But that wasn’t the main point right now. What mattered now was breakfast and forcing Ryder to admit that she wasn’t as silly as he seemed to think. He was such an obnoxious, self-righteous...

When she opened the door and walked into the kitchen, her line of thinking was stopped completely by the sight of him standing in front of the coffeepot. He was wearing a pair of low-slung jeans, and that was all.

His broad, muscular back was just...there.

As if the universe wanted her to take a good, hard look at the shoulders she had been resting on for the past seventeen years. He was like he had always been—like something unreal to her. Like a rock carving come to life. Strength and angles and an otherworldly perfection that had always made her think of him as some kind of...

Something more than a man. Infallible in some ways.

When she had become his friend she had begun to feel a deep sense of pride over his looks. Because he was her friend. And in some ways, she felt like he belonged to her. She felt that same sense of swelling pride now as he turned to face her, his body a triumph of hours of hard labor rather than hours in the gym. Lean and toned and well-defined. He was bigger than the men she typically gravitated toward. Taller, broader. More muscles.

“I didn’t expect to see you here,” he said, lifting his coffee cup to his mouth.

“Where else would I be? It’s bacon day.”

“You were mad at me,” he pointed out.

“Not really.” Except she was. “We stuck a pin in it.” As if that was enough to staunch the flow of her rage. “Remember. You set it aside and decided to deal with it later. You told me to sleep on it, in fact.”

“That I did.”

“So I did.”

“And do you have clarity?”

“I am the queen of clarity,” she responded, making her way to the fridge and pawing around after the bacon. She pulled out a carton of eggs, as well.

“All right, reigning queen of clarity. Do you have thoughts?”

“I haven’t had coffee. I have few thoughts.”

“That’s a lie. We both know there have been thoughts buzzing around in your blond head since the moment you rolled out of bed this morning.”

She squinted. He knew her much better than she would like sometimes.

“Maybe.”

“Say what needs saying. Do it quick, because I gotta get out of here and get working so I can be back in time to watch the game.”

Ryder was married to football. Any football. College. Professional. Any team. Didn’t matter. She sometimes wondered how much of his enjoyment of the game was wistful, given he’d given up a football scholarship to care for his siblings. But he never acted like it was.

“Speak your mind,” he pressed.

“I don’t need an invitation to do that.”

Except there was a time when she did.