“Ryder,” I whisper.
Another quiet hmm leaves his throat and I swallow it with my kisses. Current jolts through my system, white-hot light dancing in the tips of my breasts, the span of my pelvis, every square inch that he touches.
“I’m c-com—” I can’t even finish my words as I arch into his touch. A shockwave bolts through my body as I buck into his chest, his powerful arm holding me tight. Wave after powerful wave, and it doesn’t stop. Ryder’s fingers tease gently inside me, his thumb sweeps, perfectly faint.
His kiss is reverent, and I feel the smile in his mouth as he pulls away. When he lifts his hands from my sweatpants, I expect another one of his gentlemanly hankies to appear. Instead, I have to scissor my legs, as Ryder locks eyes with me and licks each of his fingers clean.
“Jesus Christ.” My voice is so husky I sound like I smoked a pack of cigs. “You’re a filthy lumberjack.”
He lifts a shoulder, pulling out the last finger with a pop. I’m in a daze, and I startle when my phone buzzes again.
Come on, Sunshine. You’re tired. Off to bed.
I fumble for my phone, relying heavily on autocorrect because post-orgasmic Willa can’t type for shit.
My turn. It’s only fair.
Ryder frowns when he reads the text. His fingers slide beneath my chin and tip my head up so that our eyes meet. No, he mouths.
“Then you’re ahead!”
He rolls his eyes and types, This isn’t a competition, Sunshine.
“Everything between us is a competition.”
I immediately regret saying it. Historically, it’s true. We’ve been neck and neck, tit for tat. A brutal running tally of pranks, jokes, and barbs. Until something shifted along the way. What I said makes this and the waterfall sound tactical, calculated. Heartless. Much as I wish it was, I’m beginning to fear it isn’t. That something is there between us, as much as it scares the shit out of me.
Ryder’s expression shutters as he reads my words. When he looks up, it’s as if the flame brightening his eyes was extinguished. He bends over his phone before mine buzzes.
You don’t owe me anything. I wanted to.
I stare at the words: I wanted to.
Ryder extricates himself from behind my body, setting the whiskey and peanut butter cups carefully on the coffee table. I give him a big pouty frown which he ignores, answering with one of his double claps before he points to my bedroom.
I fold my arms across my chest and scowl up at him, kicking my legs when he sweeps me into his arms. “Don’t you go thinking just because you gave me my first manmade orgasm that you get to start bossing me around, Bergman. I’m an independent woman, and if you’re under the impression I take orders—” A massive yawn interrupts me, somewhat diminishing the impact of my rant that I’m pretty sure he can’t even hear. “You’ve got another thing coming to you.”
Ryder grins as he whips back my sheets, and sets me on the bed.
“I didn’t shower,” I whine.
He lifts off my hoodie and kisses my forehead.
“I stink.”
Off come my sweatpants.
“I can’t sleep like this,” I groan through a yawn.
The blanket creeps up to my chin. The softest kiss yet presses to my hair as he breathes deep. My eyes won’t stay open, and sleep swallows me up.
19
Ryder
Playlist: “Lost In The Light,” Bahamas
My visit to Willa’s was impulsive and instinctual. It was also extremely unlike me. I’m cool-headed, methodical, analytical. I don’t do shit I haven’t exhaustively considered. Except when it comes to Willa.
I don’t regret what I did. I told her I wanted to, and I fucking wanted to. It just wasn’t the greatest timing to raise the stakes that much higher, the day before my surgery. I’ll be out of commission for the next week, recovering from cochlear implants which my parents finally convinced me over Thanksgiving that we could afford to do. I pushed back, citing the exorbitant cost, saying I’ve gone this long deaf and mute, I could last a few more months until we got medical coverage. They informed me insurance had finally come through, and with the semester dwindling, the timing was perfect.
Well, it was until I went off-script last night with Willa. If I know her at all, there’ll be aftershock from my latest move, and now with this surgery, I’ll be in no shape to brace for impact.
The old Ryder would have never done this. He would have reasoned this was not a practical moment to up the ante between Willa and him. He would have instead sent Willa an empathic text about her loss and then gone right back to haranguing her the next time he saw her. This new, insane Ryder knew the timing was terrible and simply could not stand to leave her alone. Watching that game’s outcome, knowing how heartbroken Willa would be, he couldn’t even consider not seeing her.
I knew she’d be alone. With her mother sick in the hospital, unable to comfort her late at night, I knew Willa was going to go home with Rooney who would be just as dejected as her. She’d have no one else, as she felt all those awful feelings and thought those terrible things you think when you put a ton of pressure on yourself and your team falls short.
I only made it to summer training before our freshman season started at UCLA. I never got to compete here, but I competed plenty in high school. I lost state championships. I blamed myself. But I always had a handful of family members hugging me, distracting me with affectionate teasing, badgering me into playing a game, serving my favorite homecooked meal.
Willa has none of that. And I might know better than anyone what pushes Willa Sutter’s buttons, but I also know that she doesn’t handle her feelings well. I knew a lumberjack hug, plus a little chocolate and whiskey never hurt.
Platonic hugs and comfort foods turned into something much more substantial. I touched her, teased that silky skin, felt her clench like a vise around my fingers. I was rock hard, pressure building in my jeans, kissing her, watching her come apart under my touch.
The morning after Willa’s, I couldn’t shake the memory of when she came. Her body shook softly, her sweet breath burst across my lips. She was so beautiful, and all I wanted to do was make her come a hundred times more. When I woke up, I almost went off the deep end and texted her that, but it was god-awful early when I had to head to the hospital. I listened to the surgeon walk me through the procedure one last time, heard the countback for anesthesia, the promise I’d be out and alert in a few hours.
That’s the last thing I remember.
I wake up to a concerned, pinched expression on my parents’ faces as they lean over me. I have a hunch not all went according to plan. When I groan, it doesn’t sound any different than it has the past few years, but that’s to be expected. I have to recover before the auditory processor gets fitted and linked to the implants.
“Älskling.” Darling. Mom’s voice is close, and my damaged ear still hears her Swedish endearment and knows what it means.
I lick my lips, taking inventory of my body. Dad pats my hand and squeezes, drawing my attention so I’ll watch his lips. “You did fine, Ryder. You were very distraught after the anesthesia, though, so they gave you a sedative. It knocked you out like a horse tranquilizer. Seems they didn’t catch the note in your chart that a children’s dose of Benadryl would have sufficed. You always were a sedative lightweight.”