Ignition
795 Words
Krystal
Airports f*****g sucked.
I hated the crowded terminals, the overpriced coffee, the goddamn artificial lighting that made everyone look half-dead. And right now, with sleep deprivation clawing at my skull and my patience stretched thinner than a thread, I wanted to be anywhere but here.
Travis had left me alone to go grab snacks, muttering something about needing sugar to survive. I’d waved him off, barely registering his departure as I focused on keeping my head from lolling onto my suitcase.
That was until I saw him.
Ryland Johansson.
Fuck me, the pictures didn’t do him justice.
Tall. Broad-shouldered. Dressed in all black like he was heading to a funeral but somehow making it look sinfully good. His steel-grey eyes cut through the airport’s chaos, slicing through my sleepy haze like a goddamn weapon. And that jawline? Jesus Christ, it could probably carve stone. The dimples—dimples, for f**k’s sake—barely appeared, just the ghost of them, but it was enough to make my pulse hammer.
This was Travis’s brother?
Yeah, I was f****d.
Before I could collect my thoughts, Travis strolled back, shoving a candy bar in my hand. “Ryland!” he called out, his voice ringing through the terminal.
Ryland’s gaze snapped to him, then to me. He didn’t even try to hide the slow, assessing way he looked me up and down. Heat licked up my spine, and I fought the urge to shift under his scrutiny.
Travis slung an arm around my shoulders, oblivious as ever. “Missed your ugly ass,” he greeted his brother with a laugh.
Ryland’s jaw ticked, but he barely spared his brother a glance. His focus was still on me.
“Yeah, yeah,” he muttered before holding out his hand. “Ryland.”
I swallowed hard, shoving down the ridiculous nerves and slipping my hand into his. “Krystal. You can call me Krys.”
His grip was firm, warm, and just a little tighter than necessary. Our hands lingered, a few beats too long.
“Alright, you two done eye-f*****g?” Travis cut in, making me jolt. “Let’s get out of here. I’m starving.”
The ride was quiet. Well, for me at least. Travis talked enough for the both of us, catching Ryland up on business deals and travel stories while I sat in the backseat, fighting off exhaustion. But damn, it was a losing battle. The moment the car started moving, my body betrayed me. Sleep pulled me under, and I was out.
Until the car stopped.
I jerked awake with a sharp inhale, blinking blearily. My head was against the window, my neck stiff as hell. f**k, that was gonna hurt later.
“You good back there, Sleeping Beauty?” Travis teased from the front, smirking at me. “Might wanna wipe the drool off your chin.”
I groaned, rubbing my face before shooting him a glare. “f**k off.”
Chuckling, he opened the door and stepped out. I followed suit, stretching as I climbed out—
And promptly froze.
Holy s**t.
The Johansson estate was massive.
No, massive wasn’t the right word. Majestic. Towering iron gates, intricate as hell, led up to a driveway lined with neatly trimmed hedges and expensive-ass cars. The house—f**k, mansion—was all sharp lines and floor-to-ceiling windows, bathed in soft golden lights that made it look straight out of some billionaire’s wet dream.
“This place is insane,” I muttered, staring up in awe.
A chuckle, low and dark, sounded behind me. “First time in a real house?”
I barely had time to react before a warm breath ghosted over my collarbone. My heart lurched into my throat, and I whipped around so fast I nearly lost my balance.
Ryland.
Close. Too f*****g close.
His steel eyes locked onto mine, amusement flickering in their depths. I swallowed hard, my pulse thundering as I took a step back on instinct. He didn’t move, didn’t reach for me, but his presence alone felt like a goddamn force field, sucking me in whether I liked it or not.
“Jesus, you scared the s**t out of me,” I muttered, pressing a hand to my racing heart.
He smirked, slow and lazy. “Did I?”
Smug bastard.
Travis, oblivious as always, had already disappeared inside, leaving me alone with the devil incarnate. Ryland tilted his head toward the door. “Come on. I don’t have all night.”
Something about the way he said it—gruff, commanding—made me move before I could think twice. Because f**k, this man was going to be a problem. A big, cocky, unfairly gorgeous problem.
And the worst part?
I already knew I wanted more.
- Writer
