Vee laughs. “You’re not the only daughter to utter those words.” She plunks down beside me, and I peek at her through the slats of my fingers. She’s smiling so wide, I know I have to ask.
“What now?” Her and Gavin have been spending nearly as much time together as Ryder and I over the past few weeks. I rarely get to hang out with her outside of our room, boosters, and at lunch, but even that’s spent with the guys. We’re totally ridiculous. Like obsessed high school girls all about our boyfriends.
Only, I’ve been reluctant to give into that label completely. Ryder has pressed it a couple of times, wanting to place a title on what we are, but I can’t do that to him. It’s not fair. Not when Becca is practically already planning place settings for my wedding.
At that thought, my chest twinges with panic. Its icy fingers slither down my spine. Can Lucas really be falling for our parents’ bullshit? I thought…I don’t know. When he never contacted me, that maybe it was all my father’s wishful prodding. That if I just waited it out long enough, even my father would realize this was sheer lunacy. Then I’d have more time.
More time.
I believed I could live a carefree moment with the college playboy. Just push all future worries aside and be with the hotness of my dreams. And I was steeling myself for the second Ryder got bored; when he was content with his successful conquest and ready to mount another.
I’ve tried to keep the line clear, but with each passing day, that line is becoming more and more blurred. I thought I needed that defining line drawn for myself—to keep from getting hurt. Stephan betrayed me on a deep level, and I cared for him, but my feelings for him were nothing compared to how deeply and irrevocably I’ve lost my heart to Ryder.
Oh God, but I’ve made a huge mistake. For the both of us.
“That boy loves you,” Vee says, breaking right into my thoughts, as if she’s reading them clearly on my face.
My eyes widen. “I thought we were talking about you?”
She smiles and shakes her head. “We weren’t talking at all. You were getting that dumb look on your face you always get when you’re thinking of The Ryde.”
Ugh, but I still hate that name—even though I cannot deny its accuracy. Just remembering the last heated night I spent with Ryder has me aching so good between my thighs. And it’s all for me. He’s more than given up his past rep, laid it at my feet like an offering. How am I going to breathe? How am I going to do one menial thing ever again when this all ends?
And maybe soon.
“You need to tell your dad it’s the twenty-first century, and that you’re going to marry whoever you damn well please. But not until like, you’re forty.” She rolls her shoulders, getting all riled. Like she always does when it comes to anything to do with my family matters.
“Yeah,” I say, shifting to lie against my pillow. “Because that won’t spur the apocalypse into motion.” I laugh, trying to make light of the very serious atmosphere creeping over us, but she only glares at me. “Look, even if it comes to that, it’s way too early, anyway. Ryder and I could be through next week. Hell, maybe tomorrow or today. You know how college romances go.”
And, oh, I totally regret my words as soon as the dumb things tumble from my lips. Her shoulders hunch, and her features shutter. “You’re right. Of course. It’s dumb to get all stupid over a guy so quickly.”
“Vee, I in no way meant you and Gavin.” I take her hand and give it a pump. “You’ve known him for years…you’ve known what you’ve wanted longer than anyone else I know. You deserve to be happy with him, and it’s very real between you two.”
She smiles wanly. “Thanks. Yeah, I think he’s getting more serious about us.” Her smile stretches, but I can hear the uncertainty in her voice. She’s been so committed to this ideal Gavin, for so long, that the doubt that he could ever reciprocate her feelings has festered into a tangible fear within her.
I think sometimes we can build ourselves up so high that the letdown is inevitable. That’s why I’m desperately trying to keep my expectations with Ryder within reasonable perspective. He’s going off to the pros. He has this whole other life waiting for him, ready to take him away from here, and I’m stuck. Not budging an inch from where I’m firmly rooted with my obligations and expectancies as the lone, single Wyndemere.
“Let’s get out of here,” I tell her. “Seriously. All this mush is starting to make my stomach ill.” She laughs and heads to the closet to grab her jacket. But I’m secretly relieved that my statement is actually false.
I’ve been doing decidedly well lately. Granted the stress has eased (before this morning, that is) in my life exponentially, but regardless, that has never helped in the past. I’d been worried Ryder would figure something out with how much time we’ve been spending together. Dreading that awful moment where I’d have to bare my dirty secret…but that conversation might never have to happen.
There’s no sense in telling him now, dropping a bomb like that, only to cause him worry. It would be all drama and the concern would be unnecessary, anyway. Besides, I am getting better. Every morning I wake feeling a little stronger than the day before, ready to conquer the next twenty-four hours.
I’ve leapt beyond baby steps.
Though I know I’m not supposed to depend on outside influences to lean against—to boost my confidence and garner security from—I know that Ryder has been that change. He looks at me and I just don’t feel beautiful, I believe I’m beautiful. Seeing myself through his eyes is like an awakening in my soul. But it’s more than superficial, more than skin-de
ep; every bit of me is uniquely perfect for him. That’s how he makes me feel. As if all my imperfections were just puzzle pieces waiting to find their home in order to complete one brilliant masterpiece.
I hold that revelation close, guarding it with a fierceness, as I follow Vee out. I push the stressful conversation with Becca to the foreground, burying my sense of unease beneath my anticipation to be with Ryder.
* * *
“How do you manage anything with those tiny hands?” Ryder says, chuckling.
I slap at his hard bicep before he captures my hand and attempts to splay my fingers over the football again. “They work just fine for me, thank you,” I say, affecting a serious tone.
“They work just fine for me, too.” His gaze hoods, snagging my attention away from the ball. Then he brushes a feather light kiss along my forehead. I lean into him, pressing my back against his chiseled chest, loving how his body folds around mine like a shield.