Page 114 of The Path to Loving Him
My eyes narrow, and she laughs.
“Come on, we need to be able to joke about it, or else this is just going to be torture.”
“It’s already torture.”
“You suffering over there, Rowley?”
I don’t know why, but I like her using my last name like that in a teasing tone.
“Yeah, aren’t you?”
“Well, my inner thighs are in need of some soothing.” She wiggles her brows, and I find it far too adorable.
“You’re being annoying,” I say even though I don’t feel that way. I kind of wish she’d do more, maybe even allow me to drag her over to my side where I could just casually slip my hand under her shirt and play with her while we watch the game.
“Seems like you like annoying.” She wiggles her finger at my smile.
“Just humoring you.”
“You’re a liar, Ryland Rowley. But that’s okay.” She’s silent for a second. “But seriously, you’re the best sex I’ve ever had.”
I press my lips together and stare at the TV for a few seconds. Then, I loll my head to the side and say, “Sex will never be the same after you.”
That brings a huge smile to her face, and that’s all I can ask for.
Chapter Seventeen
GABBY
“Mother . . . fucker . . .” I say as I roll to my side and sit up, letting my legs dangle off the edge of the bed. I stare down at my inner thighs, which are now an ugly shade of black and blue. It looks like I tried to fuck a cannon and failed.
Slowly, I get out of bed and waddle over to my bathroom, where I brush my teeth, pee, wash my face, and fix my hair by pulling it up into a high messy bun. I tug a few strands to frame my face, then call it a day, not even bothering with a coat of mascara. Bower’s coming today, and she couldn’t care less about my appearance.
Not wanting to change just yet, I keep Ryland’s shirt on—the same shirt I shamelessly went to bed smelling—and move to my kitchen at a snail’s pace to make some coffee. Just then, there’s a knock on the door.
Is Bower here already?
“Coming,” I call out. “Very slowly but coming.”
“Gabby, it’s me,” Ryland says. “I have a key so I can let myself in.”
“Please do,” I say as I lean against the kitchen counter.
He unlocks and opens the door wide, only to pick up two cups of coffee and a bag from the ground. When his eyes meet mine, he must see my pain because he quickly rushes over, depositing the bag and drinks on the table. “Shit, are you okay?”
“Umm, I want to say yes so you don’t have this need to take care of me, but in reality . . . ouch.”
He lightly chuckles. “Okay, let me help you get to the couch.”
And just like yesterday, he effortlessly scoops me up and carries me to the couch, where he sets me down.
“Let me see—holy shit!” he says, his eyes going wide when he takes a look at my thighs. “Fuck, Gabby.” He kneels in front of me. “That looks terrible.”
“Feels just as terrible,” I say as I lean against one of my throw pillows. “And I don’t say that so you feel obligated to help me. It’s the freaking truth.”
“Let me grab that gel. I can put some more on.”
“I can put it on, Ryland,” I say as he finds it on the coffee table.
