Page 235 of Better When Shared
Ryker glanced up, genuine gratitude in his expression. “Thanks. I remembered Skylar mentioning her collection needed a better home during that raid on the Northern Citadel last month.”
Of course, he’d remembered that. I’d been on that same raid and hadn’t registered anything beyond strategy and loot distribution. But Ryker had been listening—really listening—to the person behind the avatar.
I watched as he reached up to adjust one of the shelves, his t-shirt riding up to reveal a strip of tanned skin and defined muscle. His forearms flexed as he tightened a screw, veins visible beneath the skin. There was a small scar near his wrist, white against the golden tan, probably from some heroic rescue. Everything about him screamed capability and quiet strength.
And that’s when it hit me—the uncomfortable, unwanted realization that my fascination wasn’t just jealousy. I was noticing things about Ryker I had no business noticing.The breadth of his shoulders. The careful precision of his movements. The way his shirt stretched across his back when he leaned forward.
The heat that crawled up my neck had nothing to do with embarrassment and everything to do with an attraction I didn’t want to examine. I’d always considered myself straight—not that I’d given it much thought beyond perfunctory hookups that satisfied physical needs without emotional complications. But watching Ryker’s hands move across the wood, I couldn’t deny the tightness in my chest, the warmth pooling low in my stomach.
“You okay?” Skylar asked, jolting me from my thoughts. “You look weird.”
I blinked, realizing I’d been staring. “Fine. Just tired from the trip.”
Ryker looked up then, his eyes meeting mine with an intensity that made my breath catch. There was something knowing in his gaze, as if he could see right through the walls I’d spent years constructing.
“I made coffee earlier,” he said. “Should still be hot if you want some.”
Such a simple offer, but it landed like a challenge. Like he was daring me to join them in their easy domesticity instead of standing apart, separated by my pride and confusion.
“I’m good,” I replied, shoving my hands into my pockets. “I think I’ll grab a shower.”
I retreated to the bathroom, closing the door behind me and leaning against it, my heart hammering in my chest. Through the door, I could hear Skylar’s excited voice as she showed Ryker her most prized games, his low responses interspersed with her laughter.
Chapter 5
Kiaan
The early morning fog still clung to the trees as I climbed out of my rental car and walked towards Skylar’s tiny house, a peace offering of pastries and coffee balanced in one hand, wildflowers clutched in the other.
I’d spent half the night on the sectional couch, staring at the ceiling, plotting my comeback while trying not to notice Ryker’s steady breathing from the other end, or the way his feet brushed mine where our makeshift beds met at the corner.
I’d slipped out at dawn and driven my rental car into Friday Harbor to find a bakery. I’d chosen a selection of fresh pastries, still warm from the oven, and Skylar’s favorite coffee drink. Plus, the matcha I knew Ryker preferred, because I wasn’t a heathen. Then I’d stopped on impulse at a little flower shop and grabbed a bouquet. Local flowers, local coffee, local pastries. Because I’d realized that maybe Skylar needed authenticity, and I could do authentic. Sort of.
When I returned to the cabin, there was no sign of Ryker or Skylar. The only sound was a swish of running water that I quickly realized was coming from the bathroom. A smile tugged at my lips. Perfect. Skylar was in the shower, and Ryker was nowhere to be seen—probably off doing some manly shit like chopping wood or rescuing kittens from trees.
I set the coffee and pastries on the counter, arranging the wildflowers beside them. Then I hesitated, an idea forming that sent heat racing through my veins. Steam escaped from the open bathroom door in lazy curls. It wasn’t just ajar—it was an invitation. Had to be.
Years of increasingly filthy texts had culminated in this moment. We’d discussed shower sex extensively, describing in vivid detail what we’d do to each other under the hot spray, and I knew she had a fantasy about being surprised by her man in the shower, fucked all hot and wet.
And now, here was my chance to make fantasy reality.
I stripped off my shirt, tossing it aside. My jeans followed, pooling on the floor as I stepped out of them. Standing in just my tight black boxer-briefs, I grabbed one of the coffees and a pastry, taking a deep breath to steel my nerves.
The bathroom was small, filled with steam that beaded on my skin instantly. The walk-in shower was straight in front of me, and through the fogged glass of the shower door, I could make out a figure. Tall and broad and definitely not Skylar.
He turned off the shower and opened the sliding door, reaching out to grab a towel. As his body was revealed, for a split second, my brain refused to process what my eyes were seeing. Water sluiced down his body, tracing paths along ridges of muscle so thick they felt impossible. His chest was a landscape of defined pecs and abs, tapering to narrow hips and strong thighs. His cock hung thick between his legs, water dripping from the tip.
I froze, pastry and coffee in hand, wearing nothing but underwear that suddenly felt far too revealing as blood rushed to my groin.
“Fuck! Sorry! I thought—” I stumbled backward, colliding with the door, which swung shut behind me. I grabbed for the knob, twisting frantically. There was a metallic crack, then it spun freely in my hand, not catching on anything. “You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.”
Ryker stepped out of the shower, grabbing a towel and wrapping it around his waist with infuriating casualness. Water dripped from his hair onto his shoulders, tracing paths down his chest that my eyes couldn’t help but follow.
“The door’s been tricky since I got here,” he said, taking the pastry from my hand and biting into it. “Mmm, still warm. Thanks.”
I squatted and looked at the doorknob, realizing I didn’t know how doorknobs worked, exactly, but they definitely shouldn’t spin freely. “Do you have a screwdriver?”
He looked down at his towel and raised an eyebrow. “Tool belt is with the other towel.”
