By His Rule, page 16
After pressing a quick, chaste kiss to my cheek, he’s gone almost as fast as he arrived, leaving me with nothing but the image of his hard ass in his tight suit pants as a parting gift.
“Where’s Ryder gone?” Tatum asks when she finally returns from the bathroom.
“Oh, you’ve finished hiding?” I tease.
“What? I needed to pee.”
“Did you?” I snark, raising a brow in question.
“I did. So…how was he? Been a while, huh?”
“You are so fucking transparent.”
She stares at me, her lips twitching with amusement.
She can’t lie for shit. Especially not to me. I know her too well.
“Fine. Fine. He popped up on my Facebook feed and…well…I thought he might be of some use to you.”
“You think he’s going to fuck all my problems away, like they don’t exist.”
“Fucking hell, if he’s that magical, I might have a go myself,” she teases.
“Oh yeah, like you’d ever stray from King’s magic dick,” I deadpan.
She gets this far-off dreamy look in her eye.
“Please, stop thinking about his dick. We’re in public.”
She laughs before her expression turns serious.
“I swear, Lor, since I’ve been pregnant, it’s actually got better.”
“Fucking hell.”
“I mean it. Sex before was amazing. But now, the extra hormones or something...Fuck. It’s beyond incredible. I really do recommend it.”
“Umm…hard pass for me, but thanks for the advice.”
I might be interested in finding my Mr. Right, but kids…that’s a whole other issue for me. A therapist might say it has something to do with my own childhood, and do you know what? They’d probably be right.
“Oh, you say that now. One day, everything will change.”
“We’ll see,” I mutter, lifting my drink to my lips as Tatum checks her cell.
“Mr. Perfect Dick want to know where his baby mamma is?”
“Yep,” she agrees happily. “I should probably take you home so I can go enjoy him. It’s been a few hours.”
“Whore,” I cough.
“Loud and proud, baby. Loud and proud.”
It’s Saturday night and I’m…staring at a spreadsheet.
Is this really what my life has become?
I should put work and Kian freaking Callahan behind me for the weekend. It’s bad enough that he took my Friday night.
But I can’t. And anyway, it’s not like I’ve got anything better to do.
My head is spinning with numbers and formulae when my watch buzzes.
I glance down and immediately burst out laughing.
Ryde my dick: It was good to see you today.
Reaching for my cell, I open our conversation, noting just how long has passed since his stupid contact name has popped up on my screen.
I remember the morning he did it. I was hungover as hell, and every inch of my body hurt. Most of it courtesy of him and the lack of sleep we’d had the night before.
I’d never had sex like it. It was wild, and I couldn’t help but gaze at him in wonder that next morning. The things the man could do with my body.
Shit. It had happened to me, and yet I still struggled to understand it.
Before he left that next morning, he found my cell on the floor in the middle of my small dorm room and put his number into it.
I had no idea what he’d called himself until later that day when he messaged me to let me know how much fun he’d had.
Ryde my dick.
What a fucking idiot.
But just like a few moments ago, that name has made me laugh every time it’s popped up on my screen over the years. And despite how it might sound, they haven’t always been booty call messages. We have hung out with clothes on as well. Once or twice…
I stare at the screen, trying to come up with a reply that sets the right tone.
Despite Tate’s meddling, do I really want to fall back into old habits with Ryder?
Of course, my body screams yes. Yes, we fucking do.
But my head…that’s a little more reluctant.
Lori: It was good to see you too.
I hit send before I ask a question that could be misconstrued.
Ryde my dick: Any good plans for the evening?
Well, there goes my good intentions.
Lori: Quiet night in. Been a long week.
Ryde my dick: That’s boring. I’m heading out with the boys later. You should join.
I can’t lie, there is a part of me that wants to. I want to put on one of my dresses, do my hair and makeup, and dance the night away.
But also…
Lori: Maybe another time. I hope you have a good night. Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do…
Ryde my dick: That sounds like a challenge.
Lori: Maybe it is. You can tell me all about it tomorrow.
Ryde my dick: Maybe I’ll be too busy wishing I was spending the night with you. You know, for old times' sake.
Lori: Who says I’m single?
Ryde my dick: Tatum.
“Of fucking course she did.”
Lori: She’s meddling. Ignore her.
Ryde my dick: I quite like her meddling, if I’m being honest.
Lori: Of course you do. You always were looking for trouble.
Ryde my dick: Takes one to know one.
Ryde my dick: So, what are you really doing tonight that’s more important than meeting me?
Lori: Netflix and spreadsheets.
Ryde my dick: Wow, I’m really getting blown off for the good stuff here…
And just like that, I find myself sucked back in by arguably the best ride of my life.
I mean, what’s the harm? My only other option right now is my ex, and there is no fucking way I’m going back there.
22
LORELEI
It’s late by the time I roll out of bed the next morning.
My intentions of having a quiet evening followed by an early night were shattered the second Ryder popped up.
He might have gone out, evidenced by some of the selfies he sent me during the evening, but he didn’t forget about me.
I’m not sure if he was keeping me on the back burner in case he didn’t have other options or what, but he’d thoroughly reeled me in, and I couldn’t switch off despite knowing better.
As it turned out, he didn’t hook-up, and he went home alone. Well…not entirely alone. I was happily burning up his messages by that point.
I stretch as I walk into my bathroom, feeling pretty sated despite spending the night in bed by myself.
Tate was right; Ryder is what I need in my life for a little stress relief right now.
Feeling inspired and full of life, instead of starting the coffee machine and curling myself up on the couch to laze Sunday away, I pull on a sports bra, a pair of leggings, and throw my hair up into a messy bun.
I haven’t been running properly since Matt and I started getting serious. Any spare time I had, I was spending with him. And my exercise was courtesy of him as well.
The pain of the breakup threatens, but I stretch my neck out and force it down.
Being sad over that lying piece of shit is a waste of time.
Instead, I need to be focusing on myself. That is a much healthier way of dealing with everything.
With my cell strapped to my upper arm and my earbuds firmly in place, I close the front door behind me and take off.
It’s a beautiful fall day outside, and I feel better about my life every time my foot hits the sidewalk.
Considering how little I’ve exercised in the past few months, I find my stride easily, and I soon discover that I’ve run farther than I anticipated.
When I find a coffee shop with a free seat outside, I order myself an iced latte and a panini and continue with my self-care day.
It’s perfect.
Tate was right. I just needed a bloody good orgasm to fix me right up. Sure, she was expecting it to be delivered by a man and not my favorite toy, but whatever.
The endorphins are running rampant through my system nonetheless.
It’s mid-afternoon when I finally walk back into my building.
My skin is covered in a sheen of sweat, my hair is…probably better off not being thought about, and I’m pretty sure that when I strip off my clothes I’ll discover that my waning summer tan has had a boost.
I’m more than ready for a shower and to kick back and relax before another working week begins.
A trickle of unease works its way through my body as I think about facing Kian again after what happened Friday night, but I quickly lock it away to worry about tomorrow. I’m not allowing him to ruin any more of my weekend.
My legs are burning from the run up the stairs of my building, but I’m too busy fiddling with my earbuds and cell to pay any attention to what’s happening in my hallway. Something I soon discover is a mistake.
“Good afternoon, Lorelei.”
The second the deep voice hits my ears, I freeze.
No.
No.
He is not standing outside my apartment on a Sunday freaking afternoon.
Dragging my eyes up, I find that I’m wrong, because he is standing there beside my front door like he owns the place.
“What are you doing?” I snap, trying to hold my head high and stand my ground despite the fact I’m a disgusting, sweaty mess.
“Waiting for you. What does it look like?”
“It looks like you’re standing somewhere you don’t belong.”
A smirk kicks up one side of his mouth, and it makes one of his dimples pop.
A sigh falls from my lips, and I tell myself it’s out of frustration, not how damn good-looking he is.
He tsks before letting his eyes drop down my body. I might be dressed, but the way his pupils dilate, I may as well be standing here naked.
“What do you want, Kian?” I snap, frustrated that he’s ruining my day.
Everything was going so well.
“We’re going out,” he states as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world.
Popping a hip, I rest my hand on my waist. “I’m sorry. We’re what?”
“Going out. You’re probably going to want to shower first though, right?”
My mouth opens and closes to say something, but no words emerge.
What the fuck is this asshole playing at?
“Come on, open up. We don’t have all day. Got places to be.”
I continue to stare at him in disbelief.
“Where is your key, Lorelei?” he snaps, his patience quickly disappearing.
My eyes drop to the fake plant that sits in a pot beside the front door, and he follows my gaze.
“You’re fucking kidding me. That’s where you keep your key? Are you asking to be robbed and attacked in the middle of the night?”
My brows jump. “N-no, that’s not—”
“Never. And I mean fucking never, leave your key here again. Do you hear me?”
“I hear the words, Kian. But I am not listening to them. Who the hell do you think you are to tell me what to do with my own goddam key?”
He holds my eyes for a few seconds, the hardness of his expression letting me know exactly what he thinks of my statement before he spins around and plucks the key from beneath the pot.
My eyes catch on the “Callahan” that’s branded across his back, giving me little choice but to appreciate what he’s wearing.
The suit I’m used to is nowhere to be seen. Instead, he’s wearing a Chicago Chiefs jersey and a pair of what I can only assume are stupidly expensive jeans and sneakers.
I hate to admit it, but the casual look really suits him.
Without another word, he opens my front door, and after pressing his big palm against the small of my back, he physically pushes me inside, immediately closing us in.
“I have no idea what is going on here, but I have plans this afternoon, and they don’t involve you.”
“Cute,” Kian muses. “You have thirty minutes to get showered and dressed. Do not make us late.”
He takes a step forward, stupidly assuming that I’m going to follow his orders.
“You do not get to force your way in here and then start barking orders like I’m a dog, Kian Callahan.”
“Oh, and you need to wear this,” he says thrusting a carrier bag at me before disappearing into my living area.
“What the actual fuck, Callahan?” I seethe.
“Just do as you’re told, Temptress,” he rasps back.
Fire burns through me and I storm after him.
“What did you just call me?”
He spins around and holds my eyes as if I’m the crazy one here.
“Tempest. Your name, Lorelei.” He says the words with so much confidence that I question my own hearing.
Shaking my head, I drop my eyes to the bag in my hands.
Reaching inside, I pull out the fabric hiding inside and hold it up.
“What the—”
“We watched your brother’s game. Now we’re going to do the same for mine.”
I stare down at the Chicago Chiefs jersey in my hands with my head spinning out of control.
“Y-you’re taking me to watch a football game?” I ask in complete bafflement.
“Yes, Lorelei. I’m taking you to watch a football game.”
“You know I don’t actually like football, right?”
He shrugs. “Doesn’t matter. We’re there to support Kieran.”
I’m speechless. Utterly fucking speechless.
“The game starts at four thirty, and I’d quite like to be there before then,” he says, making a show of glancing at his watch.
“Y-you’re—”
“Taking you to watch a football game. Yes, Lorelei. Is there another way you need me to explain it to you?”
“B-but why?”
“Because I am, okay? Now stop questioning me and go and get ready.”
Unable to come up with any kind of argument to get myself out of this—not that I think any would be good enough—I spin on my heels and march toward my bedroom, clutching the jersey in my hands with a death grip.
It’s not until I kick my bedroom door behind me that I suck in some much-needed air.
Kian Callahan is standing in my living room, waiting to take me to a football game. What fucking universe is this?
And more importantly, why am I even considering going?
He’s right. He did watch Wilder’s game with me. I owe Kieran, right?
Before I can talk myself in circles, I strip out of my running clothes, pull my shower cap on—because I do not have time to deal with that—and step into the shower.
“This is a really bad idea, Lorelei,” I tell myself as I stand in front of my floor-length mirror, staring at the name plastered across my back.
Of course Kian couldn’t bring me just any Chicago Chiefs jersey. Oh no, he had to bring me one with “Callahan” splashed across it.
Sure, as my boss, he may have some kind of ownership of me right now, but this is taking it to a whole new level.
I. Am. Wearing. His. Name.
This was not in my job description.
But that doesn’t stop me from double-checking my hair and makeup in the mirror, slipping my feet into a pair of sneakers, and heading out to discover what he’s done to entertain himself.
I guess I shouldn’t really be surprised when I find him sitting at my kitchen island with my laptop open and a spreadsheet filling the screen before him.
“What the hell are you—”
“Some of your formulae were wrong,” he states simply.
“You don’t even know what I was trying to do.”
“Yes, I do. I was the one who asked you to do this. I know how it needs to work.”
Red-hot anger shoots through my veins.
“Then maybe you should just do it yourself.”
He stares at me with a slight frown between his brows, as if he isn’t understanding my issue here.
“Then why have an assistant?”
“Well, isn’t that the question? Please, can you stop interfering with my work? If I need your help, I will ask.”
“No, you won’t,” he says confidently.
He’s right. I probably wouldn’t. Google is my friend. He is not.
Closing my laptop, he gets to his feet and steps toward me.
“Shall we go?” he asks, and then as if suddenly realizing that I’m actually standing here, he takes a moment to let his eyes drop down my body. “Shit,” he breathes.
“Why am I agreeing to this?” I ask, trying to ignore the way my blood heats under his perusal.
“Because I’m your boss, and you have to say yes to me.”
“Wow, you really are delusional,” I mutter, holding my ground as he steps right into my personal space.
Alarm bells go off, and my head screams for me to step back.
My body, though…the warmth from his calls to me, draws me in. If I were to move just a couple of inches, then…
“You look beautiful, by the way. Chiefs’ colors suit you.”
I stare up at him, unable to come up with any kind of intelligible response to his comment.
“We need to leave. Do you have everything?” he asks as his large hand gently wraps around my upper arm, spinning me in the direction of the front door.
“M-my purse,” I stutter like a fool. Anyone would think that I’ve never been touched by a man.
His hand moves to the small of my back, and he sucks in a sharp breath. Glancing back over my shoulder, I find him staring at his surname branded across my shoulder blades, and my heart jumps into my throat.
His hand presses against my back, encouraging me forward. My feet move of their own accord. No sooner do I have my purse over my shoulder than I’m guided out of my apartment and into the elevator.
