Page 27 of The Downside of Love
RORY
Knock, knock.
I pause Netflix and hop off my bed. I don’t why I’m excited, but I am.
I open my front door to find Stryder standing in front of me, decked out in his uniform, cap on his head, duffel bag in hand.
His body fills the doorframe, shoulders broad and sturdy, his height towering over me, those blue eyes of his staring intently. Colby was tall, strong, cut in all the right places and looked so damn good in his uniform, but I have to be honest, Stryder fills out his uniform just a little more.
“Hey.”
“Hey.” His deep voice rumbles over me, a smile at the corner of his lips. “Please tell me you’re not as messy as Ryan.”
A burst of laughter pops out of me. Oh Ryan. She is a hot mess. I know exactly what he’s talking about, and I can only guess at how bad it was with her upcoming date this weekend.
I gesture for him to enter the apartment as I say, “Don’t worry. There isn’t enough room in here to be messy.”
“Thank God.” He steps into my apartment and somehow makes it seem even smaller than it is.
I move toward the small corner I tried to make into a “bedroom” for him. A crate for his nightstand, an air mattress for a bed decked out in some of my best linens, and an extension cord so he can plug his phone in and still have it close to him at night.
“Uh, this little area is for you, unless . . .” I think about it for a second and take a look at my king-size bed. “You know, I can take the air mattress and you can have my bed. You’re much bigger than me and would be more comfortable on my bed.”
He passes by me and brings his duffle bag to the corner, plopping it next to the air mattress, claiming it as his. “I’m not sleeping in your bed, Rory. I’m grateful for the opportunity to stay here, no way in hell I’m taking over your space. This air mattress is perfect. Thank you.” He removes his cap and tosses it on his duffel bag and then removes his jacket, revealing the tightness of his sand tee against his defined body.
Oh my.
That doesn’t hide anything. And I already know what he’s got going on under that shirt from my visit to Ryan’s the other morning.
No wonder Ryan wanted a piece of Stryder Sheppard.
Hands on hips, Stryder looks me up and down and says, “You have the right idea. Pajamas. Mind if I change out of this stuff?”
“No, go right ahead. Bathroom is behind that door. It’s small but it will give you some privacy. I have some mac and cheese in the oven if that’s okay for dinner.”
His face softens, a light smile playing at his lips. “You don’t have to make me anything for dinner, Rory. Staying here is enough.”
I shrug my shoulders. “I have to eat too, so might as well make enough for both of us.”
Nodding, he turns away and shuffles through his duffel bag, pulling out a pair of shorts and a T-shirt. I’m guessing he usually doesn’t wear a shirt after work—he seems like the kind of guy who goes shirtless—but I’m sure he’s trying to be as polite as possible.
Since the apartment is so small, I talk to him while he’s getting dressed. “Did you see Ryan’s hair? It’s so pretty.”
“No,” he calls out. “Did she go through with the brown?”
“She did.” I grab two glasses from my cabinet and fill them with Sprite from a two-liter bottle. “I’m jealous she looks good as a blonde and a brunette.”
Stryder opens the door and brings his folded-up uniform to his bed where he sets it down and then walks toward me. “Let me see the picture.”
I hand him his drink and then go to my bed where I find the picture of Ryan. He thanks me for the drink, and he’s right behind me when I turn around so I show him the photo. I watch him assess the picture, eyebrows drawn in, his expression curious, which is abnormal whenever a guy looks at a picture of Ryan. They usually show some kind of interest.
Nonchalantly, he shrugs and says, “Looks good.”
That’s it?
Looks good?
I expected a little more.
