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  A third, and fourth.

  The next box contains another four vases, each filled with a dozen roses.

  Same with the third box.

  I groan and laugh at the same time. “Oh my god. Seriously?”

  The delivery guy gives me a stare. “That’s just the first load.”

  “The what?”

  He grins, indicating the now-empty boxes. “This is just the first three boxes.”

  I close my eyes, pinching the bridge of my nose. “Of how many?”

  The guy glances out the front door at the cube van parked rear-end first in my driveway. “A lot.”

  “Ohhhh boy.”

  Ten minutes later, I’m running out of places for the guy to put vases. The poor guy has made four more trips, with three boxes per load times four vases per box, each vase containing a dozen roses each, equals…I’m bad at math. A lot, that’s what.

  Like, two hundred and forty roses?

  When the guy is finished dragging the last three empty boxes out to his truck and comes back in, sweating, sans dolly, I’m laughing hysterically.

  “Is that finally it?” I ask, still laughing.

  The guy gapes at me. “Yes, ma’am. That’s it.”

  I grab my purse and fish my wallet out of it. “Is this the most flowers you’ve ever delivered to one person?”

  “No tip, please, ma’am. The guy who placed the order paid enough to cover it.” He wipes at his forehead. “I did deliver over a thousand roses to a lady, once.”

  I snort. “A thousand? What was the story, do you know?”

  He laughs. “I think the guy cheated on his wife, got caught, and was trying to make up for it.”

  “Did it work?”

  He shrugs. “I dunno. The lady was annoyed, though, because it turns out she’d been telling him for years that she hated roses, and he spent over four grand on them.”

  “Wow. So that was kind of a fail, huh?”

  He nods, shrugs. “I guess it seems to me like if you’re gonna cheat and get caught, you’d better know what kind of flowers your wife likes.” He indicates my houseful of roses. “Your husband mess up or what?”

  I blush. “He’s not my husband, he’s my boyfriend. And no, he didn’t.”

  He grins again. “And do you like roses?”

  My smile widens. “I love them.”

  He removes and replaces his hat once more. “Well, I hope you enjoy them. The vases all have plant food in them, so the roses should last a long time if you keep them filled with fresh water.” He waves at me. “Have a nice day, ma’am.”

  “It’d be impossible not to,” I say.

  Nate looks up from his homework. “What are you gonna do with all these roses?”

  I sigh, looking around at the twenty dozen roses clustered on every available square inch of my home. “I have no idea, bud.”

  He sniffs. “It’s kinda smelly. Like, a good smell, but just…strong. Tickles my nose.”

  I laugh, ruffling his hair. “No kidding. It is pretty pungent.”

  He stares at me, chewing on the eraser of his pencil. “Ryder must really like you.”

  I bite the corner of my lower lip. “Yeah, I think he does.”

  “Do you like him back?”

  I nod. “I do.”

  “Just because he got you a bunch of flowers?”

  I shake my head. “No. I already liked him. This just makes me like him a little more.”

  Nate nods and clears the dinner table before starting on his homework. I stand in my foyer and try to get all the flowers in one picture, but there are too many; I end up having to take a panoramic to get them all in, and then I post the picture in our girls’ text thread, which Audra has named “BJ, HJ, Doggy Style, and Cunnilingus.”

  Me: so Ryder decided to get me some flowers…

  A message pops up: Nova has named the conversation “QUIT BEING GROSS, AUDRA”

  Imogen: Wow. I mean…WOW. He doesn’t mess around, does he?

  Audra: that there is a shitload of roses. I think he may like you, Laurel. Just a hunch.

  Audra has named the conversation “NOVA IS A FUN-SUCKER. SEX IS FOR WINNERS!”

  Nova: I am not a fun-sucker, and I always win at sex…when I choose to do the sex. I am just currently choosing to not do the sex.

  Nova: IF ANYONE SAYS ANYTHING ABOUT ME AND JAMES I WILL LEAVE THIS THREAD AND BLOCK ALL OF YOU.

  Nova: Also, Laurel: I think Audra is right…for once. Ryder just MAY like you a little bit.

  Audra: SUCK HIS COCK

  Me: Is that ALL you ever think about?

  Audra: Pretty much, yeah. I’m kind of like a dude, in that I think about sex every thirty seconds.

  Imogen: You should get that looked at.

  Audra: I did get it looked at by a PhD, once. Turns out he wasn’t a medical doctor, though. Who knew? All he could tell me was that I tasted good.

  Nova: Imogen, how have you put up with her for so long?

  Imogen: Because she says what I’m thinking but too chickenshit to say, and it makes me laugh.

  Me: I’m gonna go call Ryder now.

  Audra: SEND NUDES

  Me: If I were to roll my eyes any harder, they’d roll back into my skull and I’d go blind.

  I check in on Nate, who is still doing homework…along with a lot of doodling ninjas in the margins. He doesn’t need my help, and I promised him that he could watch TV once he was done.

  I go into my bedroom and lock the door, and then into my bathroom, which I also lock. I’ve moved vases all over the house at this point, so there are two vases of roses on my bathroom counter. I clench a flower in my teeth and take a fully clothed selfie, and send it to Ryder—only after double, triple, and quadruple checking to be sure it’s going to go to him.

  And then I take off my shirt and take another selfie in just my skirt and bra, with the rose in my teeth, and I send that one.

  Next, I take off my bra, keeping one rose clenched in my teeth, and—this next bit of creativity requires a few attempts to get right—wrap one arm around my breasts to squeeze them together; my wrist covers my left nipple, and the rose covers my right nipple. I snap a photo once I get all my bits properly covered, and send it to Ryder.

  Thankfully, these roses have had the thorns removed because next, I slip the rose between my breasts and use my arms to prop them together enough that the rose stays in place, and take another selfie like that, with everything from the waist up bared, the rose between my tits.

  I send that one, and then wait.

  It’s only a matter of a minute or so before I see the message notification switch to “read” and then three bubbles bounce and jump.

  Ryder: You got the flowers, I take it?

  Me: My whole house smells like roses.

  Me: Where are you? What are you doing?

  Ryder: At a job, wiring a built-in surround sound system into a man-cave.

  Me: Are you alone?

  Ryder: Yes.

  Me: How alone?

  He sends me a five-second video of himself panning in a circle, and I can see he’s surrounded by an explosion of cords and wires and speakers, there’s a drill on the floor next to a giant toolbox, and there’s a portable work light hooked onto the strut of a ladder. The room is empty, except for him, and the door is closed.

  Ryder: See? Totally, completely alone. I’m the only one at the site, as a matter of fact. Why?

  I go into my room and sit on my bed, and then FaceTime him, making sure the camera is close enough that all he can see is my face.

  “Hi!” he says, as soon as the connection is established. It’s blurry for a second, and the resolves into clarity.

  “Hi, baby,” I croon in a singsong voice. “I just wanted to say thanks for the flowers.”

  “You do mean the roses, right?” he says with a laugh.

  I bring a rose into view on the screen. “Yep.”

  He grins. “I had to be sure. I’d never, ever be so fucking lame as to send a bullshit
little bouquet of flowers you don’t even like.”

  “Message received,” I say. “Loud and clear.”

  He looks away, fiddling with something, and then looks back at the screen—the view shifts and I see the ceiling, and then Ryder from a different angle, and the view stabilizes. I realize he propped the phone on something so he could sit down and use both hands while talking to me, and I see his hands every now and then, doing something to a speaker just beneath the bottom edge of the screen.

  “So,” he says, grinning at me. “Whatcha doin now?”

  I shrug, keeping the camera close. “I dunno. Just…hanging around.” I arch an eyebrow. “Did you get all four of my selfies?”

  His grin is heated. “Fuck yeah, babe. Saved ’em to their own folder titled ‘hottest woman alive’.”

  I pull the phone away a little, just enough that he can tell I’m not wearing a top. “I like the title. You have photos of anyone else in there?”

  He pauses in what he’s doing. “What? Oh…no. Just…just you.”

  I pull the phone a little farther away, and now my boobs are entirely within in the frame—I prop them together a bit, for his benefit, since even fake—or, rather, enhanced—boobs sag to the side when you’re lying down. “Just me, huh? So, I’m the hottest woman alive?”

  “By several orders of magnitude.” He blows out a breath. “Laurel…god. You make it seriously fucking impossible to get work done.”

  I shrug, and his eyes follow the movement of my breasts. “I just wanted to…show my appreciation.”

  He rubs his jaw. “I might send you flowers every week if you’re going to appreciate me this much.”

  I laugh. “Oh god, don’t send this many again, though. You’ll go broke!”

  His eyes are fixed on my chest. “Worth every penny.”

  I bite my lip, hesitating, and then shake my tits at him just for fun. “I have an idea.”

  He narrows his eyes. “I can’t do anything here, Laurel.” He groans again. “I absolutely cannot jack off at a job site.”

  I can’t help a laugh. “Oh my god, no. That’s a terrible idea.” I knead one breast, then the other. “What if you came over tonight?”

  He blinks at me. “I…um. I won’t be done here until late, Laurel. I really have to get this done.” He runs his hand through his hair. “Fuck. Why do you have to tempt me?”

  I hesitate, biting my lip, and then forge ahead with my naughty, impulsive idea. “To the left of my front door, in the landscaping bed, there’s a little ceramic garden gnome. He’s about a foot tall, and he’s holding a lamp in one hand—the lamp actually lights up, it’s solar powered.”

  He just arches an eyebrow. “Okay?”

  “The gnome’s name is Mr. Duckington the Fourth,” I tell him, “and he has a secret.”

  Ryder stops what he’s doing and focuses on the camera. “Oh? Do I get to know what Mr. Duckington the Fourth’s secret is?”

  I grin. “Mr. Duckington the Fourth is wearing a red hat. If you take his hat off, there’s a spare key for my house inside his head.”

  He lets out a slow breath. “I see. And are you officially inviting me to use your secret key to let myself in?”

  I nod, feeling a little shy about the next part. “Do you remember our conversation about you waking me up in a really…ummm…exciting way?”

  He groans a sigh. “Fuck yes, Laurel. I remember very, very clearly.”

  “I’m gonna get Nate to bed, and I’m going to go to bed myself pretty soon after he’s in bed.” I meet his eyes via the phone screen. “Nate could sleep through the Apocalypse, so don’t worry about tiptoeing around.”

  “You’re sure about this?”

  I nod, gnawing on my lip again. “Yes, Ryder. I’m absolutely certain I want you to come over tonight.”

  “Even if it’s super late, like after midnight?”

  “Yes.”

  His grin widens, and he rakes his hand through his hair. “Do you sleep naked, Laurel?”

  I shrug. “Not usually. But I will tonight.”

  “I think I’m about to finish this job in record time.”

  I caress my breasts with my free hand, and I enjoy the agonized desire on Ryder’s face. “Don’t rush so you make mistakes. I’ll be here waiting for you whenever you get done, okay?”

  “Fucking hell, Laurel. What did I ever do to deserve you?”

  “I keep asking myself the same question about you.”

  “I’ll see you as soon as humanly possible.”

  “Okay.” I give him a look that drips with eager, seductive lust. “And Ryder?”

  “Yeah, babe?”

  “I hope you’re…hungry.”

  He laughs, but it’s a wicked sound, more of a growl than anything. “Laurel, my sweet, sexy darling, I am absolutely ravenous. I plan on feasting.”

  I shiver. “I can’t wait.”

  He blows me a kiss, and I blow him one back, and then we end the call; I drop the phone to the bed beside me, grinning ear to ear. I put a pillow over my face and muffle a scream of excitement, kicking my feet.

  I hear a knock on my bedroom door, then. “Mom? I need your help with my homework.”

  “Okay, I’ll be right there!” I call.

  I put my shirt back on sans bra, and go out to help Nate with his homework. When he’s done, we lounge on the couch together and watch our favorite reality show, about a search for hidden treasure on a remote Canadian island. After two episodes of that, I send Nate to bed. While he’s falling asleep, I clean the kitchen—do the dishes, wipe the counters, sweep the floor, then pick up around the living room and make sure everything is neat and tidy.

  Solely for my own peace of mind, of course.

  Ha, right. I’m totally spit-shining my house for Ryder.

  I start on my room—which, to be honest, needed a bit of work anyway. There’s a bunch of dirty clothes to put in the hamper, clean clothes that have been languishing in the laundry basket for weeks that I finally put away. I change the linens on my bed, putting clean flannel sheets on. Dust the top of my dresser, hang my collection of frequent rotation bras on a hanger in my closet instead of their usual place on my bathroom doorknob.

  There—clean and tidy.

  There’s something missing, though.

  I figure it out, and a smile fixes itself on my face.

  I fish my bag of tea lights from under the kitchen sink and position them liberally around my room—on the dresser and side table, and in the bathroom, and then light them all. Then, I rip the heads off of a few roses and sprinkle petals on my bedspread, on the side table, on the bathroom counter and in the sink, and all over the floor in a trail from the bedroom door up to my bed.

  My bedroom is now a candlelit sanctuary of romance.

  I strip naked and climb into bed…and completely fail to fall asleep.

  After an hour of lying there awake, I take my iPad from its drawer and binge on a few episodes of my guilty pleasure: Real Housewives. Finally, I feel myself fading, so I turn the iPad off and put it away.

  I drift off, daydreaming of Ryder.

  Chapter 13

  Wh—

  What?

  Where am I?

  Who am I?

  Oh…ohhhh god. What’s going on?

  Why do I tingle all over? Why is my core aching? Why is my belly trembling? Why are my thighs quaking?

  Something…something is touching me. Wet, firm, slithery, insistent. Flicking at my clit. Lapping at my seam.

  Now there’s a presence inside me, not enough to fill me or stretch me, just enough to slide between my lips and curl inside me just so, scraping and massaging against that elusive magical place deep inside me.

  Ohhhhh fuck…

  My eyes flutter, close, flutter, then I jerk awake as an orgasm slams through me, and I look down to see Ryder between my thighs, two fingers inside me, slipping and gliding and thrusting and curling, his mouth suctioned around me. He pumps his fingers and his tongue flutters, and the o
rgasm shifts—at first, it was merely clitoral, just a slashing clenching wave of heat emanating from my center, but then as his fingers move and curl and thrust, the orgasm expands and detonates, becoming vaginal, and I can’t help a small, shrill squeal. He doesn’t let up as I come—if anything, he intensifies his efforts. My hips rock as I grind against his mouth, and I bite down on my lip to muffle my next scream. I tangle my fingers in his hair and grip hard, writhing rhythmically as the next wave of climax shatters me.

  “Ryder!” I whimper.

  He lifts up, grinning at me. “Hi, baby.”

  I hold on to his face as my climax fades, throwing me into shuddering spasms. “You…you’re here.”

  He flicks his tongue against my sensitive center, and I jerk helplessly. “I sure am.”

  “Best way to wake up,” I murmur.

  “No kidding.”

  I shake my head. “No, you don’t even understand. I woke up coming.”

  “Paying you back for when you woke me up with your mouth on my cock.”

  I grin at him, still gasping for breath. “I hope you’re prepared for a war of attrition, Ryder, because the next time you fall asleep, I’m doing that again.”

  He slowly laps at me with the flat of his tongue. “Then I’ll have to increase my down payment by making you come again.”

  “You don’t have to—ohhhhh god, holy Jesus—Ryder!” I cry out, hips already pumping as he flicks and circles my throbbing core with his tongue.

  I wouldn’t have known I was even capable of this many orgasms in a row, if not for Ryder’s insistence and skill. I find myself rising to the edge of climax within a few seconds, but Ryder draws it out, this time. As I begin to grind and thrust against his face, whimpering, he slows down and uses his fingers inside me, then alternates between his mouth and fingers so I’m teetering on the edge and gasping and writhing.

  When I’m there at the edge yet again, I grip his hair in my fist. “Don’t you dare stop me this time, Ryder,” I groan.

  “Why not?”

  “Because I want to come one last time so I can get your cock inside me.”

  “You think this is the last one?” he murmurs, smirking up at me. “What if I want two more from you? Or three?”

  I shake my head as my hips writhe and thrust. “No—god, no. I need you.”