex-husband will let you go out with me.”

  “It’s not like that,” I say. “I told you.”

  “I’m sure it’s not, Cheyenne,” he says sincerely. “Doesn’t mean it’s not something else, though.”

  I don’t really know how to respond to that. “This girl in Seattle,” I ask. “She why you moved here?”

  “Partly. I got an opportunity to move. She didn’t want to, so I turned it down.”

  “But you ended up in our little town anyway,” I say. “How?”

  “Well,” he says, lowering his eyes as he pets the dog. “I came home, and she announced that she’d met someone else. So I let her keep the house. I took the dog.”

  “Holy shit,” I say. “I’m… I’m sorry, Ryerson.”

  He shrugs. “It’s fine,” he says, although he still looks pretty hurt. “It’s not like she’s my ex-wife.”

  “Ouch,” I say. “Was that a shot at my previous marital status?”

  “No.” He shakes his head. “It’s a shot at your current marital status.”

  “I told you,” I say, crossing my arms over my chest. I was getting tired of having to explain to everyone about me and Frankie.

  “You’re not like that,” Ryerson repeats. “I get it, I do. But why do you work there? Why do—”

  “I own half that garage,” I say. “And I work there because it’s like my second home.”

  He watches me, and then leans back on his elbows. “I don’t mean to piss you off,” he says. “I just don’t want to come home one day and find you in bed with Frankie Miller.”

  “Ew,” I say, and laugh. “I can absolutely guarantee that will never happen. And,” I point out, “Frankie Miller’s getting married. So you have nothing to worry about.”

  Ryerson looks me up and down, and then leans over the dog to kiss me. “With you, Cheyenne,” he whispers, “I have a whole hell of a lot to worry about.”

  We kiss again, and I lie back lazily. We talk some more, a little bit about Zoey and Porter, who Ryerson confirms are the happiest couple to ever exist. The afternoon starts to fade away, and I look over at him. I don’t want to go home alone tonight. I don’t want to go without him.

  “Want to come over?” I ask. “My apartment isn’t great or anything, but we can hang out. Watch a show?”

  Ryerson shifts his eyes to mine. “I’d love to see where you live,” he says. “Let me just drop the dog off first.”

  He reaches out his hand to me, and I slip my palm against his, and let him help me up.

  ***

  My apartment complex is dead silent as we walk toward my building, and Ryerson looks around, taking it in.

  “Nice place,” he says, a little bored.

  “Porter helped me find it when I moved from the apartment above the garage.” I laugh. “To be honest, I hate it here. There’s no… life. It just feels temporary.”

  “Good God, I hope it’s temporary,” he says. “I build houses, Cheyenne. Obviously I’m going to build one for you.”

  He says it jokingly, but we both go a little silent with the promise.

  We walk up the stairs, and I unlock the door and lead him inside. I’m glad it’s clean—although if I’m honest, it always clean now that Zoey isn’t my roommate. I spent most of life cooking and cleaning—I’ve retained some of the habits.

  “The complex sucks,” Ryerson says, walking around to inspect everything, “but your apartment is amazing. Did you decorate it yourself?”

  I smile, truly complimented. Even though I wasn’t supposed to, I painted all the walls dark, rich colors. Eclectic furniture. “I did,” I say. “In another life I was an interior designer.”

  “Why not this life?” he asks.

  “Because in this life I work in a garage.”

  He hums out that he doesn’t like that very much, and comes over to stand next to me in the kitchen. The fixtures and counters aren’t as nice as his place, but he doesn’t seem to mind. He looks honestly charmed.

  “Want a beer?” I ask.

  “Definitely.”

  I grab a couple of drinks, and we head over to the sofa—a bright blue velvety material. He runs his hand along it. “Not green, right?” Ryerson asks, smiling.

  “Blue.”

  “I love it,” he says, and drops down. I sit next to him, and he immediately reaches over to take my legs, pulling them to rest across his laps. He sets his hand on my calf, drinking his beer, and looking toward the TV.

  It’s casual, but I like the feel of his hand on my leg. The ease of it. I click on the TV, and we spend the next hour watching HBO. When I look out the window, I see it’s gotten dark out.

  I grab us a few more beers, and come back to the couch, assuming the same positions. We click through the channels, but nothing’s on. So I shut it off altogether, and set the remote aside.

  “What do you want to do now?” I ask. Ryerson smiles to himself, but doesn’t look over, so I know he’s thinking something dirty. “I’m intrigued,” I say, and move so that my foot rests on his dick, rubbing it just slightly.

  He licks his lips, and glances at my legs, running his hand up my calf. I shiver in response, and I can feel through his pants that he already has a rock hard erection.

  “Well?” I ask.

  “I want you to ride me,” he says in a low voice. Something about the way he says it, the rawness, hunger, makes me ache all over.

  “Right here on the couch?” I ask.

  His grip on my leg tightens. “Right here.�
�� When he looks sideways at me, his dark eyes see right into me, into what I want. What he wants.

  I put our drinks on the table, and crawl over to him, climbing onto his lap to face him. He smiles, running his hand up and down my legs, and then he draws me into a deep kiss, his tongue playing against mine.

  I press against him, and his hand slides under my dress onto my ass. It’s maddening as his hand slides into the back of my panties, his fingers all teasing and touching, and I try to breathe as he kisses me harder, owning me.

  My heart is racing, my mind spinning. I lean over and kiss his neck, and he finger fucks me until I’m moaning his name. On the next orgasm, I lay my head on his shoulder, my body so keyed up that one shift or movement might send another wave crashing over me.

  Ryerson takes the hem of my dress, and slowly drags it up and over my body. I sit on his lap, watching him. And the way he scans my body, like he’s deciding which part he wants first, makes me weak.

  He leans in and kisses my collar bone, undoing my bra. When he’s done, he looks at my breasts, and then shakes his head from side to side. “Beautiful,” he murmurs, and then takes my nipple into his mouth.

  I reach down and undo his jeans, and he slips on a condom before looking up at me. And I love this look, the one that’s vulnerable, helpless in his wanting me.

  “Fuck me,” he says, and runs his hands over my hips lovingly. His fingers move between my legs, making me take a breath, and his thumb presses against my clit circling it. “I want you to fuck me, Cheyenne,” he says, a little more forcefully.

  I get up on my knees, grabbing the head of his cock and pushing it at my opening. He takes in a harsh breath, anticipation, and meets my eyes. And it’s in those deep, dark eyes that I get completely lost. I lower myself onto him, moaning as I do.

  And as I start to take him, I get rough. I put my hands on his shoulders and push him into the cushions, riding him hard, grinding and fucking until we’re both so loud that my neighbors must be pissed. But I can’t get enough. I’m past the point of any reasoning, and Ryerson lets me go until at the last second, he pulls out and wraps his arms around me, his face buried in my neck as he explodes, his entire body tightening.

  I smile, feeling sweet and tender towards him. I kiss his cheek, run my fingers through his hair and down his neck. I kiss his ear as he traces his fingers up and down my spine.

  When he catches his breath, he kisses my shoulder, and drops his head back against the sofa cushion, staring up at me. He runs his hands down my sides, worshipping my skin. Neither of us says anything at first; we just gaze at each other.

  He lifts one corner of his mouth in a soft smile. “This was a nice day,” he says, his voice raspy. I laugh.

  “You have great ideas,” I agree. “It was damn inspired.” He continues to lovingly touch me, and then he leans in to kiss my bare shoulder.

  “Can I spend the night?” he asks. The question surprises me.

  “You want to… spend the night?” I ask. “Here?” He has a gorgeous home. If nothing else, he should ask me to go to his place

  “You don’t want me to?” he asks.

  “What about Rufus?”

  “The dog door is open, and he knows how to feed himself. He’ll be all right until morning.”

  I’ve never had anyone sleep over before. And I’m a little embarrassed by how small my apartment is.

  “Please,” Ryerson asks, kissing my neck. “I want to be in your space. I like it here.”

  “You do?”

  “I like all the colors.”

  I pull back and look down at him, and he laughs. He can’t see color, but I’m sure he sees the difference between my bright-colored walls and his.

  “Can I?” he asks.

  “Yeah,” I say, reaching over to run my palm over his cheek, liking how it’s gotten rougher. “Yeah, you can stay.”

  He kisses me twice, and then lightly slaps my ass. “Great,” he says. “So should we order a pizza and then fuck in the shower?”

  I laugh, climbing off of him. “Like I said, Ryerson. You have great ideas.”

  Chapter Eleven

  Ryerson spends the night, curled up next to me in my double bed, both us completely spent. When the light filters in the window in the morning, I roll over, and Ryerson tucks my head under his chin, my leg thrown over his thigh.

  “I have to work today,” he says, his voice still sleepy. “Want to come with me?”

  I smile. “Am I going to watch you nail things? I might get some of my own ideas.”

  He laughs, and hugs me closer. “I actually wanted your opinion on a couple things. I have a new house I’m about to finish, and I’d like some advice on paint colors, décor. You into it?”

  I sit up, and look down at him. He smiles up at me, and he is even more gorgeous in the morning light. So sleepy and lazy. I want to stay here with him all day, but he just happened to mention one of my dreams.

  “I would love to,” I say honestly. “Like… I would really love to.”

  “I’m glad,” he says. “Let’s grab some coffees, head to my place to take Rufus for a walk, and then we’ll go over to the Cambridge house.”

  “Sounds good,” I say. “I’ll call Frankie and let him know I’m not coming in.”

  I get up out of bed, still nude, but Ryerson is quiet. I look back over my shoulder at him. “What?” I ask.

  “Frankie,” he says. “What if he tells you to come into work?”

  “He wouldn’t do that,” I say. “If I want time off, I can just—”

  “But what if he did?” Ryerson interrupts.

  I’m still a moment, and then shrug. “If he needed me, I’d go.”

  Ryerson looks me over, and then nods. He sits up, smiles politely, and gets out of bed. “You got coffee here?” he asks, changing the subject.

  “Uh, yeah. It’s all on the counter. But are you—”

  “Be sure to call and ask him,” he says, grabbing his boxers from the floor. “I’d like to get to the house by nine.”

  “Okay…” He’s not exactly cold, but he’s not the same loving way he was five minutes ago. Ryerson walks out, and I’m a little thrown.

  I think he’s jealous about Frankie, but really—he shouldn’t be. I’ve explained the situation, and, in fact, Ryerson is literally the only guy I’ve ever explained it to. No other guy gave a shit.

  I walk toward the shower, understanding Ryerson’s trust issues based on his past experiences. But also wondering… if he doesn’t have a bit of a point.

  ***

  I’m basically a kid in a candy store if that kid was never allowed to have candy and then all of a sudden the candy store was like, “Here, kid. Go fucking nuts.”

  The Cambridge house is stunningly gorgeous. Another Craftsman, but twice as big. The landscaping hasn’t been done yet, but I can imagine large trees, and flowers in every shade. A couple of rose bushes. Inside, it’s a blank slate of color, but there’s crown molding and dark wood trim.

  “Remember earlier,” I say, “when you joked about building me a house?”

  “Who said I was joking?” he says, smiling.

  “Oh, perfect. Then I’ll take this one.”

  He laughs.

  “No, but seriously,” I say. “Who does this belong to? It’s perfect,”

  “It’s mine,” Ryerson says, a little self-conscious. “It was the first one I started on when I moved here, but I’ve been taking my time. Wanted to get it right. That’s why I wanted your help decorating.”

  It’s an incredibly sweet thing to say, and I walk up to him and drape my arms over his shoulders. He stares down into my face, and then leans in and kisses my nose quickly, making me laugh.

  “Let me show you the rest of the place,” he says, reaching out to take my hand.

  “Start in the bedroom,” I suggest like I don’t care either way. And he yanks me forward and rushes me down the hall.

  ***

  “I feel like we have a disproportionate amoun
t of sex to the amount of time we’ve know each other,” I say, staring up at the ceiling dreamily. Ryerson murmurs something, but I reach down and thread my fingers through his hair as he goes down on me. He laughs, and takes a long lick making me gasp.

  When he goes back to his business, I stretch my arms over my head, letting my eyes flutter closed. “I wonder if we have too much,” I offer, making him shake his head an emphatic no, and press even harder until I literally yell out his name.

  He places a sweet kiss on my thigh, and then comes to lie between my legs, sliding against me, everything so wet and ready.

  “Definitely not too much,” he says, kissing my neck. “I would seriously fuck you every second of every day. It’s that good.”

  I smile, and he takes my hands in his, squeezing them as he enters me. I moan.

  “But right now,” he says, his voice hitching with each thrust. “I want to show how I can love you.” He pushes in harder, and then places soft kisses on my nipples. The juxtaposition of hard and soft is mind blowing, and it takes a second to realize the word he used.

  “What?” I murmur, my eyes shut as he goes deeper, slower. Devastating me in the best way possible.

  “I’m falling in love with you,” he says against my skin. My heart stops, and Ryerson lifts himself up on his elbow, staring down at my face. His lips part with each penetration, and I can barely think. He begins to pick up the pace, and all at once, I feel tears in my eyes. He starts to fuck me harder, and I reach out to dig my nails into his back, the carpet burning the skin on my hips. But we go harder, faster. Completely in sync.

  He leans down and kisses me, and just as we both are in complete throes, I whisper into his skin, “I think I’m falling in love with you, too.”

  ***

  “Let me get this straight,” Zoey says, sitting across from me in the coffee shop. “For the past week—”

  “Three weeks if you count from the barbecue,” I correct, and sip from my latte.

  “Fine. For the past three weeks, you’ve been banging the shit out of Porter’s brother… pretty much everywhere…”

  I nod along like she’s getting it right.