by Trisha Wolfe
On that note, I scoot my chair back and stand, reaching for my jacket. “I forgot Professor Hayden asked me to drop off my first pages before class. I slacked off yesterday.”
Vee nods, as if she remembers this fact. “Okay. You want us to head back with?”
I shake my head. “You haven’t even eaten yet, but thanks. I’ve got a fruit cup.” I pat my side tote.
They don’t know what happened at the event, but Vee’s pretty observant. She’s just giving me time to tell her on my own terms. I’m still not sure what it even is, or if it’s a real thing to be discussed…but it’s enough to keep my stomach in knots.
Especially since something as petty as the bonfire incident was enough to turn a whole college football team against me, it seems plausible that Ryder—whose mood can shift from cool to hot in a flash—was more than offended. What he said about filling out my dance card…ugh. That stung. But he seems kind of sensitive that way. His friends wouldn’t take up his defense so easily, otherwise. Or maybe that’s just team mentality.
Oh God, but I’m obsessing again. Maybe I should get that damn aftercare treatment. Or anxiety meds, something. This is getting stupid.
I force my feet to move, needing to get away from Vee and Haley before they figure out how unhinged I really am. Pushing open the coffee shop door, I head out into the chilly fall air, eager to get back on campus and gain some equilibrium.
I’m rounding the sidewalk corner, my hands tucked under my arms for warmth, when I spot Ryder sitting on a bench. Crap. My head lowers, and I brush my hair forward to hide my face.
There’re five benches from here to the West Hall, and of course he’s sitting on the one closest to the sidewalk. My feet start moving me across the grass, cutting a straight path toward the building, when I hear, “Hey, carrot cake.”
The debate whether or not to ignore him lasts a bit too long; the wind creaking the tree branches causes enough noise to feign ignorance. But that name just frays my nerve endings, and my spine locks taut. I pivot around to face him. “I thought we were past that.”
A smile crawls across his face, and his blue eyes squint in that adorable way. It’s like the past couple of days never happened, or maybe even the past few weeks. Like he’s attempting another do-over.
I suddenly feel exhausted. There’s no such thing as a do-over, and Ryder and I just don’t mix. We’re worse than oil and water. We’re Pop Rocks and soda.
But that doesn’t stop him from hopping off the bench and walking in my direction, shoulders forward, on a mission. “I don’t give nicknames to just anybody.”
“Again, I should feel flattered?”
This time around, he nods with certainty. “Absolutely.” With one wink, I’m all dumb girl and goo. It’s ridiculous. And not at all safe.
“Why are you out here…in the cold?” I change the subject.
He notices, clearing his throat before he says, “I needed to concentrate before my next class. The lunchroom doesn’t give me time to myself.” He zips up his leather jacket, shutting out the wind.
“What class?” I really need to leave, to just end this now. I wasn’t fabricating a complete lie when I told Vee and Haley I had to hand in pages to my professor; I do—not today, but I was planning to get a jump on it. Distract my brain.
Ryder slips his hands into his jeans’ pockets, shrugging. “Writing. Well, one of my creative writing classes. It’s an important one, anyway.”
I feel my face scrunch up at his vagueness. Then I remember how revealing his major to my father seemed to embarrass him. Ryder doesn’t come across as the type to be embarrassed by anything. So this must be a delicate subject for him.
After how we parted last time, I tread lightly. I know there can’t be anything serious between us, but I can’t help feeling there’s more to this guy than just sports. Like if I peeled back the layers one at a time, slowly, this whole genuine, thought-provoking person would unfold.
I want to know him.
Just…objectively. From a safe, shielded distance.
“Was writing your first choice in major?” I ask, and stuff my now-numb hands into my jacket pockets. “I mean, I’m not trying to sound insensitive, but that’s a strange major for a guy planning to go pro after college.”
He nods once, as if he’s thinking it through, then jerks his head sideways. I follow him to the huge elm in the middle of the courtyard. “I know it’s strange. Believe me, it wasn’t easy to convince my coach in my second year that I wanted to switch majors.” He leans against the bark of the tree, then grasps my jacket and tugs me closer.
My stomach flutters where his hand lightly brushes, then just as quickly, I’m shielded from the wind. By him and the tree. “You look cold,” he says, the wind pushing his dark hair into his eyes. “Anyway, yeah. Always loved to read, always enjoyed writing, when I had time. So I thought…I don’t know. Why not?”
I squint up at him. “Nope. Not buying it.” And I’m not. The way he hesitated before when revealing his major to me and my family makes me think there’s more to it. “But, keep your secret for now. We all have them.”
His eyes widen. “For now?”
Burying my hands deeper into my pockets, I lift my shoulders, trying to block the wind from my neck. “Don’t read so much into what I say, Ryder. I’m not that deep.”
“Well, I know that’s bullshit,” he says, and reaches behind my head and pulls out the hairband. My curls tumble free. With delicate movements, he brushes my hair over my shoulders, his fingers skimming my neck.
A shiver wracks my body. But it’s not at all from the cold.
“You might ask a girl first before just rearranging her hairstyle,” I say. But the warmth from my hair feels good on my neck. “Now the wind is going to batter my hair against my face.”
He shrugs boyishly. “I can remedy that, too,” he says with a mischievous glint in his clear blues.
Oh, holy hell. But he’s a smooth one. My dumb stomach flutters to life, my chest aches in that way that’s painful and tight, and feels too good all at the same time.
“So,” he says, breaking the intensity of the moment. “I was thinking. You have a way with words…”
A laugh escapes my mouth. “Says who?”
“Says the gift note you wrote me…by the way, I never thanked you. So thanks for the panties.” His smile crinkles the corners of his eyes. “And the ridiculously long text messages. Not to mention the metaphorical insults, like the one at the bonfire. Very impressive. I mean, who texts and talks like that?”
“People who know proper grammar?” I snark.
“Exactly.” He tugs on a hank of my hair, pulling the curl straight. “And because I’ve gone against everyone’s suggestion and majored in more than one writing class this semester, I could use some help.”
I feel my eyebrows draw together. “Are you serious? You’re really asking me to tutor you?” This guy cannot really think I’m falling for this old cliché. I swear, but he’s full of them. Only, I’m totally falling. He could ask me to cheer on the sidelines like some lovesick schoolgirl, and I probably would. I’m having a difficult enough time just standing here, not touching him. Every fiber of by being is reaching out to him, dying to make a connection.
Damn, but I’m helpless. A few weeks ago, I was ready to drop kick him. Now, after one intimate dance and a few intense moments, I’m ready to pounce him. I wonder how much of it is Ryder, and how much is the fear of my looming engagement.
“I’m dead serious,” he says, pulling me out of my dark thoughts. “After the other night, I understand, Ari. I get it.” His eyes widen with concern, as if he’s looking right into me. My breath stills. “You have a lot on your plate. Expectations, obligations….” He trails off. “I don’t want to be a complication for you. But I can’t not be around you. I like you.”
Like. Okay, not what I expected to hear. It’s dry, bland, formal. But also safe. No passion stirring with “like.” No crazy, frenzied emotions taking over
my head, debating with my heart. I can do like.
“Are you with me?” he says, lowering his head into my line of sight. I’m pulled out of my obscure musings.
“Sure.” I nod. My father has affectively scared off the school playboy from trying to get into my pants. “Against my better judgment, I like you, too, Ryder. We can be study buddies.”
He laughs. “Okay. Agreed. And it will keep my head in the game, too. I really need to buckle down this semester. With the playoff coming up, I’m struggling in a couple of classes. I think we could both benefit from a friendship with a goal in mind.”
Hmm. It’s out of my mouth before I can stop it: “And what’s the benefit for me?”
His expression shutters. He turns, leaning his shoulder against the tree. “Anything you want. Name it.”
The many, conflicting things that suddenly storm my mind almost bowl me over. I struggle to stand still, the wind whipping so harshly I’m in fear of falling over. Equilibrium lost. All the things I can imagine Ryder giving me…
Putting my father in his place by taking me out on a proper date. Just to make him that much more antsy over my future prospects. Another game where he makes the team wear thongs. Or some other lacy undergarment as their uniform. An introduction into the school of Ryder Doesn’t Give a Damn. Showing me how to shrug off the world and its judgments.
The possibilities as to what I could gain from a mutually beneficial friendship with Ryder Nash are endless.
But one clear thought rises to the top.
Gaining my bearings, I roll my shoulders back and look into his face. “A date with Gavin.”
16
Ryder
My body goes rigid. Gavin’s thick face appears in my mind…and I see my fist plowing into it.
“What?” The word spits from my mouth harshly. I was going along with the idea that Ari and I would have to settle for friends—at least for now. Anything more would cause her too much trouble with her family. I was a bit sore over that at first. I don’t understand how a woman of probably twenty years of age, in today’s time, would let her family decide whom she can date, but it’s not really my place to question.
There are some dynamics there at work that I actually don’t want to understand. As long as Ari’s okay with it all, ultimately making the choice for herself, then it’s none of my business. I’ve decided I’ll discover this fact in time—I’ll figure out what to do later if it turns out differently. And besides, rushing headlong toward a girl out of my league is what got me in trouble way back when in the first place. Sometimes, we do learn from our mistakes.
But regardless, and against all better judgment, I’m unwilling to not be around her. I haven’t been able to think clearly for the last two days. My mind felt sticky, lazy, a constant awareness of her running on a loop in the background. I’m man enough to admit when I need to see something to the end—get to know this girl and get her out of my system.
I am not, however, going to set her up with my best friend. Fuck that.
She laughs, and my spine stiffens. “You’re asking me to set you up with Gavin,” I say, each word forced out through gritted teeth.
She shakes her head. “No. Not for me, for Vee.” Her head tilts, and the wind sends her soft brown curls across her cheek.
Realization dawns, and my chest loosens. A heavy breath whooshes from my mouth. “Your friend.” She nods once, affirming. “She’s into Gav?”
“That’s a gross understatement,” Ari says. “She would probably die if she knew I was even telling you.” I see her wince, as if her friend is aware of her actions right now. “Look, you can’t tell him right out. You have to be like, I don’t know, sneaky. Just casually mention to him he should ask her out, or something.”
I laugh. “That’s not exactly how guys work.” If I’m bothering to scope out some chick, enough to mention her, I’m in it for me. I sure as shit wouldn’t hint my interest to another guy, sicking the hard leg right on her. No guy would. We don’t think like women; checking out prospects for our friends.
It’s all about us. We’re selfish beasts that way.
With a sigh, Ari crosses her arms over her chest. “Well, that’s what I want, Ryder. I want Vee to have a chance with the guy she’s been infatuated with since freshman year.”
“Damn. Really? That long?” Why the hell hasn’t Gavin hooked up with her yet? She’s not bad on the eyes at all. Just the opposite.
“Just see what you can make happen,” she says, backing up a step. “And I’ll help you with whatever you need.”
“A story.”
She stops short. “Not novel length, I hope.”
A quick smile spreads across my face. “A short story. My professor is a real hard-ass on themes. Everything I’ve written so far is convoluted, or not testing my characters enough, or something. I’m not really sure what she wants from me.”
“Have you Googled her?”
“What?” I take a step closer to Ari, hating the distance she’s putting between us. I’m not ready for this lunch period to be over. For her to leave.
“Have you looked up your professor? Seen what pieces she has published. What works she favors.” She glances around, noticing the students starting to funnel into the school. “We’ll talk about it later. I’ll give you a list of things—”
“When?” I attempt to start walking beside her, but she holds up her hand.
“Just…text me. I have a class to get to.” Then she’s off. Turning and heading into the school before I can ask her anything more.
But it’s a start. I feel like we’ve been dancing around each other this whole time—not counting the actual time we danced, that is. I don’t want to let her go without confirmation that we’re going to see each other again.
God. I look up at the swaying tree branches, feeling like the biggest loser. This girl has me so wrapped around her finger, ready to do just about anything, and she doesn’t even realize it. It’s that sad. This is the one thing that is exactly like the Alyssa situation.
Even though I do need some help with my class—it’s not the reason why I asked her. I could’ve asked just about anyone to tutor me. And I could get through it okay with a passing grade, a decent story. I do want to excel, try to go for creating a story I’ll be proud of—but by asking her at all, I’m inviting her into a world I block everyone else from.
I had to do something, though. It’s a sorry excuse, one I’m sure she sees right through.
I shake my head and start toward the building. And just as Gavin strolls up to me in the hallway, an idea—one where I get to kill two birds with one stone—hits me square in the head.
“Hey, Gav, what’s the word on that booster party?”
* * *
A cold is sinking past my skin, into my bones. The wind lashes viciously at the field. I watch a stack of paper cups roll across the 50-yard line. One of the booster girls races after it, cradling a giant Gatorade bottle on her hip like a kid.
After popping on my helmet, I look to the risers, to where there’s always a small group of the boosters based at every practice. Ari is never one of them. Which is good, really, because I’m not sure I could concentrate if she was here. But the clear thought of her feels like a presence.
While Coach is running half the team around the field, the other half circling the Gatorade table, I pull out my phone and scroll through my messages until I find Ari.
Me: You can thank me now
I adjust the straps of my helmet, not expecting her to text back right away. So when my phone vibrates in my hand, a stupid thrill rushes through me.
Ari: Usually someone tells you what they should be thanking them for before they expect it—and then a truly confident (read: not cocky) person doesn’t expect thanks in the first place
A laugh barrels out of me. I type quickly. Me: I would never pretend to be anything but cocky (read: cocky around you). Do you want to know or not?
Ari: Yes
I smile. Me: Booster pa
rty this Friday, where I’ve arranged a convenient meet for our two favorite people
I don’t tell her I’ve left all the planning up to Gavin—that he’s the one putting the details together. I figure he’ll feel like a god at his own party, and that could work in Ari’s girl’s favor. But I don’t mind taking a little credit here.
Ari: Nice, Ryder. You work fast
Right. When there’s something I want…
Oh, the many responses to that pummel my head. I’m tempted, as my thumbs hover over the screen, to let them fly. But I reel it in. We’re not there yet. So I accept her small form of praise and write back: I aim to please
Then I immediately cringe. Knowing Ari, she’ll take that absolutely the wrong way. It’s like walking across a bed of hot coals with her sometimes, dancing in and out of the fire, trying to get burned as little as possible. She’s so…delicate. Physically as well as emotionally.
Ari: ;)
My eyebrows hike up my forehead. I’m already punching in my reply, asking her if that’s humor I sense in her response, when my name being called breaks through the cloud of bliss. I stop typing.
“Nash!”
I jerk my gaze away from my phone and look up. Coach is waving me over. Glancing once at my phone, I decide it’s probably better to leave it at that with Ari. I’ll end up botching things soon enough. I slip my phone into my pack near the bottom bleacher and then head over to Coach and some other man who’s standing near him.
“What’s up, Coach?” I say, then nod to the other guy. A faculty member, though I can’t recall his name. Not a professor, a counselor, I think.
Coach lays a heavy hand on my shoulder and lowers his head to talk over the wind. “You’ve received a phone call.”
My insides lock up. Tension forms between my shoulder blades. He didn’t call my cell—had to use a landline—so I already know. Glancing between coach and the counselor, I straighten my spine, feeling like I need to deflect the shame suddenly worming its way in. My father’s voice, telling me to man up, drifts to my ears on the next gust of wind, and I shake my head.
