Thrill Ride

by Breezie Bennett

  I’m practically jogging up the stairs, warmth flooding my chest—and my dick—as I unlock the door and swing it open. It’s well after midnight, but that girl never sleeps. Besides, she’s been missing me, too, right?

  “Hey,” I call into the dark living room, flipping on a light and setting my bag on the ground. “You here?”

  “Hi, you.”

  Melody looks as sweet and delicious as ever. Her hair is up in a messy knot, and she’s wearing neon-green glasses, her face clean and natural.

  I rush toward her and wrap her in a hug, trying to figure out why the hell I want to hold her so bad and how her body can fit so perfectly against mine.

  I pull back and grasp her face with both hands, admiring the pink strands that fall around her soft cheeks and vibrant eyes. I lean in to plant a kiss on her lips, but as soon as my mouth is just inches from hers…

  “Dylan.”

  I draw back and frown, noticing a hint of concern flicker in her eyes. “What’s up? Is everything okay?”

  She wets her lips and looks to the ground, as if she can’t even keep eye contact with me. Did something happen?

  I let go of her and angle my head. “Melody?”

  “I’m leaving in two weeks to live on a cruise ship in the Caribbean,” she says slowly. Her voice shakes slightly, and I feel something stab in my chest.

  “I…” I shake my head. Why is she bringing this up? “Yeah, I know.”

  She lifts her gaze to meet mine, and her lips part as she draws in a slow breath.

  I laugh softly and take her hands. “Here.” I pull her over to the living room and gently guide her onto the yoga mat.

  She smiles. “What are you doing?”

  I tug her hands until both of her feet are planted on the rubber mat. “You’re stressed out about something. Isn’t this how you get unstressed? By bending in inhuman yet insanely hot ways?” I shake her arms gently. “Come on. Destress.”

  The corners of her mouth turn down, and she sits on the mat, her hands still in mine, and I sit down with her.

  “Are you gonna tell me what’s going on up here?” I tap the side of her head.

  “I told you. I’m leaving.”

  “Melody…” I lean back onto my palms. “That’s not a new development.”

  “We can’t keep doing…the physical stuff.”

  I frown. “Is this about the energy of the space? Because I thought we agreed the new energy is a hell of a lot better, and—”

  She waves her hand. “No. It’s about me. I’m afraid of getting…” She bites her lip, and I can tell she’s struggling to say whatever she’s feeling. Not a common occurrence for Melody No-Filter Hayes. “Attached.”

  The word twists in my gut, and I clench my jaw.

  She looks at me and places a hand on my knee, sending heat and electricity racing through me. “I think we both know…” Her voice is soft and weak. “It’s not just physical.”

  I open my mouth to protest, but there’s no fucking way I can even try to deny that. Melody and I have a weird, inexplicable connection. It makes no sense, because we’re beyond wrong for each other, but I know we both feel it.

  I clear my throat and touch her hand. “Yeah, okay. I won’t argue.”

  “I have to follow my fate and listen to the universe. And the cozier I get with you, the harder that’s going to be for me.”

  “Melody, that’s—”

  “A bunch of voodoo hippie-dippie bullshit,” she interjects. “I know how you feel, Dylan. But I am who I am. I trust the universe, and this is what I believe. And getting feelings and emotions and sex all intertwined with you is messing it up.”

  Those words hit like a knife in my chest. Shit. I guess I didn’t really know how much Melody leaving was going to hurt. Maybe I knew, and I just didn’t want to face it.

  The very thought of not sleeping with her again makes me want to throw something at the wall, but I know I have to respect her. She doesn’t want to get too attached, and that’s probably for the best. Neither do I. Because we shouldn’t. Because it’s completely illogical and wrong and couldn’t possibly make any less sense.

  “I get it.” I sigh deeply and lean forward, forcing an easy smile onto my face, even though smiling is the last thing this conversation makes me want to do. “You’re definitely right. We got a little, uh…” I run a hand through my hair and chuckle. “Carried away.”

  She snorts. “Yeah. A little. And it’s not like we could ever actually be more than…” Her voice trails off, but she doesn’t have to finish that sentence. I know we can never be more than physical. The whole opposites-attract thing is fun as hell, but it isn’t meant to last.

  Right?

  “Don’t sweat it.” I nudge her leg playfully and stand up, offering her my hands. “And before you say anything, the energy of the space will be just fine.” I throw her a wink.

  “Thanks, Dylan.” She takes my hands and pulls her nimble body up as if she weighs four pounds. “I guess I’ll just…” She drops my hands and glances toward the hallway that leads to the guest room. The last place on earth I want her to be sleeping. “Go to bed.”

  “Or…” I raise my brows. “We could throw on a movie. As…roommates.”

  She laughs softly and rolls her giant blue eyes. Her expression flashes, doubt and uncertainty mixing in her gaze. “Good night, Dylan.”

  I swallow hard as my stomach drops, a surprising amount of disappointment trickling over me like rain. “Night, Mel.”

  Twenty-two

  Melody

  The past week has been weird. And hard. And pretty sad. The Riders have their enormously important playoff game at home today, and Dylan gave me his extra tickets. We still talk, and laugh, and undress each other with our eyes every eight seconds, but I’m constantly trying to convince myself that not sleeping with him is for the best.

  I’m not so sure I’m convinced.

  But convincing is the name of the game today, because it’s time to get Robert into that damn stadium. This is the closest the Riders have gotten to the Super Bowl in years, and he’s been making enormous progress since I’ve been coming over.

  I flip the shiny sideline tickets in my hand as I step out of my car in Robert’s parking lot, taking a slow, deep breath to center myself.

  I want him to go to the game because it would be an amazing breakthrough for him. And because he should see his son play. And okay, fine, because I care a whole hell of a lot about Dylan, and I know what it would mean to him.

  “Come on, Robert,” I say under my breath as I head up the stairs to his condo. “Don’t let me down.”

  “Pinky!” He swings the door open and smiles with more enthusiasm than usual, brightness shining from his face. “Wasn’t expecting you today. Come in, come in!”

  “Okay, well…” I step inside and look around. He has all the blinds open, sunlight pouring in. “I can’t stay for long. And neither can you.”

  “What in the good heck are you talking about, girly?” He shuffles toward the kitchen to pour us each a glass of iced tea. “I can’t go anywhere today. The Riders are playing.” He points at the massive flat-screen on the living room wall. “Got the old ESPN all fired up and ready to go.”

  “Actually, Robert…” I bounce into the kitchen and put my hand in front of the bottle of iced tea to stop him from pouring it, offering a cheesy grin. “That’s where we’re going.”

  His face darkens, shadowed with the same pain and fear that I saw when I first met him. “What?”

  The syllable crashes down on me and fills the room with a tense silence.

  I hold up the tickets—Dylan gave me three—and wave them around playfully. “It’s the division semifinals. They’re playing at home. Sideline tickets. You’ll practically be able to smell the sweat.”

  “Melody.” He clears his throat sternly. “I know we’ve gone on walks and even to the grocery a couple of times now, but I can’t go to the football stadium. There’s just…it’s too many…” H
e looks away. “I just can’t. The answer is no.”

  “Look around, Robert.” I gesture at the clean, bright space. “This place was a dungeon when I met you. No offense,” I add quickly with a laugh. “And you barely left that chair. Look at you now!”

  He glances down at his crisp Riders T-shirt and jeans. “I have gotten things a bit more together, that’s true—”

  “Heck yeah, you have! Life is waiting for you, Robert. Dylan is waiting for you.”

  He pinches the bridge of his nose, squeezing his eyes shut and knowing full well that he can’t lose an argument with me. “Does he know you’re doing this?”

  “No. He and I haven’t been…” I push away a surge of sadness. “Talking as much. But it would mean the entire world and solar system and universe if you’d go to this playoff game.”

  He frowns, thick black brows pulling together. “What do you mean you haven’t been talking as much? You two should be madly in love by now.”

  My chest tightens at the thought, and then my brain lights up with an idea. “I’ll tell you in the car.” I cross my arms and raise a brow, knowing Robert Rivera is the second-nosiest person I know, after myself of course, and that’s a surefire way to get him into my Mini Cooper and on the way to the stadium.

  He grumbles for a second. “You’re a sorceress, I’m convinced. Some kind of voodoo witch.” He rushes to the bedroom and waves his hand at me. “I’m getting a hat.”

  I bounce up and down on my toes with joy.

  “But you should be real clear about something.” He points a finger at me as he walks to the door to get his tennis shoes. “You’re not doing this because you give a damn about some old man and his weird problems.

  “Huh?”

  “You’re doing this because you love Dylan. The way I love Sherry.” He lifts his head up after tying his shoes and crosses his arms with certainty. His eyes beam with confidence, and his posture is straight and strong. “Which is why…” Robert draws in a deep, slow breath before finishing his sentence. “We have a stop to make on the way.”

  “A stop?” I pull the door open and marvel at the comfort with which he steps through the doorway.

  “You have three of those sideline tickets, don’t you?” He eyes me.

  I glance at the aqua cardstock in my hand. “Yes…”

  “We’re getting Sherry. And she’s sitting with us. And that, my dear, is how far I’ve come.”

  I can barely move or breathe as we walk out of the stairwell and into the parking lot. My throat is tight, and my eyes are stinging with swells of emotion.

  Robert is practically jogging to my car, and bubbles of laughter rise in my chest.

  “Wait up, crazy man!”

  “Seat belts on now,” Robert asserts as we get into my car.

  I click mine on and back out of the parking lot, smiling like a child as my mind floods with thoughts of what Dylan is going to say or think or feel when he sees both his parents at the game. Together.

  Robert chats excitedly as I drive, giving me confusing directions to the place Sherry is staying.

  As I park the car in front of her rental townhouse, I give Robert a reassuring smile. “Remember. Peace and comfort are in here.” I place my hand on my heart. “Fear is in here.” I point to my head.

  Robert taps his own chest and nods. “This one wins.”

  “Always.” I nod brightly and click the unlock button, giving him an encouraging nudge. “Now go get her! I’ll be right here.”

  He pushes the car door open and combs his fingers through his hair. “I just…” He swallows, and his deep-brown eyes widen. “Thank you, Pinky.”

  I smile and lift a shoulder.

  After an agonizingly long seven minutes, the front door of the townhouse opens slowly, and Robert steps out. Alone.

  I hold my breath.

  She said no. She doesn’t want to sit with him. He’s going to be totally crushed, and this entire thing will have blown up in my face.

  He walks down the doorsteps and swings my car door open, a wild grin on his face. “She’s getting her good camera!” He gives me two thumbs-up.

  “Oh, hell yes!” I reach my hand out for a high five and savor the wash of relief and joy that comes over me.

  Seconds later, a sweet-looking woman in a Riders jersey and white pants comes down the stairs, waving wildly.

  I get out of the driver’s side and come around to give her a big hug. “I’m Melody!” I say as we embrace.

  “Oh, I know, I know.” She smiles and pushes a strand of light brown curly hair behind her ear. “Robert’s told me all about you. We’ve been, um…” She grins and glances at him. “Talking quite a bit.”

  “That’s amazing!” I draw back and laugh. “Good things, I hope.” I point my finger at Robert playfully.

  “Well, he seems to think you’re a perfect match for our Dylan, and…” She looks me up and down, and I clench my jaw, wondering what on earth she’s thinking about me. “I could not agree more.”

  “Oh,” I say softly.

  We hug again, and I try to ignore the pangs of hurt that fire off in my heart and mind at the idea of me being a match for Dylan. His parents are sweet, and they mean so well, but they’re just going to have to understand that he and I are terribly wrong for each other. He isn’t my destiny. It’s just not meant to be.

  But now isn’t the time for that conversation.

  I laugh when Robert and Sherry opt to sit together in the back seat. “No funny business back there, you two.” I glance in the rearview mirror.

  Robert chuckles. “It’s like we’re in an Uber, isn’t it?”

  “Robert.” Sherry flicks her hand. “You don’t even know what an Uber is.”

  “I absolutely do,” he protests.

  They talk and laugh as I drive us to the stadium, and my head spins with rushing swirls of thoughts and emotions. Robert is wrong. I don’t love Dylan. I’ve wanted to get his dad to a Riders game since he first opened up to me about it. I just like to help and heal.

  I don’t love Dylan. I can’t love Dylan.

  Twenty-three

  Dylan

  “Of course,” I grunt under my breath as we break the timeout huddle. “Of course it would fucking come down to a fifty-three-yard field goal.”

  “Crush it, bro.” Chase smacks the back of my helmet as I jog out to the field to win or lose the entire AFC division semifinals.

  The Steelers have put up a hell of a fight, and I haven’t missed an extra point or field goal yet.

  The crowd in the Riders stadium is roaring, every seat packed. We all knew this game would be close, and I had a pesky feeling I would have to make the game-winning, or losing, kick.

  I roll out my shoulders and swallow the rush of adrenaline that pumps through my veins. I can hear shouts of my name as I bite down hard on my mouth guard.

  Everything seems to be moving in slow motion—the cheering, the Steelers defensive line running out to take their positions, the refs jogging over to the goalposts. My head pounds, and the world fades out as I fix my gaze on the two taunting yellow bars fifty-three yards away.

  My mind flashes with a thought of Melody. I know she’s here. She’s close to the field, too. She’s watching and yelling and jumping up and down with every play, even though she “hates” professional sports.

  I relax my jaw and shake it off. It doesn’t matter right now. Nothing matters right now except getting the ball through those damn goalposts. At least that’s what I’m telling myself.

  I tighten every muscle in my body as the ball is snapped, and everything around me disappears.

  I swear I’m not breathing as I make contact, and the ball launches through the air. A heavy silence settles over the entire stadium.

  “Shit,” I whisper, noticing that the ball drifts a bit to the right.

  I can barely fucking look at this point, but by the grace of God—or the universe, according to Melody—it flies right through the goalposts, and the refs hold up both t
heir arms.

  Hollering and cheering erupt in the crowd as reality hits me that I just won us the semifinals.

  There’s only two seconds left on the game clock, so…shit. It’s really over.

  “My fucking boy!” Leo rushes to me and shoves me into Elliot, who pats my back.

  Suddenly, the field is completely stormed by all the players, and I see Chase and Matt McKenzie, our backup quarterback and Chase’s unlikely protégé, dumping a cooler of Gatorade over the head of Coach Watson.

  The rush of adrenaline and hype floods my body, and I chest-bump and pump fists with all my teammates as the announcers on the loudspeakers go crazy over the win.

  As I laugh and celebrate with my boys, I can’t help but scan the crowd for that damn pink hair. She’s gotta be on the field by now. She’s been sitting on the sidelines. I think.

  Unless she decided not to come. She doesn’t want to get attached. And I don’t, either. So why the hell do I want so bad to see her right now? Hug her and kiss her and listen to her laugh, take her home and rail her like there’s no fucking tomorrow?

  I feel a tap on my lower back and turn around way too eagerly, hoping hard to find giant blue eyes and some blindingly colorful outfit.

  “That was a good kick, Dylan.” Asher Danes, Elliot’s six-year-old son, looks up at me and nods with approval.

  I smile and laugh softly, crouching down to meet his gaze and ruffling his soft brown hair. “Thank you, buddy.”

  I glance up at Jessica, Elliot’s wife, holding Asher’s hand. She pulls the boy close and leans in to tell me something, brushing a blond curl out of her face and narrowing her eyes. “I, uh, think there’s someone waiting for you.” Jessica juts her chin at the crowd.

  I follow her gaze and don’t have to look very hard before I see the beautiful little ray of pink sunshine waving at me wildly.

  I push my way through the herds of players and reporters, ignoring calls of my name and fixing my entire focus on her slender frame and effervescent giggle. She’s here. And she’s perfect.