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“Oh, I can find it. Thanks.” I sidestepped cleanly, my reference card now clutched between my fingers like a lifeline.

He continued to follow. “You afraid of me?”

There was no way he couldn’t tell that he was making me uncomfortable. “Of course, not.”

Was I going to have to run or fight? I was fairly decent at both. One thanks to Roxxi. The other from growing up with a group of guy best friends, and parents who made sure thatI would never be the one to start shit, but always prepared to finish it.

Sugarmama had a different take entirely:start itandfinish it if you have to. A slight difference in philosophy with the same outcome. I didn’t fight clean like Cloe, all precise, tactical, and methodical. Or like Roxxi, brutal and unapologetic with the full intent to make sure you might not get back up again. I was more of a scrapper, a messy blend of Nick and Cade’s influence, but not half as good. In no shape or form could I take after Rook. He was a coin toss between feral and as scarily calculating as Ryder, who fought like war was his native tongue. And Xander had been trained with the best of them; his dad saw to that.

Years had passed without me having to resort to violence to defend myself. No one ever really bothered me. The last time it happened was during the senior year of high school, when Jason Michaels grabbed Ari’s wrist at a bonfire and wouldn’t let go. I was the first one to snap. Once the guys pulled him away, he was dragged into the woods. He transferred the next day, went to online classes, and no one saw him again. Even knowing how to fight, I used to think I didn’t have that in me. I wasn’t a confrontational person by any means. Turns out, I just needed the right push.

“I don’t know you,” I replied evenly, picking up my pace.

He laughed lightly. “That’s no reason to be scared.”

I wanted to tell this idiot I was more uncomfortable than afraid, but a small voice in my head cautioned me. He obviously wasn’t wrapped too tight, and I had come across one too many stories about women getting hurt from men who didn’t know how to handle rejection of any sort. Come to think of it, this was what the girls were worried about when I met up with Ashton.

I reached the end of the aisle, and my heart jumped straight to my throat as an arm curled around my waist. In one smooth motion, I was guided backward into a chest I recognized withouthaving to turn, his comforting scent wrapping around me like a security blanket.

“Is there some reason why she should be afraid of you, Vincent?” His voice was low, dangerously calm.

Vincent’sexpression faltered for the first time. “I wasn’t—she just looked like she needed help finding something.”

“That’s funny. I just got here and can see she doesn’t want anything from you.”

Vincent hesitated. “Voss, you know I wouldn’t--.”

“Stop while you’re ahead,” Ryder cut him off, “Don’t speak to her. Don’t look at her. Turn around and walk away. You’ve got about three seconds.”

Vincent defensively raised his hands. “No problem, Voss. I was just being polite.”

He turned and disappeared down the aisle, taking a left, most likely heading for the doors that led to the university’s bridgeways. Ryder stared after him, his expression giving nothing away. I reached up and patted his chest, my voice light to try and loosen him up.

“You always show up on time.”

That did it. His eyes seemed to sweep over every inch of my face. “Did he touch you?”

“He didn’t do anything but be weirdly persistent.”

“He won’t bother you again.”

Of that, I had no doubt. I let myself relax, right there in the curve of his arms.

I liked to think of myself as strong and independent, not needing to rely on anyone else to feel steady, but that wasn’t remotely true, and tucked between those towering shelves, Ryder was still the safest place I knew.

He held me close, running a hand through my hair. “Did he say anything to you I should know about?”

I lingered a second longer, letting myself breathe him in, before slowly stepping out of his arms.

I cleared my throat. “He’s partial to the redhead, but Cloe was gorgeous in person. Like I said, it was weird. Although Ciciisgorgeous. What do you think he meant?”

“It means he’s a fucking fool,” he replied coolly, something dark flashing behind his eyes. “And I’ll handle it.”

“Ryder.” I wasn’t sure if I was more exasperated or secretly relieved.

He grinned, unapologetic. “I love when you warn me like a leashed pet.”

A breath of laughter escaped me. “You are not a pet.”

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