RONAN (The Wolf Hotel)
RONAN: Chapter 3

Connor lingers at the door, watching me empty two grocery bags’ worth of food onto the counter. “You sure you don’t want to come? Someone will be selling a ticket outside.”

“Two hundred bucks to sit by myself at a concert? Nah, I’m good.” As much as I’d kill to see the X Ambassadors, that’s way too steep.

“’Kay. I’ll swing by to change and grab you when it’s done. That blonde from earlier texted me. She’s gonna meet us at the club later and she’s bringing a hot friend for you.”

“Hot by whose standards?” I ask around a sip of beer.

“Does it matter? Sherrie said she likes to suck dick. You gonna say no to that?”

Tasha loved to suck my dick.

My cock twitches with the memory, even if that memory is now laced with bitterness. Maybe a good blow job from another woman is what I need to get over her.

Connor nods toward the fridge. “Bottom shelf is yours.”

The lowest shelf, when I’m over six feet tall. “Shouldn’t Ryan take the bottom shelf?”

“If you wanna move Ryan’s shit, be my guest. I’ll be home in about three hours. You might not have fully bled out by then after she stabs you for touching her things.” With a slap against the wall and a “see you in a few,” he’s gone.

I take a long sip of my beer as I study the fridge, shaking my head at the middle shelf, which is clearly Ryan’s. Everything is neatly lined up and packed in glass containers. Fruit, vegetables, yogurt. Food groups that are sorely lacking from Connor’s shelf, which is basically beer, hot dogs, and ketchup.

The bottom shelf is on the lowest rung, leaving little room. I don’t need a lot of room, but this is ridiculous. She’s a good foot shorter than me. The shorter people get the lower shelves. That’s just the way it is. She’s going to have to learn to deal. And if she wants to yell at me about it?

Fine. So be it.

I take a big swig of my beer.

And then set to shifting things around.

~ ~ ~ ~

“Is that all you got?” I mutter, watching highlights of the Florida Panthers getting their asses handed to them by Boston. I guess I can’t say much—Indiana doesn’t even have an NHL team. Still, I can’t get behind a team in dead last.

I check the time for the hundredth time. It’s after eleven. I’m showered and dressed, and finishing off my fifth can of beer. This big, fluffy brown sectional may be the most comfortable thing I’ve ever sat in. If Connor doesn’t get back soon to drag me out, I’m not going anywhere tonight, no matter how hot this friend is. And based on the picture he texted me, she’s a solid ten. Though I’m reserving final judgment until I actually see her. Chicks are always doctoring their pictures.

Keys jangle in the hallway outside our door. A few seconds later, the door flies open and Ryan strolls in, arms laden with textbooks and bags. Her eyes skate over me as she kicks the door shut behind her, but she doesn’t say anything.

“Hey. You need help?” I offer, a tiny blip of regret stirring in the pit of my stomach as she heads for the kitchen. Maybe I shouldn’t have taken the liberty to change things around without talking to her. Not until I smoothed over this morning’s debacle.

I actually don’t feel like getting yelled at again.

“No thanks,” she says curtly, dumping everything onto the countertop.

I watch her as she opens the fridge.

And stops dead.

“Hey, I hope you don’t mind, but I swapped our things around, seeing as you’re shorter than me. I lifted the shelf though, so you have as much space as before.” After a lingering pause, I add, “Connor said you’d be okay with it.” I owe him one for not telling me about Ryan in the first place.

After another long moment of silence, she quietly sets to sliding her groceries onto her shelf. Not saying a word, but also not threatening bodily harm or yelling. I watch, because I can’t help myself. She’s wearing a pair of black leggings and her firm ass looks fantastic bent over in the fridge. My dick is starting to harden.

I sure as hell can’t let that start happening.

And I can’t let this tension go on, either. She can’t always be this big a bitch. We just got off on the wrong foot is all. Collecting my empty beer cans, I climb off the couch and make my way over to the kitchen to stack them in the case. “I’m sorry about this morning.”

I get only a small grunt in response as she rips the cardboard sleeves off her yogurt and snaps the little containers apart to line them up neatly in two rows.

“I picked up my own towels at Walmart after work. They’re gray, so they won’t get mixed up.”

“I doubt that would happen anyway. I don’t buy my towels from Walmart.”

I fight the urge to roll my eyes at her snotty tone and instead turn my attention to the textbook on the counter. “You in school?”

“Yup.”

I flip open the cover. “For what?”

“My MBA.”

“That’s… exciting.” I pull my fingers away just in time, as she slaps the cover shut and collects the textbook along with the others. Hugging them to her chest, she grabs her purse and stalks toward her bedroom.

“Hey, hold up. Please?”

She slows with reluctance.

“This is dumb. Can we just start over?”

“Why?”

“Because we have to live together?”

She peers over her shoulder at me, her amber eyes flickering down. I’m ready for the club, in black pants and a baby-blue button-down that hugs my body. I don’t often dress in anything but jeans and a T-shirt, but when I do, I like to think I clean up well. “Did you really just break up with your girlfriend? Or was my brother talking out of his ass again?”

“Yeah. A few months ago.”

“How long were you together for?”

“Four years. Give or take.”

“Wow. And here I was, crying over eighteen months wasted.”

“That’s a good chunk of time, too.” This is good. We’ve found something in common—our broken hearts. I lean against the wall. “Why’d you guys break up?”

Her jaw tightens. At first I think she’s not going to answer. “He said he loves me too much and he’s not ready for that kind of commitment yet.” She pauses to chew her bottom lip in thought. “Do you think that’s some bullshit line?”

Yes. “Hard to say. You’ll probably replace out soon enough.” With a line like that, my gut says the guy is already dick-deep in another girl. But I can’t tell Ryan that. “Tasha told me she needed some space to make sure she loved me.” I smile bitterly. “She hooked up with one of my friends two weeks later.”

“Ouch.” Ryan slides off her glasses, cleaning the lenses with the hem of her T-shirt. When she glances up at me, I see hints of sympathy. “So you moved down to Miami to what? Get over her?”

Get over her. Forget about her. Keep myself occupied until she decides she loves me again. That last one sounds about right. I couldn’t stand being in the same city as her and knowing she was out with other guys. “I just needed a change, and I’ve heard this city is the place to be.”

“If you’re like my brother, then it is.”

“I’m not like your brother.”

“I guess we’ll see.” Again, that shrewd gaze drifts over my body. She’s already seen me naked; I wonder if she’s picturing me naked right now.

Blood starts flowing south and I have to shift my stance, ever aware of how fitted these pants are and that they don’t hide raging erections well.

Her eyes widen, as if she just caught herself checking me out. Standing taller, she says, “Don’t touch my stuff anymore. I’m weird about my space. I like things a certain way.” With that she disappears into her room.

I heave a sigh, glancing at my watch again. I’m no longer tired; the five-minute exposure to her, first to her sharp side, followed by something softer, has my blood racing through my body. I need to get out of here.

Thank God, Connor plows through the door then. “Two minutes! The ladies are waiting.”