My Soul To Keep (Soul Series Book 1) by Kennedy Ryan Page A

don’t know.”
    “So you saved me as R. Geritol?”
    “Well, every time I see you, it’s as an old man.”
    “Nice.” He shakes his head. “Call it.”
    “It’s ringing.”
    “Lost,” number nine from Rhyson’s first album, starts playing.
    Rhyson and I grin at each other.
    “Is that my ring tone?” I ask.
    “Apparently so.” He looks around a little for where the sound is coming from before pulling it out from under a couch cushion. “Got it. I should get going.”
    I glance at my phone. Wow. It’s two in the morning. Time sure flies when I’m with Rhyson. I walk with him to the door, conscious of San’s eyes on us even though he’s drinking his almond milk straight from the carton in the kitchen.
    “I’ll call you tomorrow.” Rhyson pulls the door open and turns to face me.
    “I’ve heard that before.” The words are out before I think.
    “Did it bother you when I didn’t call for a week?” Rhyson’s lips bend a little like they’re really close to smiling.
    “Of course not.”
    “Still, friends stay in touch, right?” He tugs the ponytail resting on my shoulder.
    We’ve done so well, besides the occasional spark and goose bump. I had to go and open my trap.
    “I know you’re busy,” I say, finding it hard to breathe this close.
    He backs up, facing me as he eases off the little stoop of our apartment and turns toward his car parked in a space a few feet away.
    “I’ll call you tomorrow,” he says.
    I close the door and lean against it. It’s holding me up because the combination of that last smile, his full lips, the beautiful grey eyes almost hidden by the dark hair kissing his forehead, made my knees weak.
    “That was just sad.” San plops onto the couch, taking another gulp of his milk.
    “Don’t start, San.” I cross into the kitchen, finding a bowl to put away in the dishwasher and a few bits of trash to toss. Anything to keep me out of the conversation San wants to force on me.
    “Watching you guys trying to be friends is like watching porn with no penetration. Really hot, but no climax.”
    “You’re disgusting.” I head toward my bedroom, not bothering to respond further.
    “At least if I had a hot rock star wanting to screw me, I’d know what to do with him.”
    “You’re welcome to try, but I don’t think Rhyson rolls that way.”
    I close my bedroom door, hoping that’s the end of it. Of course, the door flies open immediately.
    “He’d roll your way.” He grins at me, his handsome face and knowing grin working my nerves. “Pep.”
    “Call me that again and I’m junk punching you.”
    “Hey, that’d be more action than I’ve gotten in the last few weeks.”
    “Ginny not servicing you?” I pull the elastic from my hair, shaking the waves loose.
    “ Spotted is keeping us both so busy.”
    “You love it though, right?” I bring out the vintage Sonny and Cher nightshirt my mom gave me for my sixteenth birthday. It guarantees me a good night sleep every time.
    “I love it, but I’m just exhausted and involuntarily celibate.”
    “Two weeks?” I scoff. “Try . . .”
    I trail off. My self-imposed celibacy hasn’t given me any problems until lately. San knows that, so this is a dangerous path that will only lead to more probing and poking about Rhyson and me. Or more digging about my last sexual encounter, which San knows is off limits.
    “You haven’t gotten laid since that jerk from the video shoot?” San leans against the doorjamb. “How do you do it? I can’t make it through one shower without jerking off.”
    “San, there is such a thing as TMI, even in this friendship.”
    “Don’t get all prissy. We passed TMI around eighth grade when we went shopping for your first training bra.”
    I snort laughing from that memory.
    “Remember the sales lady was so polite, saying she thought I could wait a while?”
    “There wasn’t much to train at the time, but you were determined not to be the only eighth grade girl still wearing