Free Soak (A Navy SEAL Mormon Taboo Romance) by Celia Loren Page B

assistance, for no one connected
the dots. Except Ryder, of course. She caught him staring at her cleavage more
than once, a look of wonder on his face.
    Movies, Chloe realized, had given her more useful
information than she’d realized. Gwen’s illicit treasure trove of romantic comedies
had all the superficial guidelines she needed to “keep him interested.” In the
day after Couch Night, and her best friend’s conflicting counsel in the soda
shop, Chloe pursued flirtation with resolve. That afternoon, she baked cookies.
She sang around the house, in the voice she knew Ryder loved. And she made a
point of gabbing loudly to the twins about a new member of the Church with
“nice eyes.” She felt a little fraudulent, but the results were obvious.
Especially once John had finally heaved himself up the stairs and into bed.
    She stood in the kitchen this time, waiting for his arrival
as she washed dishes. Her heart pounded against the cage of her chest. She
continued to do her best to ignore Gwen’s wise, world-weary tone, saying: when
you have to make a choice...
    “What the hell, Chloe?” Ryder had strode into the room
quickly, not bothering to tiptoe. He reached around her and shut off the water
in the sink. Their faces were inches apart once more, but this time their
chemistry wasn’t so giddy. Ryder looked angry.
    “What?” Chloe snapped back. She heard the cross-ness in her
voice, but it was too late to take it back.
    “‘What?’” he mocked, before lowering his voice. “You left me
here last night with my goddamn dick in my hand, saying all this ‘let’s take it
slow’ crap. You come onto me in the fucking church basement, and then ignore me
for the rest of the day. Now you saunter around this morning like you’re trying
to snag the Prom King. What gives?”
    She was cowed by the storm in his eyes. Without meaning to,
without even realizing she could, she had hurt Ryder Strong. She had hurt a
man’s feelings. Her skin went hot again, in that maddening way it did when she
was in his company.
    “I didn’t mean to,” she said. She squeezed out the sponge,
and sank into the nearest kitchen chair. Suddenly, she was very tired. “Look. I
don’t really know how to do this.”
    “And you think I do?”
    “I’m pretty sure you know more than me,” she tossed back.
For the first time that evening, Ryder smiled. He sank into the chair opposite.
    “I was serious when I said I wanted to talk, you know,” he
said, kindly. “I know this isn’t exactly...ideal.”
    “How do you mean?”
    “I mean we’re not—well. On paper, we’re not the best match.”
    “What happened to, ‘when you realize how hot you are, you’ll
be a blablabla? Queen of the Nile?’ Whatever it was you said.”
    “I wasn’t lying!”
    Chloe stood up, just to make sure the blood was still
flowing through her veins. Upstairs, someone flushed a toilet. They went
silent.
    She thought, for a moment, about the boys of her youth. They
seemed to pass in a parade behind her eyelids. When she expected to see Ryder
stumbling across her imagination, another, older Mormon man—knowable by his
tidy suit, his warm grin—entered the procession.
    They sat in their cautious silence while Chloe considered
this man in her imagination, this strange hypothetical. She saw him meeting her
father. Their joyful clapping of hands. A wedding. A new home in Provo, just
for her—perhaps with a spare room dedicated to all her books. This figment man
was kind, and steadfast, and handsome in a whole-milk way. She saw their life
continue on the most familiar of trajectories. The babies she’d have with him,
filling up the phantom house with all their life. The nights and mornings spent
with her extended family, her sisters, her friends, the thriving, thoughtful
community that knew her better than she knew herself in some ways. Dedication
ceremonies at the temple, Christmas at the church. She saw her life pass her
by. Then, Chloe put her chin in her