Page 73 of Well, Actually
He kisses my palm, then lays it gently on my chest, picking up my other hand and repeating the process, lulling me into some kind of trance.
“I agreed to our initial interview onSausage Talkand cross-promotion between my podcast and the show for profit sharing on sponsors and advertisers. I didn’t agree to a set amount of deliverable content, which is why I’m not worried about what William said. My lawyer isn’t worried about what William said. Which meansyoushould not be worried about what William said. He’s grasping at straws here, which is why he made the threat to you in the first place. It’s very transparent.”
“I don’t have to worry?” The idea seems like a trap. If I don’t solve all his problems, what am I good for?
“You don’t have to worry,” Rylie repeats, sliding off my hips and stretching out next to me. He gathers me to him. “I have it all handled, sweetheart.”
I open my mouth to argue, scrambling for some way I can prove myself useful here, but he cuts me off with a kiss.
“But I appreciate that you care this much,” he whispers against my lips. “That means more to me than you could ever know.”
The tension ebbs like a lazily retreating tide, and I let Rylie kiss me some more, luring me into a sense of calm. Could… could that be enough? The simple fact that I care and he knows it is enough to make me worth it?
Rylie pulls back, fixing me with a startlingly intense look. “You’ll always be worth it,” he says, threading his hands in my hair. I realize I whispered my thought out loud.“Always,”he repeats. Then shows me how much he means it.
Chapter 18
“Lift with your back,” I advise Rylie from where I lean against my apartment building, raising my face to the autumn sun while I sip my coffee. Rylie slings a series of curse words at me as he struggles with one of my giant suitcases.
“What did you pack in here? The bodies of your enemies?”
“It’s shoes,” I reply in a way that lets him know that should be obvious.
Rylie drops my suitcase to the curb, face twisting with incredulity. “Shoes? As in plural?”
“I’m not going to wear a single shoe, Rylie. No free feet, not even for charity.”
He drags a hand down his face, slowly shaking his head. “I mean you brought multiplepairsof shoes?”
“Uh, yeah?”
“We’re going for one night! You have three suitcases and one of them is solely forshoes?”
I smile at him, but narrow my eyes. “You seem to be having a lot of feelings right now, but please note that I’m not in charge of managing them.”
“I’m not having a lot of feelings!” he says in a pitch that leads me to believe he’s having a tremendous amount of feelings. “I’m having one feeling and it’s that you exist just to torture me.”
I make a show of looking around. “What rock have you been living under, bud?”
“Just help me lift this.”
“I would, but I just got a fresh mani. I can’t…” I gesture vaguely at all my shit plus the items Lilith recruited Rylie to transport to the venue uptown. She might be the first person to ever discover a practical use for a PT Cruiser.
Rylie surprised me by booking us a room at the hotel where the fundraiser is being held and I expressed my excitement by packing enough to stay for two weeks. Manipulate for the stay you want, not the stay you get, as they say.
When he’s close to finishing loading my ludicrously capacious bags into his trunk, I saunter over, giving him a smack on the ass in support. He pretends to scowl over his shoulder but it quickly rises to a grin.
“Oh, shoot,” I say, when he’s looking away, ducking to the ground and pretending like I dropped my lipstick from my purse. Acting fast, I tear off the backing of a large bumper sticker and slap it on the fat rear of the PT Cruiser, then brush myself off nonchalantly as I return to standing.
It’s all done so quickly and efficiently—Rylie fixing mewith a buoyant smile as he closes the trunk, taking a moment to cup my face between his hands as he gently brushes his lips against mine—that I think I’ve gotten away with it. With one last kiss, he lets me go, moving toward the driver’s side door.
“Shoe’s untied,” he mumbles, stopping in his tracks and propping his foot on the back of the car. The way he leans over to tie his laces brings him eye level with the bright-pink holographic bumper sticker declaring in giant red letters:PLEASE BE PATIENT, BABY GIRL ON BOARD.
His foot slips, and he catches himself with his hands, bringing his face even closer to the glorious moniker. He stares at it for a second. Then another. With a deep growl he picks at the corner of it, but that sucker is sealed tight and all he manages to do is make an awful nails-on-a-chalkboard sound.
“You are a pain in the fucking ass,” Rylie says, straightening. He loops an arm around my waist, hitching me against him. Glaring at me, he threads his hand into my hair with a tight grip, tilting my head to give me a deep, searing kiss. I hum in satisfaction, my hands pressed to his chest. “I’m not sure why I put up with you,” he whispers against my lips.
“Oh, really?”
