Page 38 of Buckin' Around

Oh . . . fuck.

“No.” A small sound leaves her lips, as she tugs on the door handle. She spins back. “Spencer, it’s locked.”

“Yeah, it locks from the inside... oh shit.”

I huff a shaky laugh.

“How is this funny? Ivy is inside.”

Her chest plummets, her knuckles turning white around the handle.

She’s freaking out.

“Riley, breathe. We’ll get in.”

“How? Your keys are inside and I. Don’t. Have. One!”

Her breaths shorten.

Holy fuck.

I run a hand through my hair before logic kicks in. “Henry has the masters. I’ll call down.”

I slide my hand into my back pocket to meet... soft denim. No phone.

“Shite. You eejit.”

“Me? You shoved me through the damn door, O’Malley.”

I need to use her last name right now, to keep some distance. If I am any more familiar with her, the vulnerability she’s offering up, I’m likely to press her to said locked door just to see what she tastes like.

I am well aware her panic should not do it for me.

I put it down to never being on the receiving end of controlled and affectionate interactions my entire life. I like the real, raw parts of people. It’s one of the reasons I love the PBR circuit. And the one thing that had this woman turning over in my mind on repeat after the day I walked in on her half dressed.

My need, my desperate want, for real emotion is like an addiction.

Riley O’Malley is a huge catalog of raw emotion, strong opinions, and the clapbacks that only come from being lovedunconditionally. That kind of persona is one I’ve strived for since I started therapy.

Not that I will ever admit that to another living soul. Not even Brades.

Add that to this slip of a woman with a body that is stuck in my mind at the worst, most inappropriate times, and the fact that she would rather die than cross that line with me.

And I can’t resist her pull.

She’s tugging on my shirt.

We’re moving for Mrs. Henderson’s door.

“Wait, I’ll go down to Henry,” I say. “What will she think? It looks bad, Riley. I don’t want her to think I’m a shit parent.”

The way her expression darkens, I can tell she wants to throw that one right back in my face. She turns back, standing in front of Mrs. Henderson’s door, arms crossed, brows pinched, heated gaze homed in on my face. “This is faster. Ivy’s already upset.”

The faint cry of the baby is muffled by my own front door.

Hell, I really had to listen for it.

I guide Riley back around to face me, clamping my hands on her shoulders as her eyes widen. “She’ll be okay. I’ll take the elevator and be back in five.”