I shove him playfully, and he doesn’t even budge. He really did muscle up while I was hibernating in my grief cave.
“You’re quiet, Brawny.”
“I’m always quiet, Willa.”
“No, you’re not. I mean, sometimes you are but, generally, you talk to me plenty.”
Ryder stops on the trail, making me bump into him. Slowly, he turns and peers down at me. “I guess I do. But that’s different. That’s only when it’s us.”
There’s my grinch heart again, growing another size larger. Only when it’s us.
I blink up at him. Ryder’s eyes are deep, serene green, surrounded by the trees. His features are guarded, imbued with something bursting at the seams of his expression. I want to grab his arms and shake it loose, like a goodie jammed in the vending machine.
Two birds chitter in the tree above us and shatter our quiet when they shoot up into the sky. They arc and swoop, their flight a dancing chase and tease until finally they flatten on the wind and soar away in tandem.
“Only when it’s us?”
Ryder stares at me. “Have you seen me speak to another woman besides my sisters or mother, since I met you?”
I shake my head slowly.
“Have I looked at one?”
I give my bottom lip a rough tug between my teeth. My heart rate trips and takes off at a dead sprint. “No,” I whisper.
His eyes burn, and a flush crawls up his neck. “Since I got these”—he points to the hardware behind his ears—“has any of that changed?”
“N-no.”
Ryder’s jaw ticks. Without another word, he spins away, resuming our walk down the trail. I more or less tumble after him, catching up the moment we break through the woods into a clearing.
Turning, Ryder walks toward a shed, swiping the numbers on a lock until it pops open. He disappears inside, then quickly drags out a mid-size net and a few balls. I notice he’s without his auditory gear now. Must have stashed it in the shed for safe-keeping. I pick up a ball, then a pump, and inflate it, watching Ryder as he straightens the net from a distance.
Dropping the ball, I touch it forward. Something about the brisk wind, the smell of mowed grass, reminds me of childhood. I’m transported to my first days with a soccer ball, that carefree happiness I felt, as autumn air sucked my shirt against my wiry body, and sent the ball rolling just off course. I remember orange slices and secondhand cleats, Grandma Rose braiding my hair and Mama’s mantra whispered over me as she rubbed sunscreen into my cheeks.
You are strong. You are brave. You can do anything you set your heart and mind to.
I still tell myself those words before every game I play. I’m telling myself those words right now.
Ryder glances up from the net and watches me as I dribble. I show off a little, flicking the ball easily in a rainbow and catching it on the top of my foot. I spin my foot around, never losing the ball, and scoop it up again, bracing it across my shoulder blades. Then I roll it to my shoulder and pop it off. It flies through the air and lands directly at Ryder’s feet.
He struggles and fails to hide his amusement. “Hotdogger.”
Like last night in the shower, he talked, without the aid of his implants. I’m caught off guard, and my heart twists with that scary big feeling I almost said to myself in the kitchen.
His voice is different without his implants. Skewed around the vowels. I didn’t think it would mean this much to me, for him to speak to me without them, but it does. Such an immense vulnerability. I clear my throat, trying not to look like I’m making anything of it since Ryder is acting like it isn’t a big deal at all.
I make sure he can see my mouth when I say, “If you got it, flaunt it.”
“Did you just quote Bey—” His voice catches. He swallows, then tries again. “Beyoncé?”
I shoulder him and steal the ball from his feet, spinning so he can see me talk. “You say that like I should be embarrassed when you’re the grown man who recognizes old-school ’Yoncé.”
Ryder grins. “Two sisters, Sunshine. I went deaf too late in life.”
I stop with the ball and feel a frown tug at my mouth. “That’s not funny. I don’t like it when you joke about it.”
His grin falters. “Why?”
“Because…” I juggle the ball, hiding my feelings behind my movements. “I don’t know. You’re making fun of someone who means a lot to me. Tease me all you want, but don’t joke at your own expense.”
Ryder tips his head to the side. “One might almost think you liked me, Sunshine.”
“One would be correct, Lumberjack.” I send the ball into the air, then crack it with a bicycle kick into the net.
Ryder backtracks to retrieve it, then leverages the ball up and takes his turn showing off. Oh, hell. Ohhhh, freaking hell. His lips purse as he juggles, those sharp green eyes narrowed in focus. His lashes fan over his cheekbones, and his hair glitters in the sun. His body is long lines, grace, power. It looks effortless. I’m at max, thirty minutes away from dying of sexual starvation. That fun in the shower last night was not enough. Not even close.
When his eyes meet mine, they widen. “Wow. You look…”
Sex-crazed. Hornier than humanly possible. Yes. Yes, I am.
I take a massive breath. “I’m ready to kick your ass. Now, let’s go.”
One-on-one is hard. Even the best player in the world gets exhausted working a field solo, never a teammate to pass the ball to and run for that give-and-go. It’s just you and your foot skills, your speed and agility to throw off your opponent, then make it to the goal.
“You first.” Ryder lofts the ball my way. I catch it on my thigh, drop it immediately to the ground, then take off. “Shit, Sunshine!”
A laugh barrels out of me. Ryder drops, his insane quads flexing as his body takes a defensive stance. His legs are a little wide, so I try for a nutmeg, to thread the ball between them. He anticipates this, dropping his shin and catching it, then immediately pulling a Maradona that yanks it back from me.
“Asshole,” I mutter.
“You thought you could ’meg me, Willa?”
I shove him. He doesn’t budge.
“Keep it clean, Sunshine.”
He’s ribbing me. Provoking me. His feet hover over the ball, his stance is cocky and confident. I lunge for it and he bypasses me, nailing a shot into the goal.
I stare at the net, then slowly swivel my gaze to him. “Beginner’s luck.”
His grin is wider than the field. “Whatever you say.”
That does it. I leave the net with the ball, pulling it out to the top of what would be the box if it were painted on the grass. Ryder drops again, and this time I don’t focus on his killer legs. I see the whole space and I do something ballsy. I fake left, then lunge right, chipping the ball over his shoulder. Ryder’s caught in the direction I faked him as I slice by, trapping the ball on my chest down to my thigh, where I boot it into the net.
Ryder’s eyes dart from the net to me. “Damn. That was sexy.”
I bite my lip to fight a smile. “And to think I’m just getting started.”
We play for a long time. I get a few goals past him, but Ryder’s formidable. He’s fast and he’s physical. He also has nine inches and seventy-five pounds on me, which helps.