refused to even acknowledge them. Instead, he smiled
the cocky, lead singer grin he was known for all over the world, and said, “You don’t
need to worry about me taking advantage of Jamison. After all, she’s not exactly my
type.”” The implication was that the fault was with her, not him.
Nothing could be further from the truth—he’d always been fascinated by Jamison’s deep
waters, by the complications and contradictions that made her different than the other
women he knew—and he waited for Jared to call him on his bullshit. But before he could,
Jamison walked into the room, shoes and coat on. Shoving her crazy, sexy curls out
of her eyes, she snarled, “And who exactly said that you’re my type?”
Ryder’s stomach sank at the anger Jamison didn’t try to hide. And the hurt that she
did. Once again, he’d screwed up and once again, he had no one to blame but himself.
Chapter Eight
She wanted to hide.
Wanted the floor to open up and swallow her whole.
Wanted to crawl under the couch and never, ever come out.
Or, barring any of those scenarios, she at least wanted to bury her face in her hands
and pretend the last hour and a half had never happened.
Why, oh why, hadn’t she stayed in her room? Why had she woken Ryder up? And why had
she stayed with him, pushed at him, when it was obvious that he wasn’t interested
in her? That he would never be interested in her?
It had been humiliating to stand there listening to Jared talk about the crush she’d
had on Ryder. Had been even more humiliating to listen to Ryder dismiss that crush—and
her—as nothing. As not being his type—which she knew was just another way of saying
she wasn’t sexy enough for him. Wasn’t pretty or glamorous or skinny enough for the
rock star he was. One would think she’d have learned her lesson by now. It wasn’t
the first time she’d been rejected, after all. She’d thrown herself at Ryder at seventeen
and he’d turned her down. hard. What had made her think that things would have been
any different tonight?
He was talented, smart, gorgeous, rich. And she…she was just the chubby, uptight,
ridiculous younger sister of his best friend.
Ignoring the way they were both watching her—Ryder warily and Jared with remorse—Jamison
crossed the room and picked up her purse. She recognized the looks and she wasn’t
going to fall for them. Not this time. No matter how much she wanted to crawl into
a hole and hide, she was going to see this conversation all the way through. She’d
walked away from more than enough this week.
She started with her brother. “Really, Jared?” she asked, pushing to her feet.
He held his hands up in a very obvious gesture of surrender. “We were just talking,
Jelly Bean.”
“I get it. You live in this weird-ass world where you’re rock gods.” She swept her
gaze over to Ryder, making sure he understood her words were for him as well. “Where
you get anything you want with the lift of a finger. Where women beg you to sign their
breasts or sleep with them or do any manner of sexually deviant things. Which hey,
is great work if you can get it.
“But all that sex and fame and rock and roll has a tendency to skew how you see the
world. It warps you, makes you forget you’re just people like everyone else. People
I knew long before you were rock gods and long before you were—” She popped her fingers
in the air, made air quotes— “two of People Magazine’s ‘sexiest men alive.’
“I grew up with the whole group of you. I saw you screw up with girls, crash your
cars, fail tests, get grounded. Hell, I saw both of you cry over guitar lessons and
GI Joe dolls. And now you’re all grown up, bad-ass rockers who can have anything and
anyone they desire. Whoop-de-do. All that means is I spend an inordinate amount of
time worrying you’ll drink yourself to death.” She forced herself to look Ryder over
the cocky, lead singer grin he was known for all over the world, and said, “You don’t
need to worry about me taking advantage of Jamison. After all, she’s not exactly my
type.”” The implication was that the fault was with her, not him.
Nothing could be further from the truth—he’d always been fascinated by Jamison’s deep
waters, by the complications and contradictions that made her different than the other
women he knew—and he waited for Jared to call him on his bullshit. But before he could,
Jamison walked into the room, shoes and coat on. Shoving her crazy, sexy curls out
of her eyes, she snarled, “And who exactly said that you’re my type?”
Ryder’s stomach sank at the anger Jamison didn’t try to hide. And the hurt that she
did. Once again, he’d screwed up and once again, he had no one to blame but himself.
Chapter Eight
She wanted to hide.
Wanted the floor to open up and swallow her whole.
Wanted to crawl under the couch and never, ever come out.
Or, barring any of those scenarios, she at least wanted to bury her face in her hands
and pretend the last hour and a half had never happened.
Why, oh why, hadn’t she stayed in her room? Why had she woken Ryder up? And why had
she stayed with him, pushed at him, when it was obvious that he wasn’t interested
in her? That he would never be interested in her?
It had been humiliating to stand there listening to Jared talk about the crush she’d
had on Ryder. Had been even more humiliating to listen to Ryder dismiss that crush—and
her—as nothing. As not being his type—which she knew was just another way of saying
she wasn’t sexy enough for him. Wasn’t pretty or glamorous or skinny enough for the
rock star he was. One would think she’d have learned her lesson by now. It wasn’t
the first time she’d been rejected, after all. She’d thrown herself at Ryder at seventeen
and he’d turned her down. hard. What had made her think that things would have been
any different tonight?
He was talented, smart, gorgeous, rich. And she…she was just the chubby, uptight,
ridiculous younger sister of his best friend.
Ignoring the way they were both watching her—Ryder warily and Jared with remorse—Jamison
crossed the room and picked up her purse. She recognized the looks and she wasn’t
going to fall for them. Not this time. No matter how much she wanted to crawl into
a hole and hide, she was going to see this conversation all the way through. She’d
walked away from more than enough this week.
She started with her brother. “Really, Jared?” she asked, pushing to her feet.
He held his hands up in a very obvious gesture of surrender. “We were just talking,
Jelly Bean.”
“I get it. You live in this weird-ass world where you’re rock gods.” She swept her
gaze over to Ryder, making sure he understood her words were for him as well. “Where
you get anything you want with the lift of a finger. Where women beg you to sign their
breasts or sleep with them or do any manner of sexually deviant things. Which hey,
is great work if you can get it.
“But all that sex and fame and rock and roll has a tendency to skew how you see the
world. It warps you, makes you forget you’re just people like everyone else. People
I knew long before you were rock gods and long before you were—” She popped her fingers
in the air, made air quotes— “two of People Magazine’s ‘sexiest men alive.’
“I grew up with the whole group of you. I saw you screw up with girls, crash your
cars, fail tests, get grounded. Hell, I saw both of you cry over guitar lessons and
GI Joe dolls. And now you’re all grown up, bad-ass rockers who can have anything and
anyone they desire. Whoop-de-do. All that means is I spend an inordinate amount of
time worrying you’ll drink yourself to death.” She forced herself to look Ryder over
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