Page 90 of By His Rule

She laughs before her expression turns serious.

“I swear, Lor, since I’ve been pregnant, it’s actually got better.”

“Fucking hell.”

“I mean it. Sex before was amazing. But now, the extra hormones or something...Fuck. It’s beyond incredible. I really do recommend it.”

“Umm…hard pass for me, but thanks for the advice.”

I might be interested in finding my Mr. Right, but kids…that’s a whole other issue for me. A therapist might say it has something to do with my own childhood, and do you know what? They’d probably be right.

“Oh, you say that now. One day, everything will change.”

“We’ll see,” I mutter, lifting my drink to my lips as Tatum checks her cell.

“Mr. Perfect Dick want to know where his baby mamma is?”

“Yep,” she agrees happily. “I should probably take you home so I can go enjoy him. It’s been a few hours.”

“Whore,” I cough.

“Loud and proud, baby. Loud and proud.”

It’s Saturday night and I’m…staring at a spreadsheet.

Is this really what my life has become?

I should put work and Kian freaking Callahan behind me for the weekend. It’s bad enough that he took my Friday night.

But I can’t. And anyway, it’s not like I’ve got anything better to do.

My head is spinning with numbers and formulae when my watch buzzes.

I glance down and immediately burst out laughing.

Ryde my dick: It was good to see you today.

Reaching for my cell, I open our conversation, noting just how long has passed since his stupid contact name has popped up on my screen.

I remember the morning he did it. I was hungover as hell, and every inch of my body hurt. Most of it courtesy of him and the lack of sleep we’d had the night before.

I’d never had sex like it. It was wild, and I couldn’t help but gaze at him in wonder that next morning. The things the man could do with my body.

Shit. It had happened to me, and yet I still struggled to understand it.

Before he left that next morning, he found my cell on the floor in the middle of my small dorm room and put his number into it.

I had no idea what he’d called himself until later that day when he messaged me to let me know how much fun he’d had.

Ryde my dick.

What a fucking idiot.

But just like a few moments ago, that name has made me laugh every time it’s popped up on my screen over the years. And despite how it might sound, they haven’t always been booty call messages. We have hung out with clothes on as well. Once or twice…

I stare at the screen, trying to come up with a reply that sets the right tone.

Despite Tate’s meddling, do I really want to fall back into old habits with Ryder?

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