Chapter Twenty-Eight
Lindsay
Kisses from Ryder were a little too effective at eradicating common sense.
What was that saying? Better to have loved and lost than to never have loved at all.
Right now, in Ryder’s arms, I wondered if it was true. I’d always considered love a weakness, and my past brush with it certainly left me with enough issues to make it seem like a true theory.
But during this past month with Ryder, I didn’t feel weak. I felt stronger. I cared more intensely for him than I’d cared for any other guy, which made me doubt there’d been actual love with anyone else in the first place.
He and I had something deeper, and that sent a turbulent mix of longing and fear through me. My heart tugged and squeezed and generally didn’t know how to deal with the rush of emotions.
I pulled back before we reached the point of no return—no return being naked in this instance.
Oh, God, I can only imagine how sexy naked Ryder is… Images of his shirtless torso flashed through my mind and heat flooded my veins. The unquenchable yearning to see more took over, which is probably why I reached for the bottom of his shirt and tugged it over his head before I fully thought through the move.
He’s even hotter than I remembered. His arms were covered in paint, and so was his neck and face, but everywhere his shirt covered was clear of color, nothing to obscure all those drool-inducing muscles.
I ran my hand down his taut abdomen, dangerously close to throwing caution to the wind. His muscles twitched under my fingertips, the dips and grooves flexing and dipping in the most hypnotic way. His skin was so warm, too, and tracing his muscles, and the way they reacted to my touch made me want more—more warmth, more of my hands on him, more, more, more…
When I looked up, into his eyes, and saw the passion swimming in the blue, my breath caught in my throat.
He reached for the bottom of my shirt and I circled his wrist, my heart pounding way too fast and sending corresponding thumps through my temples.
Ryder released his grip on my shirt and ran a knuckle down my arm, leaving a trail of goose bumps. “You know I have no expectations, right? Earlier in the car was amazing, and it’s enough. I’m perfectly happy to just hang out if that’s what you want.”
“It’s not that.”
“What is it, then?”
A tight band formed around my chest, shutting off my supply of oxygen.
Confession #15: I’m in love with Ryder “Ox” Maddox, hockey player and all-around good guy, and it scares the shit out of me.
A few moments ago, I’d been scared to admit it, even to myself, and then there was the distraction of his smoking hot body…
My fingers itched to touch him again and I had to force myself to face the fact that slammed into me when he told me he was happy to just hang out with me, no expectations. I loved him. Like I was madly in love with him, all my walls and attempts to stop it be damned.
I was totally and utterly pucked.
“Hey.” Ryder cupped my chin and tipped my face up to his. “I feel like I’m losing you.”
“I like you,” I blurted out, because I was too much of a wimp to drop the love-bomb quite yet. “And it’s not just because you play hockey, even though I do find that incredibly attractive.” I placed my hand over the center of his chest, and the warmth of his skin soaked into mine as his heart beat a steady, rapid pattern under my palm. “But there’s so much more to who you are. You’re one of the nicest guys I’ve ever met.”
He flinched at nicest.
“I’ve dealt with more than my fair share of jerks and full-on assholes, so nice is a good thing, I swear. I keep thinking about how you swooped in to help me with my math even after I pushed you away time and time again. Even just barely, how you made it clear that you don’t expect more.” My voice cracked and I quickly blinked at the tears that were trying to form, damn them. “I keep thinking that it must be because you don’t fully understand who I used to be.”
A giant lump formed in my throat and I dropped my gaze to the stitching on the couch cushion. “I’ve hooked up with several of your teammates, including one of your roommates, and obviously that asshole who so nicely announced it at the Quad. That’s got to bother you.”
Talking about my mom earlier only helped stir up all this crap—the desire not to be like her and feelings of inadequacy—and now I worried I shouldn’t have divulged so much. But I also didn’t want him looking back and saying if I’d known that, I never would’ve gone there.
“I don’t care,” Ryder said, and hope crept in. “I mean…”
I jerked my head up, anxiety kicking hope’s ass in two second flat.
He wound a strand of my hair around his finger. “I’d be lying if I said I haven’t experienced some jealousy over it. But I’m the one who knows the real you. I know you tap your pencil to your lip when you concentrate, and when you need help with a question, it pisses you off and you have to talk yourself into asking for help for several seconds before you actually do.
“I know that you love literature and want to be an editor someday—and that you’d make a really kick-ass one. I know that you love your mom and defend her, even though the way you were raised couldn’t have been easy.” He tucked the strand of hair he’d been twisting behind my ear and dragged his thumb over the top of my cheekbone. “I know that you’re one of the most passionate, fierce women that I’ve ever met, but that you also have a heart of gold.
“And I’m looking forward to knowing you better. Like, favorite color…?” He raised an eyebrow.
“Red.”
One corner of his mouth kicked up. “That fits. Favorite movie…?”
“She’s the Man—it’s a Twelfth Night retelling, and Channing Tatum is involved, so that’s a no-brainer.”
He nodded, as if that made perfect sense to him. “Favorite team…?”
“I don’t really have one. But I do have a favorite hockey player.” I ran my hands up his arms and then traced his jawline, his unshaven whiskers tickling my fingers and sending zing after zing down my arm.
“I know that you love Shakespeare plays and even more impressive, understand them, and that if I’m really lucky, one of my cheesy jokes will land and make you laugh.” He dragged his callused fingertips across my collarbone and heat pooled low in my stomach. Then he dipped his head, but left his lips a breath away from mine. “And I’m looking forward to finding out what makes you bite your lip, moan, and what I need to do to make you scream out my name.”
A blaze of need shot up my core and ignited, and I closed the gap between our mouths, unable to take it anymore. He pulled me on top of him, and curled the hem of my shirt in his fists. He paused, and I nodded. In one fluid motion, he tugged it up and over my head.
I was about to kiss him again, but then he ran his thumb over my bottom lip. “But I need you to know, it’s about more than sex. So I don’t give a damn about your past. I just want you. Exactly as you are.”
My heart was going to explode, I was sure of it.
“Now, come on…” Ryder stood, lifting me with him, leaving me little choice but to wrap my legs around his waist—not that I would’ve fought it anyway. He swiped the multicolored strands of hair that’d fallen out of my ponytail off my face. “Let’s go get all this paint washed off.”