“Stop.” Instinctively, I raise my hand, my knuckles throbbing to touch her cheek, the nonasshole part of me aching to comfort her. But I drop it to the steering wheel and grin. “He was a cool cat. Almost as cool as me.”
Amber gives me a small smile. “You two were close. That’s good.”
“Yeah.” I nod. “We were really close.” Damn, I miss that old man.
Our lives are not our own. They never are. From birth canal to casket, we’re on lease. A contractual agreement with a threatening hand that hovers above our heads from the second we blink our eyes open. A constant scream that reminds us it can fuck us at any moment—
Ding. Time’s up, asshole.
“But no, getting back to your question,” I continue, the cherry-flavored scent of my grandfather’s cigars unwinding from my memories, “I’ve never flipped a burger to earn a buck.” I glance in Amber’s direction. “I work as a part-time foreman at one of Baltimore’s largest construction companies,” I say, honestly trying to sound like I’m telling the truth.
I hate lying to her, but that part of my life isn’t up for discussion. Still, it’s not all a lie. It’s just that sweating my dick off in the summer and feeling my balls turn into icicles during the winter’s not how I earn my living. At least, not a good portion of it.
Among other things I do that aren’t legal—one I have no intention of ever letting Amber know about—I run a thriving off-campus “homework agency.” Well, that’s the name I’ve given it.
Cutting to the chase: my IQ borders on genius, and I know how to hammer out quite a few Ben Franklins from a ton of degenerates who don’t give a rat’s ass about studying. For a passing grade, from freshmen to upperclassmen, they’ll pay, no matter the cost. When new meat shows up at my apartment for my services, it’s safe to say the shock on their faces is also something I’ve gotten used to. They never expected Ryder Ashcroft to actually have a brain. Dumb fucks.
“So you build houses?”
“I build everything.”
“Everything?” She lifts a brow. “Like big buildings?”
“Huge.”
“How . . . huge?” Her tone’s suddenly sharp with huskiness, the coy look on her face telling me what she really wants to know.
I grin and almost find myself speechless, but nothing’s about to stop me from stepping onto the ride. “Badass huge.” I flick my gaze to her lips, visions of the tip of my cock sliding between them bulldozing through my head. “All other buildings pale in comparison to its . . . size.”
“But do you know how to use the building?” She looks me up and down, her eyes landing on my dick before returning to mine.
I’m about to pull over, yank her from the car, and fuck her on top of the hood, adding exhibitionism to my list of twisted sexual desires.
“That’s the real question, Ryder. Do you know how to use that building in the way it was built for?”
“I’ve never had an unhappy visitor, if that tells you anything.” I continue to play the game she started, determined to fuck with her as much as she’s fucking with me. “It’s actually pretty sad, because once they stepped into my building, they never wanted to bother with any of the . . . smaller ones. My building spoiled them, ruining them for all the rest.”
“You know what they say about boys with huge buildings, right?” Her delivery’s all vixen, her stare eating me alive.
Sweet Jesus. The girl has me shifting in my seat, my balls screaming for release as I try to pay attention to the road. Dying for a smoke, I reach for the glove compartment and unintentionally graze her leg. She jerks away the silky, olive-toned masterpiece, her expression sliding from heated to nervous in a nanosecond.
I clear my throat. “I was just trying to get my cigarettes from—”
“They say boys with huge buildings lack . . . willpower.” She opens the glove compartment, shakes her head, and plucks out the pack, tossing it to me.
I catch it. “You think I touched you on purpose?”
Another shake of her head. “It’s a good thing you didn’t major in acting, Ryder.”
I fish a Zippo from my pocket, spark up a cigarette, and take a deep drag. Blowing out the smoke, a smirk crawls over my mouth. “Let me tell you something, peach,” I say, my voice a raspy whisper. The midday traffic comes to a dead stop. I seize the opportunity and lean over the center console, my eyes pinned on hers. “When I touch you, really . . . fucking . . . touch you, there won’t be a shuddered breath from your pretty little mouth or a goose bump on your entire gorgeous body that won’t know it was done on purpose. You feel what I’m saying?”
She blinks once, twice, three times. “Arrogant much?”
“Provoke much?” I toss back, amused by her sudden nervousness.
“I didn’t provoke anything.” Though her cheeks are rosy red and she’s flexing her fingers around her purse, her expression is dead serious.
I haven’t smoked a bowl since this morning, so I rule out being high. I also know I didn’t imagine what just happened, so I’m forced to come to the only logical conclusion: Amber’s one hot psychiatric ward escapee, and I’ve fucked with her delusional head. Bad.
“Are you all right?” Traffic moves, and I shift into first gear, easing onto the exit ramp. “You seem . . . flustered.”
She lets out a laugh, trying but failing to hide her frustration. “I’m not flustered.”