Total pages in book: 108
Estimated words: 101764 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 509(@200wpm)___ 407(@250wpm)___ 339(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 101764 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 509(@200wpm)___ 407(@250wpm)___ 339(@300wpm)
“Nope,” I said aloud. “Do not think of Ryder.” I slipped into my car, shivering as a gust of wind rattled my bones. “Come on, baby,” I said as I turned the key in the ignition. “You can do it.” It took three tries to get the engine to start. Sometimes, she didn’t want to run in the cold, which I could respect, but it made me dread the day she refused to start, even with my coaxing and sweet-talking.
As soon as the car was idling and warming up, I cranked the music until my brain pulsed. Hopefully, I could make it loud enough to drown out my thoughts.
It worked. Kendrick Lamar sang to me the whole way home. By the time I pulled into my driveway, my head ached, but at least I wasn’t thinking about Ryder. Not too much, anyway.
“Why did I do that?” I muttered as I killed the engine. My dick twitched as though answering me.
You did it because I wanted it. The man is hot, and his mouth should be registered as a weapon.
“Shut up,” I grumbled, staring at my crotch. Then I grunted. “I’m talking to my dick. Fantastic.” Shaking my head, I climbed out of my car and back into the cold.
The three steps to our small front porch were slick with ice. I made a mental note to sprinkle salt in the morning. It was too late to hunt around the dark garage for the ice melt at this time of night.
As I was about to shove my key in the lock, a groan came from my right.
“Jesus Christ,” I shouted, jumping so hard my neck tweaked. “Kenny? What the fuck?” I rubbed the back of my neck as I walked to the lump huddled on the outdoor chair I’d found on the side of the road last summer. “Were you sleeping out here? It’s fucking five degrees.”
He wore a thick winter coat—mine, and the one I’d been looking for earlier that day—and had his knees tucked into his chest.
“Couldn’t find my key,” he mumbled as he unfolded himself and sat up.
I shook my head, huffing out a white puff of air. “So why didn’t you knock or call Mom?”
“I did. You know how she is when she’s sleeping. An explosion wouldn’t wake her.” He turned away and mumbled something.
“What was that?”
“I lost my phone. Can you unlock the fucking door already? I’m fucking freezing.”
“Kenny, do you know how unsafe it is to sleep outside? Especially if you’ve been drinking or taking whatever.”
“Thanks, Dad, just open the door.”
Sighing, I unlocked the door and motioned for him to go first. He ran straight to the bathroom. Five seconds later, I heard the shower run.
“You’re welcome,” I muttered to no one.
What if I hadn’t left early? What if I’d stayed at Parker’s a few more hours? Would I have come home to my brother dead and frozen on the front porch? Something needed to be done about Kenny, but hell, if I knew what to do. I wasn’t a father, just a twenty-three-year-old drowning under the weight of his life.
And to think I’d been stressed about a blow job.
This was the perfect reminder that my life wasn’t my own, and I had bigger things to worry about than Ryder Calloway and his gifted mouth.
CHAPTER TWELVE
RYDER
“I want to turn our attention to the acquisition under review. We’ve spent the last few months vetting Synergro Medical Robotics, a promising startup focused on surgical automation. Integrating their technology with our CallCore platform could open new markets and diversify our revenue beyond traditional manufacturing. I believe this move will help us stay on the cutting edge and add significant shareholder value long-term.”
I glanced at the rapt faces sitting around the long oval table in the boardroom as my father droned on. The eight board members hung on his every word. Some took notes, some had their assistants beside them, and they scribbled notes, and others merely listened. My father’s executive assistant sat to his right, taking a detailed record that would serve as meeting minutes and the basis of the quarterly press release.
My grandfather, Herbert Calloway, founded CallCore in 1980. An engineer who worked in the auto industry, he dreamed of advancing and streamlining auto production for years before leaving his job and branching out on his own. At its inception, CallCore specialized in precision robotics for the automotive sector. In the early two thousands, after my grandfather suffered a debilitating stroke, my father took over. With a grand vision in mind, my father embarked on an aggressive expansion by acquiring smaller robotics shops and pivoting to serve a broader range of industries. We now had divisions for aerospace, electronics, consumer products, and biotech industries. To keep things interesting, my father also owned two prominent luxury hotels. The man was nothing if not ambitious.