More than Distance

18

I stepped closer, lowering my voice. “I’m going with you. Consider this my way of making it up to you for being a complete asshole all this time.”

Her eyes widened and she looked away quickly. When she spoke again, her voice was rough. “Ryan, I’m grateful for the offer, but you and I… after what happened...” She shook her head, making those dark curls bounce. “It’s not a good idea. And it doesn’t matter anyway. I’m not going on the show.”

I wanted to slide my fingers into her hair so badly. I wanted to lose myself in those curls forever. “Why not?”

“It’s not a good fit for me. I should be looking for a new job and a new place to live. And Daniel’s right. I’m not the type of person who’d do well on that show.”

“Ignore him. He’s trying to look out for you, but he wants you to be happy too. If this is what you want, then he’ll be on board with it, as will your parents.”

“They’ll only agree if you come as my partner.”

“And I offered to do that.”

She studied me like she was trying to figure me out. “I’ll think about it.”

She got in a car I didn’t recognize and drove off, quickly vanishing down the road. I was tempted to get on my Ducati and follow her to make sure she got home safely, but I forced myself to give her some space.

I returned to my bike to finish the oil change, but Daniel immediately started in on me. “What the f**k, man?” he asked. “I thought you had my back.”

“What are you talking about?”

“She can’t go on that show!”

“It’ll be good for her. She needs this, especially after all the s**t that’s happened to her. She deserves to be happy.”

He gave me a look like I was a complete i***t. “She won’t be happy when some asshole screws her over, and you know someone will.”

“Not if I go with her.”

He paused. “You’d do that?”

“I told her I would. Like you said, I don’t trust anyone else to go.”

His eyes narrowed. “What’s going on with you two?”

“Nothing. Absolutely nothing.”

He crossed the room until he was right in front of me. “Promise me you’ll protect her on the show.”

I met his gaze without backing down. “I promise. I’d never let anything happen to her.”

He squinted at me. “You don’t have a thing for her, do you?”

“No. Hell no. Like you said, she’s not my type.”

“Don’t bullshit me. If you have feelings for my sister, tell me right now.”

“No. She’s like my own sister. I’d just as soon kiss you.”

“Keep your mouth to yourself, pretty boy.” He poked a finger at my chest. “Fine, go with her on the show. Just swear to me you won’t touch her or get involved with her.”

“I swear it. Just like I swore it years ago.”

“Good.” He dropped his hand. “After that fucker cheated on her, the last thing she needs is to get involved with someone like you. I’d hate to have to kill my best friend.”

I bristled. “What the f**k is that supposed to mean?”

“Man, I love you like a brother, but you don’t exactly have a good track record with the ladies. What was your longest relationship—a week? If even that?”

His words cut deep, but I smirked instead of showing how much they hurt. “If they’re lucky.”

“That’s exactly my point. Carla is way too good for you.”

“That’s the damn truth,” I muttered. “But who is ever going to be good enough in your eyes?”

“No one. I keep hoping she’ll wake up and decide to become a nun, but it hasn’t happened yet.”

I remembered the way Carla had kissed, passionate and sensuous, and shook my head. “Fat chance of that ever happening.”

Eight

Carla

When I stepped into the apartment, music hit my ear—a common sound when you lived with two rock stars. My roommates Maddie and Becca were hanging out in the living room with an acoustic guitar in each of their laps, but they both stopped when I came in.

“I need some wine, stat.” I threw my stuff on the dining room table without a care for where it went. My purse skittered across the table and knocked a candle over. Oh well. What did it matter anyway? Our apartment was a disaster zone already. Everything in it was being packed up. Maddie and Becca were moving in with their boyfriends, and I was supposed to be heading to New York. In a week this apartment would be someone else’s, and I’d have nowhere to live.

They each looked at me and my mess and jumped to their feet, their guitars forgotten. “What’s wrong?” Maddie asked.

I shook my head. “Wine first.”

“s**t, it must be really bad if she’s drinking,” Becca said. “I’ll make some emergency cookies.”

Maddie nodded and patted the couch. “Come sit down and relax. I’ll open a bottle.”

“Thanks.” I crashed onto the sofa in a sideways heap, while the two girls disappeared into the kitchen for a few minutes. When they returned, they had wine and three glasses and they tucked in beside me.

“Cookies will be done in ten minutes,” Becca said. She’d discovered a newfound love of baking ever since she’d moved in with us, and Maddie and I were definitely not complaining. I’d only known her a few months, but she’d already become a good friend. After our previous roommate Julie had moved to New York to work in fashion, we’d needed another roommate. Becca had just joined Maddie’s band (for the second time) and needed a place to stay, so it worked out perfectly. She had a tough-girl exterior with her choppy blond hair and piercings, but I’d discovered she was really a big softie inside.