The Rush (The Siren #1)

The Rush (The Siren #1) Page 33

In the end I just remained still- absolutely still.

When the Bronco faced east on Farnam he removed his hand from across the seat to deal with the gearshift and I released the breath that had been bottled up inside me.

We were quiet on the way to Ryder’s house. Just the sounds of the radio, top forty surprisingly, and Ryder’s soft humming filled the car. I glanced over at him several times but his eyes were focused on the road and his jaw didn’t give anything away, except maybe he felt more relaxed than I did.

Ryder parked parallel from his building and then shut the car off. He stayed still for a few moments while the engine wound down and I didn’t dare move from the car before he did.

“Hungry?” he finally asked, tilting his cocky grin to face me.

“Do I have a choice?” I grunted, working up my best martyred victim expression.

“It’s going to be good, I promise. But before we go in, I wanted to warn you that my uncle and dad will be there,” his grin faltered, leaving behind some nervous embarrassment I didn’t quite understand.

“You kidnapped me to meet your family?” I bit out, suddenly furious. “Ryder, what the hell is Kenna going to say? What is your dad going to say? This is so weird. You should have asked me first.”

I counted the four coffees before we left the café, but so part of me held out hope they were just extras. And I had so blindsided by his desire to take me with him that I hadn’t really thought through what breakfast with his family meant.

“Probably I should have asked you first,” he shrugged off whatever embarrassment was there before and replaced his expression with a determination that sucked the breath from my lungs, “but you wouldn’t have come. And Kenna won’t care that you came for breakfast. Promise. We’re friends Ivy. Stop reading into everything I do. I just want to be your friend.”

I thought over everything he said and convinced myself he was right. Friends. We were friends. But then a thought flashed through my resolve and I blurted out, “Your dad and your uncle! I mean, I have this effect on…. uh, parents. Parents really love me. It’s just this talent I’ve always had. Actually with all adults. So um, if your dad seems to really like me, then you should know it’s just my natural charm.”

I wanted to smack my hand against my forehead and groan, but I smiled instead.

“Natural charm?” Ryder laughed. “Yeah, you’re really oozing with it.” He rolled his eyes but then shot me an encouraging smile. “There’s no need to be nervous, Ivy. My dad likes everybody.”

I grimaced. “I swear, I’m not nervous. I just want you to be….” I coughed, trying to get the ridiculous words out, “aware of my…. parental charm.”

“Sure, I’m aware,” Ryder chuckled and unclipped his seatbelt. “of your parental charm. Tanner gushes about it all the time.”

A laugh bubbled up in me before I could stop it by pretending to be offended. “Fine,” I sighed and unbuckled to. “But don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

Chapter Twenty-Nine

We met on the driver’s side of the car and walked across the street together. He led me around the building and punched in the code for his door. Holding it open, his hand landed on the small of my back when I walked past. A shiver rippled through me at his touch, but I ignored it.

At the top of the stairs, I waited for him to open the door again and then inhaled deeply at the heavy scent of bacon frying and bread baking. Deep, rumbling male laughter filled the air and paused at the sound of the door.

I walked in and turned to the kitchen to meet Ryder’s dad and uncle. There was at least twenty years between them, but the resemblance was obvious. Ryder’s dad, the older of the two, was very hip-professor with gelled hair, turned up into messy spikes and thick, black hipster glasses. He was classically handsome though too, with the same chiseled jaw line as Ryder and those silver-gray eyes that could be so unnerving. Ryder’s uncle Matt, seemed sandwiched between Ryder and his dad in the timeline of the Sutton Male Lifespan. I pictured the evolutionary timeline with Ryder representing the primitive ape and Ryder’s dad the full grown man. Matt fit somewhere in the middle of hunched over primate with less hair and elongated thumbs.

Matt slouched over the stove, hipped pressed against the counter, wooden spoon in long, slender fingers. He had extremely messy bed head hair, long to his chin and sticking out in every way. He was wearing glasses too, but they were thinner framed and did even less to conceal the flash of silver behind them. His face was covered in several day stubble and his worn white t-shirt and sweatpants revealed the same broad-shouldered, narrow-waist build Ryder carried.

“Ryder, is this your friend?” his dad asked from the kitchen. He smiled over at us and then took a sip of his orange juice while he waited for Ryder to respond.

“Yep,” Ryder nudged me forward and I found myself walking to the kitchen counter and setting the coffees down. “Dad, Matty, this is Ivy Pierce. Ivy, this is my uncle Matt, and my dad, Dr. Nathan Sutton.”

“Nate is just fine,” he laughed at his son and then extended his hand beyond his breakfast glass.

I took a few steps forward and accepted his hand shake. He had a strong but friendly grip and his eyes still twinkled from laughter. I sucked in a breath and met his gaze, but nothing except openness seemed to look back at me. No lust. No desire. No unwelcomed interest.

Whew. “Hi, Nate,” my voice trembled beneath nerves and I prayed no one else noticed.

“We’ve heard a lot about you, Ivy,” Matt called from next to the stove and I turned to meet his outstretched hand.

“Oh, no,” I groaned dramatically.

“All good things of course,” Matt was quick to reassure. I took his hand, and he shook it but his eyes were fixed behind me for a long moment before they flickered down to meet mine. He cleared his throat and something changed in his expression before he quickly added, “It’s always nice to meet one of Ryder’s friends.”

I stopped, but just barely, from rolling my eyes.

“It’s nice to meet you too,” I said politely.

Ryder clapped a hand on my shoulder and pulled me out of the kitchen a little bit. “Alright, let’s let Uncle Matt get back to breakfast before he burns everything.” Matt waved an annoyed spatula in the air, but winked at me before turning back to the stove. Ryder leaned in closer and spoke with a softer tone, “Grab your coffee.”

And then he reached around me so that his arm slid across my side and the weight of his chest pressed into my back. I froze. He plucked his coffee from the carrier all the while I counted the places our bodies connected and then he was gone, along with his warmth. I cleared my throat and focused harder on the three remaining cups trying to decipher which one was mine.

“Could this be it?” his dad reached forward and picked up one that had “macchiato” scrawled across the top.

I looked up at him a bit dumbfounded but managed a small nod. He handed me my cup and I quickly turned around to hide my deep blush from him.

Ryder stood over the keyboard, messing around with the melody to the song he wanted me to play with him, so I assumed breakfast also meant practice. That was fine with me. As long as I had a reason, any reason, not to obsess over my feelings for Ryder or analyze every stupid move, touch or word he was responsible for, I could survive this morning.

“You’re still set on making me join the band?” I asked through gritted teeth.

“Absolutely,” he grunted, not even a little bit amused with me. He moved out of the way so I could take my place behind the keys and then took my coffee from me. I let it go with heavy regret and watched him set it down on a bent back music stand. “Besides, I think you’re pretty face on stage will help draw a bigger crowd.”

“You have no idea,” I mumbled. I wondered if Ryder was serious, if he really thought I would. A defeated feeling settled over me and I felt deflated…. lost and alone again. He hadn’t meant to, but his words were a cold dose of reality.

“That’s it,” Ryder snapped his fingers in front of me. His tone suddenly stern frustration and I glanced up just in time to see his eyes flash with anger. “We’re going to have a talk later, Ivy. I’m not doing this anymore.”

“Doing what?” I gasped. His words were spoken quietly and for my ears only, but his tone was unmistakably cold.

“My dad and uncle are staring over here,” he whispered fiercely. “At you,” he finished on a snarl in case I didn’t already assume that was what he meant.

“So?” I forced myself to remain casual.

“I’m not playing games anymore. I want to know what’s going on.”

“Nothing is going on,” I sighed and then pretended to be confused. “You’re scaring me.”

That was my go-to self-preservation phrase. I had a perfect success rate with that. Decent guys never wanted to be the reason for female distress. And Ryder was probably the most decent guy I knew.

My tone was all bored confusion, but only because that was how I had been taught to behave. On the inside my heart beat pulsed in my ears, loud and banging and my breath whooshed in and out like a vacuum. Ryder’s gray eyes were granite and steel with determination and a huge part of me didn’t believe I could get out of explaining it this time.

And the other small part of me didn’t want to get out of it.

I wanted to tell Ryder my secrets.

I wanted him to know me.

“Do not play games with me Ivy,” Ryder growled, low and rough. And then he softened, his eyes almost pleading, “You can trust me.”

I held his gaze and panicked. Honestly I couldn’t trust anybody with my secret, not even him. But that wasn’t the point since it didn’t matter if I could…. I wanted to trust him. I wanted to let him in. And that terrified me. Tearing my eyes away from Ryder, my fingers moved against the keys but they pounded out loudly in the now quiet loft, so I paused to adjust the volume with shaking fingers. The music, now barely above a whisper, seemed easier today and my fingers moved to the haunting melody Ryder composed.

“You sound better today,” Ryder admitted in a more normal tone. “Do you feel more comfortable with an audience now?”

“I feel more comfortable with the keyboard,” I explained, ignoring his small jab.

“Do you think you can keep the melody strong if I start playing along? Or is that going to mess you up?” Ryder asked with a sweetness that had been absent not just two minutes ago.

I shrugged a shoulder but stayed focused on the sheet music in front of me as my right hand soared upward and heightened emotionally(or would have if the keyboard weren’t so inflexible) while my left hand harmonized in chords.

From my peripheral I watched Ryder walk over and pick up his guitar. He slung it over his shoulder and immediately his fingers found home on the used guitar strings. He plucked out a few tuning issues that I did my best not to pay attention to and then walked over to me with a silly grin on his face.

He looked over my shoulder and studied my music for a long time before strumming out a chord that fit exactly right. And then he was off into the lead guitar piece that clouded all of my concentration and forced me to ignore him completely just so I could remember middle C.

We actually started to make music together. After the other night and my obvious failures this felt kind of…. nice. Ryder, the talented rock star, covered my mistakes easily. But I was starting to make fewer mistakes anyway.

I had natural talent in all things musical, but any accomplishments on the piano were achieved by hard work and tons of practice. So even though this wasn’t more than complicated harmonies, I still had to work at it. And I had never played with anyone else before.

After about fifteen minutes and the fourth time through the song, we actually started to sound really good together. Plus, I could hear the guitar a bit better, and because I was familiar with the song I was taking over on my own. This felt awesome.

“Alright Simon, Garfunkel, time to break for breakfast,” Matt called out from the kitchen.

Ryder smiled at me over his guitar, “That sounds good.”

“Yes, it does,” I admitted.

I stood back from the keyboard and grabbed my now cold coffee while Ryder set his guitar down and slipped his black pick into a pouch filled with others of all different colors. I hesitated long enough so Ryder could lead the way to the big cement table where a huge spread of scrambled eggs, bacon, sausage, rolls, sausage gravy and bowl of fruit were laid out.

“Wow,” I admired. “This looks incredible.”

“Thanks,” Matt beamed.

I sat down next to Ryder, and then accepted the frying pan filled with eggs from his dad. He had to stand up and reach across the table to give it to me and I had to do the same. I accepted the weight of the heavy pan and immediately added some to my plate before passing it to Ryder.

Ryder looked at me for a moment, hands filled with hot frying pan and serving spoon, before he dug a huge spoonful out and added it to my plate. My mouth gaped open with chagrin and I whipped my head around to say something about women’s rights and knowing my own body but he wasn’t looking at me and I didn’t want to make a scene in front of his dad and uncle.

The food continued to be passed around and soon my plate was heaping with homemade goodies. I had never even had biscuits and gravy before. I’d seen it on other people’s plates, but you can eat a great breakfast without ever being subjected to that kind of greasy calorie fest. I would have passed on it altogether, but Ryder lifted a ladle full of gravy to dump all over my plate, eggs, bacon and all, so I took back the spoon and added it myself. Now the thick, white gravy was mixing with my fresh cut cantaloupe and pineapple and I wasn’t sure exactly what to do.

“So Ivy, tell us a little about yourself,” Ryder’s dad, Nate, asked from over a fork full of eggs.