Both Brock and Lee bark out a laugh as Ryder disappears into the kitchen.
Brock rubs his hand over my shin, down the side of my ankle, and rests my heel in his palm. “You do have pretty toes,” he whispers.
I raise a playful brow. “You don’t have some kind of weird foot fetish, do you?”
“Nah, you would’ve found that out earlier.” He brushes his fingers up my thigh, his eyes hungry. “But shit if I won’t pick one up if that’s what you want. I’m not beyond sucking any part of your body.”
“What the hell is this?” Lee questions, breaking my heated thoughts away from Brock. He points at the television.
“That would be a seventy-inch plasma, dumbass,” Brock answers.
“Dude, I’m talking about the show.” Lee adjusts his Dodgers baseball cap, a crooked smile on his face. “It’s a bunch of freaks getting down to music my grandparents fornicated to.”
I shake my head and giggle, taking in Mystery Man—now turned Lee Mitchel. With tight curls of honey-butter-golden hair, a handful of freckles lining his nose, light brown eyes hidden behind square black-rimmed lenses, and a tall, lengthy frame, he’s cute in a sophisticated, nerdy kind of way.
“You’ve never seen Happy Days?” I make sure I sound surprised. “Did you grow up under a rock?”
“Hell no, I’ve never seen it, and I’m happy all day that I haven’t.” He jumps to his feet, his arms spread out as he swishes his hips from side to side. “And no rock here. This dude grew up in SoCal, surfing some of the wildest waves available to man.”
“Yup,” Ryder says, strolling back into the room. He tosses a Ziploc bag filled with ice to Brock and deposits himself onto the coffee table. “Pansy boy frolicked along the sunny beach, under a sky of rainbows, hand in hand with his hippie parents, Jack and Jill.” He smirks and leans forward, resting his forearms on his knees. “But he constructed sand castles, not . . . colossal buildings.”
Though I roll my eyes, Ryder’s words stir a wild flurry of pleasure through me. Still, I’m feeling all kinds of weird. Considering Brock’s next to me—fully aware of our earlier car encounter—I’m floored that Ryder’s tossing around our “joke” so freely.
“That’s right, Ashcroft.” Lee sinks back into his chair, beaming. “Other than my parents’ names being Jody and Allen, you’re correct. I frolicked and surfed my way through a kick-ass childhood. Leprechauns, sand castles, the whole nine.”
“Leprechauns?” Brock asks, his face washed in amusement. “And you claim you’ve never done any hard-core drugs. Interesting.”
Brock cushions the bag of ice against my toe. I flinch, more from the chill than the pain.
“People claim a ton of bullshit,” Ryder asserts, his gaze stuck on mine. “Makes you wonder what’s going through their heads sometimes.”
My throat—which feels like the Sahara Desert on crack—seizes up. I glance at Brock, thankful he’s occupied with tending to my foot. I lick my lips in an attempt to get some form of moisture to coat my mouth as I stare at Ryder, wondering what’s suddenly crawled up his ass.
“It’s the truth. I’m high on life,” Lee states with a cheesy smile. “Me, my girl, the sun, and a good wave. It don’t get no better than that, dude.”
“That’s deep, Lee,” Brock deadpans, gently shifting my legs off his thighs. He rises and rolls his neck. “I think Blue Mountain Greeting Cards just might be your calling. Fuck pushing coke for me. There’s some serious cash to be made in your words.”
Ryder whips his head in Brock’s direction. “Bro, what the fuck?” He looks at me, then back at Brock. “You told her?”
“Yeah,” Brock answers, his eyes slightly narrowed. “Why?”
“What do you mean, why?” Ryder stands and pushes a hand through his hair. “She shouldn’t know about shit.”
Lee shrugs and plucks his cell from the front pocket of his plaid button-down, punching out a text. “What’s the big deal if she knows, dude? Madeline knows.”
“Hello.” I wave, catching the trio’s attention. “In case you all didn’t notice, I’m sitting right here. Don’t talk about me like I’m not in the damn room.”
Silence cloaks the air as everyone stares at each other. I can barely lift my arms—or walk across the room, for that matter—but I’m seriously pissed and have every intention of getting to my feet. I rise, and both Ryder and Brock lunge, hooking their hands under my armpits.
Pissed or not, I giggle.
Ryder furrows his brows in confusion.
“She’s ticklish,” Brock whispers, a slow, sexy smirk lifting his mouth. “Very ticklish. Even without that, she’s extremely responsive to any kind of . . . stimulation. ”
“Ah, I see.” Ryder’s teeth come down on his bottom lip, an equally sexy smirk jumping across his face as he studies me. “Very nice, and very . . . lucky.”
Though their eyes are different colors, different spectrums of dark and light, their steady gazes—aimed in my direction—are simmering with the same emotion—one hundred percent pure, unadulterated lust. Overheated and sure my legs have melted into molasses, I pull in a staggering breath. After what seems like an eternity, I regain my bearings, my heartbeat falling to an even plod as I test my toe against the floor, tentatively placing my full weight onto it.
“Ya good?” Ryder asks.