Bad Medicine (Wolf Love Book 4) Page 9

  What the hell is going on?

  Chapter Nine - Ryder

  Fuck, I’m tired. But I’ll fight it with everything in me.

  I took Asha out to this little diner that serves the best Eggs Benedict. Not exactly romantic, but we shared a cinnamon bun. That’s kind of sweet. Right? I almost had to wrestle the woman so I could pay for the whole thing. Hours later, we’re at a movie. She wanted to go to the action flick, even though I wanted to see the romcom. And somewhere in the last hour, after I’ve been watching robots save the galaxy for the thousandth time, I’ve been wondering what happened to my manhood. I wanted to see the romcom. Me.

  I thought if we watched a couple fall in love, it could get her in the mood for…that sort of thing. God, I’ve turned into a desperate fucker. But so be it. I am. I want this woman. I want to hold her hand. I want to hear her laugh, and I doubt I’ll ever get my fill of her.

  But, after being awake for more than nineteen hours—almost twenty, my body is shutting down. Even during high-octane action sequences, my eyes are drooping. The only thing keeping me awake is when I imagine Asha turning to me, her clothes suddenly gone as well as the rest of the people in the theater. She’s smiling as she straddles me, unzipping my pants, and taking my cock in hand before I feel her slick, hot wetness.

  You know what happens when you get turned on in a big, noisy theater? You get a boner and painfully realize there’s not a damned thing to do about it. I’m breathing hard, trying to adjust my legs without being too noticeable. But if Asha looks over, even once, she’d spot the bulge in my pants, even in the dark.

  One other thing is keeping me awake. During breakfast and even not that long ago, Asha’s given me this weird look—a cross between surprise and unsureness, I think. And I can’t figure out why she’s making that face. Maybe she didn’t think I would take her out on my bike and try to woo her. Maybe she thought I wasn’t good enough for even that. I don’t fucking know and it’s kind of killing me not knowing, because my already bruised ego is inventing why she makes that face, like the fact that when the movie’s over, she’ll try to get away from me as fast as her skinny legs can.

  And, fuck, the movie is finally ending. At least I lost my erection. Watching male-action stars has that reaction for me. Except for Deadpool. But I’m not getting into that.

  I turn to my date, hoping she’s lost that weird expression. She’s still holding the popcorn. We barely ate an inch of the twenty-dollar bag of food. She’s smiling.

  “Did you like it?” she asks, excitedly.

  I smile, excited just because she is. “Yeah. I’m glad they saved the day.”

  “Me too. I really worried there for a minute.”

  I smile, loving her humor.

  “Ready to go home?”

  I blink. Is she ending the date? Or is she asking to go to my home? And, of course, Steve is sure the answer is the latter. Yeah, I’d better stick with calling my cock Bone Ranger because he’s no different from Steve. And Steve isn’t that nice of a cock after all.

  “Yeah,” I answer with a rough voice, not daring to ask her what she meant. I have to drive back to my place anyway. That’s where her car is. That’s where my apartment is where I could take her inside and get her naked.

  Yep, Steve’s fired.

  We walk slowly with the other movie-goers toward the parking lot. She smiles as strangers take a gander at me, get that intimidated look I used to like so much, then gaze at her like they wonder what the hell she’s doing with me. I wonder the same thing. But, like Deadpool, I’m not going to think about it. I’m just going to take advantage of it until she comes to her senses.

  The day’s warm and sunny. A perfect spring day, even in this northern country where spring doesn’t show itself as vibrantly as the Southern states. Still, it’s nice and green things are starting to peek out from the ground and trees. It’s a perfect temperature. For me. It’s obvious Asha thinks the fifty-degree weather is glacier-like with her hunched shoulders and rubbing her hands together to ward off frostbite. She’s so cute. So I take off my leather jacket and gently place it on her little shoulders. That look she keeps giving me is back, but she whispers a tiny, “Thank you.”

  “Sure.”

  “Ryder?”

  “Yeah?”

  She’s quiet for a long stretch, and I wonder if I’m going to lose my cool soon and shake her to get her to talk when she finally licks her lips and takes a big breath. We’re near my bike and I hand her a helmet.

  “We’re going back to your place, right?”

  I nod. “Your car’s there.” I’m trying to give her an easy out. I want to be a gentleman here, even if Steve is trying to ambush my reasoning by thinking about Asha naked. Naked and sweaty. I swallow.

  She laughs. “Yeah, I forgot that. Yeah.”

  I put my helmet on as she does.

  “But, um—” she nervously laughs, “—I was wondering if we could—”

  “Hang out more?” I ask. I’m not going to let Steve win a round and say something like, “Fuck until we’re brainless.”

  She smiles wider. “Yeah. I’d like that, but—”

  “I’d like that too.” I get on the bike and she does immediately also. After cranking my old Indian over, I settle back in my seat, and there’s Asha, curling her arms around my waist, her legs are against mine, and I feel her hot pussy at my backside. I can also feel her round breasts, pressing into me.

  I’m not sure I can drive. I want to turn around and kiss her, even with our helmets on.

  “Thanks again for the coat,” she says over the roar of my motorcycle.

  I nod, my throat too dry to talk. I have to drive away because if I don’t, I’ll ruin it by forcing her off my bike and onto the nearest grass patch, only to get on top of her. But when I do drive away, she’s still with me, hanging on even more so. All I can think of is what’s between her legs. She’s so warm there. So fucking warm. Is she turned on? By me? At all? Or is she just warm there?

  I’m not sure how I got home so fast. I don’t remember any of the streets or the traffic, and I hope I didn’t scare her to death with my driving. She gets off my bike and is taking off her helmet as I stand. She’s got a huge smile on her face when she’s helmet-free.

  As I’m taking mine off, I ask, “Want a beer?” My voice sounds dry and it is. I’m nervous as fuck. I might be shaking. I don’t know what a woman like Asha does after a date. Do we talk politics now? Share even more about our past and backgrounds? I’m not good with sharing that info, but I’ll learn. I’ll do it for her.

  She nods, a little of the face she’s made all night returning. But then she yanks up her smile. She’s beaming at me and I don’t know why.

  After I have her helmet and mine in my hands, I have to ask, “Do I have something on my face?”

  She shakes her head. “Just excited to have that…beer.”

  I turn and she slips her hand into the nook at the front of my elbow. Fuck, I should have thought that she’d want to be held like dukes did back in the day. When men were gentleman and settled disputes by duels. I have no idea why duels are gentlemanlike, though. Seems a stupid way to fight, if you ask me.

  We awkwardly climb the stairs to my apartment while I try to wrack my mind about gentleman things to do with her.

  Play board games.

  Or get her naked.

  Not helping, Steve.

  Watch TV.

  Lick her nipples.

  Jesus, Steve, shut the fuck up.

  When I’m unlocking the door, my hands have a slight tremor. I have no idea how to be a gentleman. But I’m going to be. There’s no fucking way I’m going to “see where things go,” like I usually would. Which actually means, I’ll kiss a woman until she begs me to be inside her. And, yes, I’ve had women almost in tears because they want my cock in them. I’m not bragging. I’m just saying.

  But I want Asha to think I’m a nice guy, the kind of guy she can depend on. I’m boyfriend material, Pretty Little
Doctor. You just don’t know it yet. And neither do I, but I’ll convince myself and you at the same time.

  I set the helmets on the kitchen table and make a beeline for the fridge. It helps cool off Steve who’s irritating the fuck out of me. After I grab two beers, I turn and she’s there. Less than five inches from me, looking up with her huge sparkling eyes, something mischievous passing through them.

  She licks her lips. “What do we do now?”

  I slam the head of her beer against the counter, taking off the lid, which gives me time to think. “You wanna talk?” Yes, that’s what I asked. I wanted to watch a romcom and now I’m volunteering to talk. To talk, damn it!

  Back in the Army, in my unit, we wouldn’t call each other pussies, because we have a big appreciation for vaginas. We love them. Adore them. Worship them. So whenever we made fun of each other’s masculinity, we’d get more creative and mention we should take up cross-stitching pillows or braid each other’s hair.

  Honestly, I have no idea why men question each other so much about our manliness. I mean, are we really that insecure? Or am I just saying that because I’m now doing things that are stereotypical of a woman and don’t want to feel defensive about it?

  A flicker of disappointment crosses through her dark gaze, but then she perks up and nods. “Yeah, that sounds great.”

  Her enthusiasm is a tad too much. She sounds like she’s lying.

  “Where were you born?” she asks, her face getting tense in the process.

  I slam off the lid to my beer and take a huge gulp, praying it gives me the courage to be a good boy and not get all handsy.

  “Clayton, Indiana.”

  She nods and sips. “Wow. I’ve never heard of that.” She’s also not moving away from me, leaving me feeling a tad cornered with a wild beast in my pants who’s really happy to see her.

  “Small town. You?”

  She sips again. “Lame Deer, Montana. It’s a reservation.”

  “Cheyenne reservation, right?”

  She smiles and it’s not forced. It’s bright and delighted by something I said. “That’s right. I’m Cheyenne.”

  “Cool.” Fuck, I wish my repertoire were a tad wordier. “I’m a mutt. Mainly Irish and German and Scottish. Maybe a little Swedish. Some other stuff too.”

  She nods. “Cool.”

  Oh, fuck me. We’re not usually this stilted. I mean, I know I’m not a talker, but with her I find conversation easy. Fun. But we’re talking like two junior high kids.

  “Ryder?”

  I gulp the rest of my beer. I know getting drunk isn’t a good decision, but I need to do something with my hands and mouth, and drinking a lot seems to be the answer. “Yeah?”

  “Do you have any siblings?”

  I swear to god she was going to ask something else, but I go with it. “Yeah, a sister. She’s in San Bernardino with my nephew. But I want her to move here.”

  “Are you close?”

  I nod. “Yeah. I like to think so, although the little stinker does keep secrets from me.”

  “Like what?”

  I worry I’m saying too much, something my sister might be embarrassed of, but finally Asha and I are talking with a little more fluidity, and I want to keep this up. “Like the fact that she was pregnant with my nephew. She didn’t tell me until she was nine months to term.”

  Asha blinks. “Why didn’t she tell you? And I like that you called her a stinker.”

  I smile then wipe it off as I talk about Zoe. “She was nineteen. In college. I guess she thought I’d be pissed that she got pregnant. I was paying for her college, and—”

  “You were paying for her college?”

  I nod. “Yeah, but it’s easy to save money when you’re stationed half the world away. So I paid for her college and apparently she met a guy and—well, she had Neil. Who is awesome, by the way.”

  She smiles. “I’m sure he is.”

  “You have siblings?”

  She nods, the smile gone. “I have an older sister and a twin brother. I’m not that close to either of them.” Her voice, oh god her voice just breaks me. It’s sad and little and her pain becomes my own when she talks about the fact that she’s no longer close to her brother and sister.

  “A twin brother, huh?” I wish I knew how to comfort her, but out came that instead.

  She nods and looks down at her beer. “He and I—never mind.”

  I put my beer and hers on the table, then gently hold her chin with my thumb and finger. “You can tell me.”

  I watch as something passes through her gaze, something I never thought I’d see. There was this guy in our Army unit who was a die-hard Harry Potter fan. I mean, he reread those books daily. He talked about them all the fucking time. After his first firefight, the first time he saw one of our own die, he stopped talking about Harry Potter. Except once he talked about a Thestral, these mythological skeletal winged horses, seen by only those who have witnessed death. He shook his head and said something about how that myth was real, how he could see in others the kind of intense pain that only a few have endured.

  You know it when you see it. That look Asha’s giving me. The look of a survivor. Of someone who has gone through shit only a few have ever known. Of someone who’s experienced deep pain, the kind of pain that becomes your companion because it won’t or can’t go away.

  I never thought I’d see that look on her. I thought her the kind of girl who’d led a charmed life. Maybe not all that easy because, come on, she’s Native American and a woman. I’m sure she’s heard several racial and sexist comments. But the look she’s giving me is one born from trauma. And I know it has something to do with her brother. If he hurt her, I’ll gut him.

  She sighs and looks away. “Let’s just say I wish I was close to him. For that part I wish I was close to my sister too. She’s older than Hon and me. Oh, that’s my brother’s name, Hon.”

  “Like Han Solo?”

  She laughs and I’m so relieved. So fucking relieved.

  “No, silly. Hon, short for Honiahaka. It’s Cheyenne for bear.”

  I shrug. “That’s a lot cooler than being named after Han Solo. But I do love Star Wars.”

  She smiles again. “Anyway, my sister, Lona, is older than Hon and me. And I guess because Hon and I were so close, she might have felt like a third-wheel. But she especially felt like that when she was in college and she came out. My parents didn’t take it well, and she assumed Hon and I were like my parents. But I always thought it was cool she’s a lesbian. We’re kind of becoming friends now, but she’s still guarded. She has a girlfriend. They’re getting serious. Talking about marriage. But Hon and I—can I just say I wish I was close to him, but we’re not. We were once, but we’re not now. And that’s all I want to say about it.”

  I cradle her cheeks between my rough hands, so moved that she’s letting me in a little and so moved by her obvious pain. “Yeah, baby. If that’s all you want to say, that’s all you’re going to say. I’ll never force you to do anything you don’t want to.”

  Which is a wickedly good reminder to myself to not be a douche to her.

  She takes a big inhalation, holding it. “Ryder, I don’t think I’ll ever feel forced by you to do…anything.” She’s stepping closer. And closer. “In fact, I—I—I feel the opposite of forced to do…anything.”

  I swallow.

  I want to kiss her. I want to kiss her. I want to kiss her. Fuck almighty, I want to kiss her.

  I want to “see where things go.” I want her to mean that she’s feeling free with me, free with her body, and she wants me to take her to my bed.

  She’s moving even closer, and I’m a tad frozen. If I do kiss her, then how do I stop? I mean, that’s what a woman like Asha would want. She might want to make out. Just make out. Not have sex. She’s probably not even thinking of sex. While I’m already imagining her under me, being deep inside her, her legs on my shoulders and I’m pumping into her so hard and fast.

  Okay, I can sto
p myself. I mean, I’ve never had to before because the women I’ve known always wanted sex and just sex. Well, there were a few who thought I had to love them from the way I fucked them. But that’s beside the point. This is different. I’m different now. I’m going to just make out with Asha. Yeah, I can do this.

  But I swear to god, I hear Steve whimper.

  Chapter Ten - Asha

  I might have, yet again, forced Ryder to kiss me, which doesn’t make me feel very good. But when his lips respond and start to move, brushing across me in an intoxicating, beer-flavored kiss, I realize I’ll get over those feelings. His tongue skims across the seam of my lips and I open for him. He groans and finally, what I have been hoping for all freaking day long, is happening.

  Ryder wraps his big arms around me and pulls me close, the kiss getting hotter, faster, his tongue pushing against mine. He’s coming unhinged and I love it. He’s pulling me even nearer, although I can’t get any closer. All of my body is against his, and he’s growing hard. It’s fascinating feeling that part of him respond to the kiss. His erection pressed against my belly is augmenting my own desire, which I’ve had since the second I saw him walk through his doorway.

  I couldn’t believe Ryder took me out, that we had dinner and a movie, that he gave me his jacket, which I’m still wearing but want him to take off. I kind of thought I knew what kind of a man Ryder was. He didn’t seem to be the kind of guy who would take a girl out, show her a good time and want to talk afterwards. He seemed to be the kind of man who would want sex. Just sex. And I was fine with that. I’m more than fine with that. I’m on board—toot, toot!—with that idea.

  I think my first time should be with a guy who knows what he’s doing. Who won’t ask me a lot of questions, although Ryder does. Which is making me rethink my plan. But I did like the idea of finally having sex with a man I’m actually attracted to and not having to talk about my past, which is surely a buzzkill. I mean, a lot of people say there’s no stigma associated with rape victims. Ha! What a farce. Even my sister, when she found out, started to treat me differently. Always a tad stoic and icy, she became overly chatty and concerned. I mean, I didn’t mind the concern, but I did when I thought it was pity.