He wants me.
I shiver at the awareness, speaking to a part of me that’s been dormant for so long. He reaches out and gently touches his hand to my cheek, and in an instant, my legs go weak. I sink back against the car. He slowly strokes my cheek with his thumb, rough and callused, the simple touch sending a spiral of heat through my entire body.
My head is spinning, waiting for his next move. All I can think about is his lips, and how they would feel pressing against my own. Slowly tasting, sinking his tongue deep into my mouth…
“You had a little engine grease.” Ryland drops his hand and steps back, looking away.
I blink, reeling from his touch. “Oh. Sure,” I stutter. “Thanks.”
I hoist my purse and turn away, already scolding myself. What the hell was that? You tell him you’re not interested, then melt into a pool of lust the first chance you get?
So much for showing some basic self-control!
“I’ll tell Eddie to pick up the Mustang,” Ryland adds. When I turn back, he’s leaning against the side of his car, arms crossed, casual as can be. “I can give you a ride to the shop tomorrow to take a look.”
“That’s OK,” I gulp, imagining what another car ride with Ryland James will do to my self-control.
Nothing good, that’s for sure.
“I’ll walk,” I tell him.
He smirks. “It’s five miles.”
“So, I like the exercise.” I give a determined nod. “Thanks for your help. Have a good night.”
“Yes, ma’am.” Ryland gives me a lazy salute, but he doesn’t move. As I turn and walk back to the house, I feel his gaze burning into me, every single step. My heart races, knowing his eyes are on me, but I force myself not to turn around again. It’s not until I close the front door behind me and slide slowly to the floor that I let out a breath of relief…
And pure desire.
I told myself, no more bad boys. I thought I’d be safe here in a small town like this. Nothing but good, apple-pie-eating, church-going, future-husband-material men for miles around. And then the most dangerous guy of all comes driving down the road, with a dark stare that makes my pulse rattle and a smile that could make me strip naked right there on my brother’s front lawn.
I’m in trouble now.
7.
They teach you in rehab that we’ve all got a weakness: patterns we play out, again and again, without even realizing the truth. You can’t move on, you can’t make a change, not until you start to figure out that pattern and find a way to break free for good.
My weakness was never a pill bottle or a shot of whiskey. No, my problem was thinking my love could change Connor. That if I tried hard enough, if I forgave him just one more time, I could pull him back from the brink.
But I was wrong. There’s no saving a man like that.
Connor was trouble; I knew that from the start. He was intense, temperamental—and had a forcefield so magnetic, I didn’t stand a chance. There was something wild about him, crazy and spontaneous, and at first, that just made everything so much better. I remember him watching me for months before anything happened between us, making my pulse skip and my knees go weak. The day he finally cornered me behind an amp, backstage at one of their shows, I thought I would melt from the intensity.
He kissed me, and I knew nothing would ever be the same.
We sneaked around to begin with, keeping it a secret from Dex and the band. He didn’t know how my brothers would take it: I was technically underage, a few months shy of my eighteenth birthday, but even though I wanted to broadcast it to the world, I loved the secret too. Connor was something all my own, and nobody knew but the two of us. Stealing moments backstage in the dressing room, making out in equipment closets and bathrooms on the road. I would lie, telling my brothers I was staying over with friends, then have Connor pick me up at the end of the street. We’d go back to his place, or drive down to the ocean, wrapping ourselves up in each other, dizzy from every touch.
I couldn’t get enough.
Even after we came clean to Dex and made it official, it still felt dangerous and raw: the way Connor would grip my wrists, pressing me into the mattress; the wild look in his eyes when I was teasing him, until he snapped and rolled me under him, claiming my body with a harsh kiss that made me feel so desired and alive. He lived a life of extremes, and when the highs were high, it felt like I’d never come back down.
Until he crashed, and I discovered what the bottom really looked like.
It took me a long time, but the thing I’ve finally learned about guys like Connor is that there’s a reason they’re always chasing the next high. A reason why it’s all or nothing, zero to a hundred in five seconds flat.
And it has nothing to do with me.
It’s not reckless passion, or romance; do or die lovestruck desire. They don’t just need someone to love them, to show that they’re worth the fight. No, there’s a voice in their head they’re trying to drown out, a desperate insecurity buried deep under the swagger and searing stare. Normal isn’t good enough. Contented would only give them a moment to breathe, to realize their problems are still lurking in the darkness. So they barrel on, dangerous as a tornado, ripping up everything in their path, leaving only the wreckage behind.
Connor broke me. He was on a one-way trip to oblivion, and I was young enough, and dumb enough, to hitch a ride.
But I quit him, I’m done making the same old mistake. I have to do things differently now, starting with my heart. No more letting desire cloud my judgment, no more taking a chance on someone who sets all my alarms to “run." The next man I choose will be safe, and good, and true. Someone who holds me gently, and makes me laugh, and never, ever leaves me alone in the world, weeping on the bathroom floor.