Filthy Rich Santas

12. Lana

12

LANA

I get a little lost in my thoughts once we’re on the road again. I’m not sure what came over me with Beckett, but it felt good to just open up like that. It felt like maybe I really am becoming the bolder, more authentic version of me.

But if I’m really honest, that’s not the only reason I can’t stop thinking about the conversation we had at the diner. I don’t quite know what was going through his head, but there was something in his expression that made my heart beat a little harder.

I don’t think I was intentionally taunting him, talking so freely about my sex life like that. But I’d be lying to myself if I didn’t recognize that choosing that particular subject created something electrical between us.

Unless I’m fooling myself.

I don’t really know where things stand between all of us right now. We’re not even halfway across the country, and already, so much has happened that I didn’t expect.

I bite my lip, my breath hitching a little as a few of those unexpected moments replay in my head, but when my eyes dart toward Tristan in the front passenger seat, Ryder catches my gaze instead.

“All good, love?” he asks, throwing his arm over the seat behind me and grinning at me in a way that makes me feel things, especially given where my thoughts just were.

“Yup,” I answer, pulling out my sketchbook. “I just need to…”

I trail off, letting some of my flustered thoughts take shape on the paper. It’s just doodling, but it settles my mind. I’m not even sure how long I’ve been sketching when I realize Ryder is still watching me.

I look up, feeling a little flustered when I see his expression.

“They have the best hot chocolate there, don’t they?” When I don’t answer right away, he taps the page. “That’s Caldwell’s, right? On Fourth? Back home?”

I glance back down, and he’s right. I was just letting my hand run away with me. Drawing the same snow that’s started falling outside our windows. Adding in some holiday decorations because of course. And when I added in the three of them, the rest of the scene just sort of took shape all around… and it is Caldwell’s. One of the nicer restaurants in our hometown, but one that was always warm and inviting around Christmas, not pretentious like most of the places where my family preferred to dine.

I shrug, blushing for some reason. “I didn’t really think about it. It’s just doodles.”

Ryder scoffs, pushing my hand to the side when I reflexively cover the page. “Are you kidding? You got Beckett’s scowl down perfectly! It’s really good.”

I shake my head. “Just something to occupy my hands.”

He pins me with a look that’s almost serious for him. “It’s a lot more than that. You’ve been drawing as long as I’ve known you, but it’s been a while since I’ve seen your work. Why didn’t you ever do more with it?”

I laugh. “With what, this? I am actually an adult now,” I tease him. “I think I’ve been a little busy with real life things like a job and all.”

For once, Ryder doesn’t laugh with me. “Sure, but why not a job you love? Like making art.”

My heart skips a beat. All I’ve ever heard from the people closest to me is what a waste of time my little hobby was, and that I need to be serious and put my time into things that matter.

“I used to want to,” I whisper, gripping my pencil a little tighter when I realize my fingers are trembling a bit.

Ryder smiles. “Yeah? Be a professional artist, you mean?”

I nod, my pulse racing.

He glances back down at the scene I sketched, reaching out to trace some of the lines. “It’s so full of life. Not totally true to life like a photo, but… something more? Something better?”

He laughs, and I grin before I can help it.

“Yeah, yeah. I don’t know what I’m saying,” he says, nudging my shoulder with his. “I sure as shit don’t know art terms. But I don’t just recognize what you drew. I feel it. You didn’t even draw in the details, but I swear I can almost taste that cocoa they had just from looking at this picture.” He looks back up at me. “You’ve got an amazing talent, Lana. You know it’s not too late, right? If you really want to do this, you should go for it.”

I stare back at him, a little overwhelmed. I don’t quite know what to do with what he’s saying. I’ve never had anyone encourage me like this, or say something so moving about my stupid little sketching hobby.

Wade knew I liked to doodle, of course. But just like my parents, he’d get impatient with me wasting my time on it, so I kept my art supplies out of sight and hopefully out of mind for him for the most part.

It never occurred to me to show him any of my drawings, and I know for sure if I’d ever so much as hinted that I sometimes thought of quitting my dreary office job to pursue it, he would have…

Well, I’m not sure what. I know he wouldn’t have liked it, though.

And he definitely never would have encouraged me. Not like Ryder is right now.

“What’s the style called?” he asks, tilting his head like he’s trying to get a different view of my sketchpad. “Like, not realistic but, uh, there’s gotta be a word for it, right?”

I laugh, releasing some of the build-up of unfamiliar feelings inside me. I’m not sure if he’s playing up his cluelessness or really wants to know, but I’m always happy to talk about art, so we do for a bit.

“Wait, his name is really Hunter Greene-Paige?” he asks me, laughing. “A little on the nose.”

I pull out my phone and find the artist’s Instagram. “I know, but it really is his given name, so I guess he just went with it? It’s become his signature color.”

Ryder flips through Greene-Paige’s work, pausing on an abstract watercolor. “I don’t get it. But I like it?”

“Oh, good eye.” I chuckle, leaning in. “But I’m biased. That one was inspired by one of my favorite artists.”

“Oh? Who’s that?”

I tap the screen and pull up a different page. “Emilia Rossetti. She’s amazing .”

I may be fan-girling a little, but it’s well-deserved.

“Huh.” Ryder scrolls through a few images. “Kind of reminds me of your style.”

My eyes go wide, then I laugh and punch his shoulder. “Shut up.”

“Hey, I may not have any artistic skills of my own, but come on. I know what I’m looking at here.”

He’s still got me laughing. “You literally just said you didn’t know.”

He shrugs, and my stomach flutters. There are definite vibes between us, and even though he’s always been charming and warm with me, this feels like something else.

His eyes drop to my mouth, and I bite my lip as my heart stutters.

“I could teach you,” I blurt suddenly.

Ryder’s eyes jerk up to mine. “Teach me?”

“To draw something,” I clarify, flipping to a clean page in my sketchbook. “You can’t be that bad.”

Tristan twists around a little in the front seat. “Oh, believe me, freckles. He can.”

“Freckles?” Ryder repeats while I send Tristan a dirty look.

“Quit outing me.” I make a face, wadding up a piece of paper and throwing it at him. “I wear makeup for a reason, you know.”

Tristan’s eyes flare with heat, then he blinks and they’re back to normal as he gives me a tiny smile. “You look gorgeous either way.”

I look down, feeling flustered all over again.

“Come on,” I say to Ryder, handing him the pencil. “Just try.”

Beckett scoffs, the only sign that he’s listening with his eyes glued to the road, and Tristan nods.

“Are you sure you want to suffer through this?” he asks, adjusting his glasses with that same small smile hovering on his lips.

Ryder flips him off, then shoots me a wicked grin as he takes the pencil and draws a circle. I mean, sort of. “You want art? I got art,” he says, adding a line connected to the circle. Then he draws a couple more lines, and…

“Ryder!” I laugh, bumping my shoulder into him again. “A stick figure doesn’t count!”

“Hey, I saw some of that Greene guy’s work. It was all lines!”

“Yeah, but those were…” I search for the right word, then give up. “Let me show you.”

“You’re wasting your time,” Tristan jokes.

“You’re just jealous that you’re stuck up there while I get free art lessons,” Ryder shoots back, trying and horribly failing to copy the technique I show him.

“For whatever good they’ll do you.” Tristan snorts. “We should switch spots.”

Ryder smirks. “Pretty sure you already got plenty of time with Lana this morning.”

Heat pools in my core, making me squeeze my thighs together, and the unspoken tension in the car spikes from every direction. We’re all thinking about what Tristan and I did this morning now.

But of course it’s Ryder who comes right out and says something. Again.

He adds a few blobby shapes near the head of the stick figure he drew. “Want to know why I’m crying, love?” he asks, tapping the blobs.

I grin, shaking my head. “Those are tears?”

“Of course they are. Because you ran to Tristan when you had that nightmare instead of coming to me.”

“You were rooming with me,” Beckett grunts from the driver’s seat.

“And?” Ryder throws back. “You know we both would have been there for her.”

Beckett grunts again, and that heat inside me burns a little hotter. “I would have been glad to have you, um, comfort me,” I tell him, suddenly a little breathless. “But Tristan’s room was closer.”

Ryder’s eyes lock onto mine, something wicked glinting in their depths. “Yeah? But just think, love. If you’d gone just a little bit farther, you would’ve woken up sandwiched between me and Beckett.”

My stomach flips, my heart starting to race at the innuendo. There’s no mistaking it, and no second-guessing that he’s flirting. This isn’t Ryder teasing Caleb’s little sister. This is one of the sexiest men I know suggesting that he would have welcomed me into his bed.

His and Beckett’s.

“Maybe I wouldn’t have minded that,” I murmur, finding a level of daring I didn’t know I had.

Ryder gives me a slow, sexy smile that suddenly makes all sorts of things seem within reach. “You like that idea, huh?”

“Just think what we could save on hotel room costs,” I say, making him laugh.

“Definitely something to consider.”

I lick my lips, a little surprised by how confident and sexy I feel as we banter back and forth. “It’s not just about the money. I do get kind of cold at night too.”

His eyes drop to my mouth. “Is that so?”

“I mean, it is the middle of winter.”

He chuckles, but this time there’s a husky quality to it that has my breath catching as tingles spread through me.

He reaches out and runs the backs of his fingers down my cheek. “Good point. We’ve all gotta do our part to keep you warm, right? But I draw the line at cold feet.” Without taking his eyes off me, he tosses a comment at Tristan. “Is that a problem, Tris? You can tell us. Do her toes turn into ice cubes at night?”

“No,” Tristan responds, biting off the word.

Both Ryder and I startle at his tone, turning to face him.

He’s looking out the front windshield, brows drawn low as Beckett navigates through the densely falling snow.

It’s getting dark out, and visibility is so low that it’s only the faint glow of someone else’s red taillights up ahead that reassure me we’re actually still on the road.

“Wow,” I say with a wince. “I didn’t realize how bad it had gotten out there.”

“We’ll be fine,” Beckett assures me gruffly, even as he slows the SUV down even more when the brake lights up ahead flare brightly.

I trust him, because the way he commands the vehicle is exactly the way he commands everything else in his life. With a kind of absolute authority and assurance that in other circumstances I find sexy as hell.

But right now, it’s the other cars still on the road that I’m not sure I trust, not in weather like this, and by silent agreement, we all stay quiet so Beckett can focus. It’s only when he has to tap the brakes a few miles later, causing the wheels to slip a bit, that I realize I’m gripping Ryder’s hand.

“Shit,” Beckett mutters softly. “Was that an exit sign?”

“Yeah,” Tristan replies, already looking down at his phone. “Two miles up.”

Beckett nods, carefully navigating into the right lane. “We need to get off the road.”

“Fuck, there’s not much availability,” Tristan mutters, swiping through a few screens on his phone.

Ryder squeezes my hand once, then extracts his so he can pull out his phone. “You’re checking hotels?” he asks Tristan, opening an app to do the same.

Tristan mumbles a reply, and I pull my phone out to help too. The conditions are so bad now that Beckett has us slowed down to a crawl, and I’ve got no doubt that everyone else out here tonight is doing the same thing we are. It would be crazy to keep going until the storm passes, so it’s no wonder everything nearby is booked up.

“Got one,” Ryder says after a few minutes, naming a familiar hotel chain. “It’s a little farther off the highway, but all they’ve got left is the executive suite.”

“Grab it,” Beckett grunts, tension in his voice as he throws his blinker on and finally exits the highway.

Ryder nods, tapping his screen a few times. “Already on it. Take a right and head under the overpass.”

He continues to direct Beckett to the hotel, and once we get there, we leave everything that’s not essential in the SUV, all four of us hurrying inside as the snow whips around us.

“My toes are definitely ice cubes now,” I joke weakly, shivering as we crowd together at the reception counter since I didn’t stop to put on my coat.

Beckett grunts and tugs me against his side, his body heat thawing me out a little while Ryder finishes checking us in.

It’s not until we finally get the key cards and make our way up to the suite we’ll all be sharing that it really hits me what Ryder said back in the car.

One suite. The only one left. The one we’ll all be sharing tonight.

And it’s almost like all that heated banter wasn’t just flirting or foreplay, but actually prophetic, because when we get there we realize that the suite is plenty big enough for the four of us to share. It’s a large space with a little living room area and a kitchen too.

But only one bedroom.

And only one bed.