Ricochet (Renegades #3)(6)
Author: Skye Jordan

Shock tingled along Ryker’s ribs. He lowered his beer and darted another look at the woman.

“You can call me if you get this and he’s still somewhere around here,” she said, “which I highly doubt. But since I’m unable to face that traffic again, I’m at the bar on my second drink. So you know that suite at the Crowne in his name? I’m taking it if he doesn’t show. And remember, I have all weekend to think up payback.”

She disconnected and dropped her phone into her purse. “God, I just want to kill someone.” After another long drink from her glass, she shook her head, looking down at the liquid. “I knew I’d be homicidal by the time I got here. Probably better I didn’t find him.”

She sat back on her stool and pulled her glasses off her face. Then reached up and tugged a pencil from her hair, and the messy strands tumbled down to her shoulders.

Ryker angled a little more toward her, not quite sure what approach he wanted to take yet. It wasn’t all that strange that they’d met up. The international terminal was the only place in LAX to get a decent drink outside security, and this happened to be the closest bar to terminal four.

Good sense dictated he fess up to his identity, but all his good sense had been blown away four months ago, along with four of his best buddies, and getting closer to the sweet little distraction beside him trumped good sense any moment of any day.

“You always talk to your coworkers like that?” he asked.

“They’re all like brothers. Little bratty brothers. The kind who are always in trouble.” She drained the glass and lifted it toward the bartender again. “Good thing they’re too damn fun to stay pissed at for long.”

“Are they all like brothers?” he asked, thinking of Troy and his friend’s playboy ways. “No boyfriend in that mix?”

She laughed, the sound—and her sidelong glance—filled with hell no. “Commitment is seriously overrated.”

Oh man. Could his luck really have turned so drastically in mere moments?

“You may have a lead stomach,” he said, “but you’re a little tiny to be slamming down that much alcohol.”

“You ever have one of those days, weeks, months when you just don’t give a shit?”

“Plenty.”

“Sorry,” she said, sliding a loose smile toward him. One that stoked his rising body heat and redirected his thoughts to a strategy on getting her from that barstool into a bed. She saluted the air with her glass. “To the end of drama, probably the last thing you need.”

Usually, yeah, he stayed away from drama. But her lazy chattiness, wry humor, and slightly jaded outlook engaged him.

He leaned his forearm against the bar and turned fully toward her. Still, she didn’t give him her complete attention, which both fascinated and irked him. But all in all, hanging here with her was slowly becoming more interesting than watching a game with Troy and talking explosives with Jax.

“I’m not much for drama,” he said with a shrug, “but, hey, I got a beer out of listening, right?”

She smiled, and her gaze flicked to his right biceps, where his tattoo of an American flag stretched beyond the T-shirt’s sleeve. When her eyes lifted to his, she offered her hand. “Nice tat. I’m Rachel.”

Rachel. From Renegades.

Instant name recognition flashed in his brain. Followed by their first conversation on the phone over a week ago, when she’d called at Troy’s request to discuss the very reason he was here now. No fucking wonder she sparked him. She’d been sassy from the start, and Ryker’s irreverent attitude had set off fireworks between them, leading to a quick, fun, five-minute talk filled with nothing but snark and innuendo and heat.

He’d barely let her introduce herself over the phone when he’d said, “I don’t want whatever you’re selling.”

She’d responded with, “Are you always this rude, or did I just catch you on a bad day?”

And it had continued from there.

“Okay, I like spunk. You’ve got two minutes.”

“I was calling to make you an offer, but you’ve kinda dinged my mood.”

“Offer? I hope it’s an offer of phone sex. You’ve got a hot voice.”

“I should have expected this from a friend of Troy’s.”

“Troy’s been talking shit about me again? What’s that fucker up to now?”

“You’ve got his mouth too.”

“Oh no. Baby, my mouth is way better than Troy’s. All the women say so.”

“Really. Now you’ve got my full attention. Unfortunately, I haven’t called to give you a free round of phone sex. I’ve called because Renegades is looking for an explosives expert, and Troy gave me your name and number.”

“How…disappointing. If I said I’d consider blowing something up for Troy, could we renegotiate the phone sex? ’Cause, really, your voice already has my jeans a little tight.”

“Tell me you’re wearing nothing else but those sexy, tight jeans.”

The memory of their call made a broad smile stretch his mouth as he took her hand. It was small and cool from the drink she’d been holding. But her eyes were melted caramel and dark-lashed. There was definitely a sexy little siren inside this woman.

What an excellent twist of fate.

“Thanks. I’m Nathan.” His own name felt strange coming off his lips. He never used it. Knew he shouldn’t be using it now. But he wanted more of Rachel than he knew he’d get if he told her the name he went by, his last name.

“Nathan. That’s nice.” Her lips curled deeper. Her head tipped just a little, and her gaze darted down, then back to his face. “I don’t see a wedding ring.”

“Not married.”

“Divorced?”

“Nope. Never married. You?”

“Same.” She released his hand and picked up her drink again. “Catching a flight tonight?”

“Nope. Came in a couple hours ago.”

“Hours? Are the drinks here that good?”

He smiled. “The buddy who was going to pick me up can’t make it. I’m just grabbing a drink before I have to brave the Los Angeles traffic.”

“Smart. Where’d you come in from?”

“New Orleans.”

“Is that where you live?”

“No,” he said. “Just visiting a friend.”

And drinking. And getting laid. And generally escaping reality.