Burn Into Me (11 page)

 
Rose covers her giggle with a napkin while I let out a relieved breath. If I’m sure about anything, is that Ryder’s not gay. But as for him not dating? I’m pretty sure that’s what we did—over two nights, we had drinks, we danced, played games, shared dinner, had a picnic. I’ve never wanted to label them as dates, but that’s exactly what they felt like, even if I’ve never had one before, not even in high school, and my drunk college hookups certainly don’t count. I’m quite sure that if the breakfast incident hadn’t happened, he would have asked me out again.
 

“I bet he’s your typical rich bastard—you know, private jet, mansion, servants.”

She shakes her head. “No, that’s what was so interesting about him. She said he was very down to earth; he doesn’t even have a driver. When Alice’s dad had a heart attack, she found out he paid for the surgery and hospital stay, even though he went to great lengths to cover it up. Apparently, he is an extremely private person who doesn’t like to draw any attention to himself.”

Our dishes arrive so we stop talking and start digging into the food. We talk about Jasmine, our little sister who’s a senior in high school. Miraculously, I manage to steer her away from the topic of Thanksgiving. I know I won’t be able to hold off much longer as it’s only three weeks from now, but I’m planning to conjure up a last-minute excuse like I do each year.
 

We finish dinner later than I expect, and I speed back to the campus for my evening meeting with The 99. When I walk into the classroom, it’s already packed. The chairs are set out in a circle as usual, but contrary to our usual weekly meetings, all seats are taken. Another semi-circle of chairs placed behind the circle is also full. Since I’ve joined The 99, I’ve never seen so many people in any of our meetings. Then I remember Adam called this special public meeting straight after our protest to attract potential new members. It is one thing to hear how successful our campaign has been, but another to see more than fifty people hanging on his every word.
 

I grab a chair at the back of the room and place it so I have a good view of Adam, who is seated in the inner circle. Mark, who sits about three chairs to his right, winks at me, but I pretend I don’t notice. In his usual passionate fashion, Adam talks about what The 99 stands for and why we oppose the one per cent of the population that holds the majority of wealth.
 

“What we do is not just talk and complain, we take action. Many of you came today because our latest protest has struck a chord with you. We’re planning a lot more of those in the future, targeting that one per cent of repulsive looters who grab all the money for themselves. Together, we’ll make them pay!” Adam throws up his fist, and the regulars cheer.
 

A deep male voice asks, “But what if that one per cent actually helps? Look at what Bill Gates has done to eradicate polio in the Third World.”

Oh no. That voice…it slices through me like a searing knife, sending chills up my spine. What the hell is Ryder doing here? I move my chair and angle it to get a better view at the inner circle.
 

Yeah, it’s him all right, slouched backwards on his chair, legs spread out. Wearing a black turtleneck on a pair of worn jeans, dark hair mussed, he looks positively hot.

Unable to shift my gaze from him, I hear Mark’s nasal, whiny voice. “Yeah, but how many Bill Gates are there? Most of them care shit for everyone else, only for themselves.”

“Does that even matter? Fewer people are dying of polio because of him.”

“You can’t possibly believe—hey, don’t I know you?”

Mark jumps up and points at Ryder. “I know you. I’ve seen you before…yeah, you were with Rosenberg at the breakfast meeting. You’re that billionaire fund manager.”

Ryder lifts a dark brow. “So what if I am?”

“Why would someone like you attend this meeting?”

“I thought this is a public meeting. Didn’t he,” he says, cocking his head to Adam, “say everyone is welcome here?”

“Yeah, but he also explained that we are The 99. You’re clearly not part of
us
. You’re the one per cent he was talking about. One of the looters. You shouldn’t be here.”

“Why? Maybe I want to find out more. Maybe I want to get involved.”

“To do what, spy on us? So you can throw your money at shutting us down?”

His contorted face beet-red, Mark takes a step towards Ryder, who rises from his seat. Although only a few inches shorter, Mark looks scrawny in comparison.
 

“Are you trying to make fun of us? Huh?” Mark pushes him hard in the chest with both hands, but Ryder doesn’t budge.

Adam, pale-faced, stands up. “That’s enough, Mark.”

Ignoring him, Mark raises his voice even further. “What stunt are you trying to pull? You know you don’t belong here. Go back to your multimillion-dollar penthouse before I make you.” Stretching out his arm, he points to the exit behind me.

Ryder’s eyes follow his finger and instead of the exit, find me. He freezes momentarily, and in his eyes I read a mixture of surprise and something else—a flash of heat. My pulse speeds up and entranced by his gaze, I can no longer hear what Mark is shouting.

Why did he come? If Rose is right and he is the private person she claims he is, this is the worst place to avoid drawing attention to himself. Surely, he must have known that the moment he opened his mouth, he set himself up for trouble. If he’d wanted to talk to me, he could have called or texted me. Even if I failed to reply—which I probably would—he could have turned up at my apartment or at work like he did before.
 

A movement in the corner of my eye brings me out of my trance. Mark has followed Ryder’s gaze and found its object. His face full of rage, Mark makes a fist behind his back. He can’t be serious. He’s not planning to…?

He is.
 

“No!” I scream.

Pushing aside chairs and ignoring people’s curses, I rush towards Mark. In slow motion, I see his clenched hand approaching Ryder, who attempts to dodge it, but it is too late. Mark’s fist connects with the left side of his face, right next to his eye. Surprise flickers on his face, but Ryder remains anchored on the spot, motionless apart from his hand slowly moving up to his hurt eye. Why doesn’t he fight back? Judging from his muscular build, he could easily overpower him with one push.
 

I finally reach the inner circle and put my body between Mark and Ryder, whose eye is reddening and will probably develop into a black eye. I am beyond furious. Goddamn Mark. If I had a knife, I would stab him right now. Instead, I push him backwards on his bony chest multiple times until he is as far removed from Ryder as possible.
 

“You. Asshole. Stay away from him,” I hiss.

Grinning, Mark holds his hands up in a mock defeat.
 

After the hushed silence when Mark was confronting Ryder, it is now mayhem all around us. Chairs are toppling; people are talking, shouting, shoving each other. Adam is doing his best trying to pacify the crowd, but is not having much success.
 

I glance over my shoulder at Ryder, who is still gazing at me, head slightly tilted, one eyebrow cocked. His eye is starting to swell, and I can imagine how painful it must feel. My heart squeezes at the sight of him; whatever he may represent, he doesn’t deserve this. He has the same right as anyone else to be here in this supposedly public meeting. Besides, he didn’t do or say anything to provoke Mark. For the very first time, I feel embarrassed that I’m part of this group.
 

I have to make this right.
 

Ryder

Goddamn, my eye hurts. I’m sure I’m going to have a shiner tomorrow.
 

Normally I would have easily evaded the scumbag’s punch, but I didn’t expect him to hit me, and the sight of Elle at the back of the room was a major distraction. I’d been looking for her since I walked into the meeting and was disappointed she wasn’t there. So when I spotted her dark smoky eyes gazing at me, I lost all thought and reason. I didn’t even feel the punch in my face.
 

Exactly like now. Elle is pushing herself between me and the douchebag, and I completely forget about the pain. Her mile-long legs clad in tight gray-and-white leopard print leggings, she shoves him a few times and growls at him to stay away from me. I don’t see her face, but her voice and posture are unmistakable, radiating a fury that is almost primal. My heart lurches. No one has ever stood up for me like that. It gives me a shred of hope—will she forgive me? Will she give me another chance?

Elle pushes the asshole away one last time, spins around, and strides up to me.

“You okay?” She peers at my aching eye, with a glint of what I hope is concern.
 

“I’m fine.” In spite of the pain, I manage a half-grin. “Don’t tell me you’re worried about me.”

“No, of course not. Why should I be?” But by the way she is turning away her head, I can tell she is, even if only a little. The thought produces a warm glow in my chest.

“It does hurt, though.” I lift my hand to touch my affected eye.

Elle snaps her head back and glances at my eye. “Come with me.”

She snakes through the throng of people to the back of the room, and I follow her out the door and down the stairs. Her bike is parked in the parking lot just outside the building. After unlocking her helmet and folding down the passenger pegs, she swings a long shapely leg over the seat.
 

“Hop on.” She motions to the seat behind her.

No way. I’m not getting on the back of a girl’s bike.
 

“I—uh…why don’t you let me ride?”

“You’re hurt, so I ride.”

Her hand pats the passenger seat. It evokes memories of the night when her bike broke down and I used the same gesture to get her to ride with me. I can’t help but grin and take a step towards her.

Her lips curl into a teasing smile. “I don’t have a spare helmet on me. But don’t worry, I’ll be real slow.”
 

My eyes narrow at her. Determined to get even, I get on the passenger seat and press my chest against her back. Once our bodies touch, a surge of electricity passes through me, hitting my core. She feels so good, and I can’t stop the rush of blood straight to my groin.
 

“You’re sure you don’t want me to ride?”

She shakes her head, but when I push myself closer to her back, my hard length included, I feel her freeze up. Chuckling, I wrap my arms around her until my body completely and perfectly surrounds hers. She twists the throttle, and we’re off.
 

After around three blocks I realize she is taking me back to her place. Strangely, I am in two minds about this. I’m thrilled to spend more time with her and finally enter her apartment. But I never intended to get there by playing the sympathy card. That’s just not me. I’ve had my fair share of being treated as a charity case when I was little, so I won’t let her pity me just to get her attention.
 

When we arrive, I get off the bike and say, “I’ll be okay. I can get a cab home.”

Elle yanks off her helmet. “Sure you can. But you’ll get a black eye if you don’t do anything about it now.”

“You’re not planning to put a piece of raw steak on it, are you?”

“No way. That’s unhygienic. It will probably give you an eye infection on top of a shiner.”

Eyebrows raised, she motions to the front door. “Come on.”

I have to admit, Elle’s something else. Acting persistent like this, she reminds me of someone I know well—me. Grumbling, I reluctantly follow her into the building and up the stairs. A tingle of excitement runs through me. I’ve only ever been outside her door, and I’ve always been curious what it looks like inside. But when I step through her doorway, I am taken aback.
 

In a space the size of my walk-in robe, she’s managed to squeeze in a single bed, a small table with two chairs, a wardrobe, a two-seater couch, and a tiny kitchen corner. Even though there’s hardly any room to walk, I’m struck by how tidy and cosy the confined space looks, even if the furniture is old, worn, and mismatched. The walls display a collection of posters: a word cloud in the shape of a motorcycle, Roy Lichtenstein’s “Drowning Girl”, and an Occupy Wall Street one, “People Over Profits”.
 

I can’t believe she lives in this closet-sized box; she deserves to live more comfortably. I have to get her out, move her into one of my apartments somewhere safe. Hell, she could even live with me—it’s not as if I use all six bedrooms in my penthouse. It’s big enough that we wouldn’t even have to run into each other, although I wouldn’t mind that in the slightest. I lightly shake my head. Moving in? What the hell am I thinking?
 

“Sit.” Pointing at the couch, she steps towards the kitchen corner, where she fills up a kettle and rummages around the mini fridge.
 

“Need any help?”

“Nah. Just relax. Here, this will make you feel better.” She puts down a steaming “Tax the Rich” mug on the coffee table and holds out a plate with cookies that have halved almonds pressed into them. I take one and bite into its crisp exterior, which sets the stage for a crumbly, melt-in-your-mouth finish.

“Damn, these are good. What are they?”

“Chinese almond cookies. I made them.”

“Really? I’m impressed. I wouldn’t have thought that of you.”

“Well, there’s a lot you don’t know about me.”

“I can’t wait to find out. Especially after trying this.”

“Hmm.” Handing me the plate, she pivots around and heads back to the kitchen.
 

I follow Elle’s nimble movements, unable to take my eyes off her. She rummages around, from sink to fridge to stove, and back again.
 

I say, “So, this is where you live. It’s a dangerous area, especially at night.”

“I’ve never had any problems living here. I’m used to living in the slums.” Elle flashes a grin at me, but I don’t return it.

“I own a few rental apartments in Lower Manhattan that are currently vacant. You can have a look and see if there’s any one you like. And don’t worry about the rent. I’ll charge you whatever you’re paying here. I really don’t like you living here. It’s unsafe.”