Page 14 of Head Over Heels

But every time she heard the slam of his door she’d run to the window to look. Oh dear Lord, did she look.

Yesterday, she’d thought him ridiculously, eye-rollingly hot, but without a shirt, Ryder Moore should be outlawed. The man was completely ripped, in the very best way. And those tats. God, when she’d seen them this morning, highlighted by the sun, she’d about fainted with lust.

They were her weakness.

See, she had a secret. Yes, she’d reformed herself from a troubled rebellious teenager who’d had far too much freedom. Yes, she wore designer clothes, went to the best clubs, and drank trendy twenty-dollar cocktails. And yes, she went on dates with successful, nice, professional men. She did everything a responsible woman of thirty-one was supposed to do.

But deep down, it was men like Ryder that really flipped her switch. Men she could go toe-to-toe with. Men that would give her a run for her money. Men she didn’t have to be nice to or sweet with. Men that picked you up, tossed you over their shoulder, and had their politically incorrect way with you.

Bad men so cocky you couldn’t help screwing in the bathroom an hour after you met them. Men that fucked so good they became an addiction.

The kind of men healthy women grew out of because they were nothing but trouble.

Ryder was that kind of man. She’d sensed it the second she’d met him and known for certain the moment their eyes had locked as he handed over his keys.

Yes, she sold her inability to keep a boyfriend as being picky ... and she was picky, because the respectable men she was supposed to like bored her to tears. She just couldn’t get excited about a guy that wanted to wake up early to get to Home Depot on Saturday.

She supposed someday she’d grow up and like the men she was supposed to, but Ryder had proved that today wasn’t that day.

She took a sip of iced tea and sat on the porch swing, gently rocking it with her foot as she took in the quiet tree-lined street.

Why did he have to have tattoos? God, she loved ink. One scrolled across his right shoulder, bold and black, in an intricate pattern, and the other was along his rib cage and spelled “freedom.” She wanted to lick them. Trace every single letter and curve with her tongue.

It was the worst.

If it was just his looks, she could handle it, but there was something far worse, far more dangerous than him being hotter than hell. She liked fighting with him. Like, really liked it. She was pretty certain grown women weren’t supposed to get turned on by arguing, but Sophie couldn’t help but love a good battle. There must be something wrong with her that when a man brought her flowers on a first date she had to repress the eye roll, and a man that fought with her made her want to jump him. She was messed up, she understood that and had paid the price.

A long time ago, she’d learned to ignore her urges, which actually wasn’t that difficult. The kind of men that were her weakness didn’t exactly grow on trees. Somewhere along the way she’d grown complacent in the fact that most men couldn’t pull it out the way she needed. She’d made the mistake of thinking she was over it.

She gritted her teeth and shook her head.

It was like she was cursed. Ryder was her neighbor, her landlord, and she didn’t like him. Well, she didn’t like him the way she was supposed to. She didn’t get it. In Chicago, a city with millions of people, she couldn’t even find a man she wanted to date, let alone have sex with. But two minutes in Revival and her neighbor was a fucking god who was annoying as hell, and happened to push every single one of her bad girl, perverted buttons? How unfair was that?

It was so unfortunate. Obviously, she couldn’t act on it.

How hard could it be? She’d managed to avoid him all morning, and thankfully he’d taken off on his motorcycle an hour ago. There was no sign of him.

Had he gone to a girlfriend’s house for dinner? Not that it was any of her business.

What if he had a girlfriend? He’d clearly been out all night yesterday. Wasn’t a girlfriend the logical reason? But things had definitely sparked between them, so if he was in a relationship, how serious could it be?

She shook her head. It. Did. Not. Matter.

Enough of this. She stood and the swing bounced. She had things to do. It was Friday. She had two days to get this house together and settle in before she started her job with the city of Revival on Monday.

She needed to get out of the house for a bit. She walked in and grabbed her purse off the kitchen counter. First stop on the list, buy a proper, functioning door for the garage to replace the one she’d broken.

She smiled. Smashing that door had been so immensely satisfying, made even more so by the sound of Ryder’s surprised laughter.

Which was why she was staying far away from him.

* * *

Two hours later she flew down the highway, top down on the best car in the entire world, listening to “Mama’s Broken Heart” by Miranda Lambert and singing at the top of her lungs. She’d gone to the store, picked out a new door, bought a tape measure, and gone back home, because apparently all doors aren’t the same, measured said door, then returned to the store.

It would be delivered tomorrow morning, and the guy would even install it for her. See, she didn’t need one bit of Ryder’s help.

Just as she hit the curve on the road and Miranda started singing about hiding your crazy, she flew past a car going the opposite direction, realizing too late it had the word “sheriff” scrolled in white along the side.