Page 40 of Ridin' Free
Glancing around him, I noticed there was still ten minutes left on the timer. I could only think of two ways to pass the time. Makeout or find something to watch on TV. Seeing as I didn’t think making-out would help me keep my clothes on, I made up my mind, turned on my heel, and journeyed out of the kitchen. I could feel his eyes on me as I walked into his living room. Atop his coffee table were five remote controls. I looked to the television setup he had—the large screen mounted to the wall; the sound bar suspended beneath it; the plain, wooden cabinet that housed the rest of the electronics I assumed belonged to the controllers—then shot a flat expression his way.
“Well, are you just going to stand there and make me figure it out, or do you think you could point me in the right direction?”
He smirked. “Little silver one. Push the power button, and everything you need will turn on.”
I reached for it, pointing it at the television as I grumbled, “If it’s that easy, why keep all the other ones around?”
“Just in case.”
Thelittle silver onewas attached to his Apple TV, and the home screen was a grid of all his streaming apps. I glanced at him from over my shoulder and said, “Pick one.”
Rather than answer with his words, he made his way out of the kitchen and came to stand beside me. He plucked the remote from my hand and navigated into the Peacock app, pulling up the fourth season of “Yellowstone.”
“Wait, no,” I insisted, snatching back the remote. “I haven’t finished season two.”
“The whole thing is over and you’re still in season two?”
I frowned but didn’t bother aiming it at him as I scrolled back and jibed, “You’re one to talk. You’re not finished, either.”
“That’s by design. I don’t like cliffhangers.”
“Yeah, well, me neither. But some of us like to read and don’t spend all our downtime binge watching TV series.”
“Anyone ever tell you you’re a real smart-ass?”
I could hear the smile on his face before I looked up and saw it. I tried not to smirk, but those smiling eyes made it hard not to as I replied, “You’re certainly not the first, brown-eyes.”
He nodded toward the television. “Go ahead and start one. Pizza’s about done. I’ll bring it over.”
As he returned to the kitchen, I went to sit on the couch—which was actually really nice suede leather and super comfortable. Five minutes later, the timer on the oven sounded. A couple minutes after that, Twister handed me a plate with four small slices of pepperoni and sausage pizza.
We ate sitting next to each other, pushing our plates aside on the coffee table when we were finished. Twister then stood to take off his kutte, and I watched him fold it then toss it on the other side of the couch before resuming his seat. He removed his boots next, stretching his legs out in front of him as he leaned back against the cushions.
Looking right at me, he lifted his arm and demanded, “Get your ass over here.”
Something forbidden and tempting stirred in my belly at his invitation, but I didn’t move.
“What?” I asked instead.
“If I’m not fuckin’ you, I’m holdin’ you—and I’m pretty fuckin’ beat, so kick your boots off, get your ass over here, and take a load off.”
It wasn’t a good idea. I knew it wasn’t a good idea.
But I couldn’t seem to forget what it felt like to be held by him.
‘I got you, sparky. You’re safe.’
Convincing myself I’d much rather chase away memories of snuggling with Twister than any sort of confrontation with my mother and Tommy, I reached for the laces of my boots and began to loosen them. As soon as my feet were free, I moved closer to Twister, fitting myself against his side as he draped his arm around me.
It felt nice. Really nice. Too nice. Too intimate—and yet I stayed.
A little while later, as the sun began to rise, my eyes began to close, and I drifted off into a dreamless sleep.
It was late Monday morning,and I was out in my backyard with a mug of coffee in one hand and my garden hose in the other. The weather was perfect. The skies were clear. The breeze hit just right—but I was hardly aware of any of it, my mind stuck in a moment I’d lived twenty-four hours ago.
I woke the previous morning with a start on Twister’s couch, still tucked underneath his arm, the sun pouring in through his coverless windows. To my surprise, at some point during slumber, he shifted, taking me with him. Rather than stretched out in front of him, his legs were propped up along the sofa, and he laid on his back. I was smushed between him and the back cushions. While it wasn’t the least bit uncomfortable physically, it left me feeling mentally compromised, and I knew right away Ineeded to move. How I would manage to do such a thing without waking Twister, I wasn’t sure—but I knew I needed to try.
I didn’t get two inches before his arms tightened around me.
