The truth is, I don’t know my mother, so there’s nothing to miss. She’s still alive, somewhere, I assume. My father once said that she couldn’t handle the pressures of this life. That she was weak and selfish. That’s all. Nothing more. I was five, my first day of Kindergarten, watching all the kids hug their moms goodbye. Mothers wiping smeared, teary makeup from their eyes.
It was the first time I can actually remember wondering about my mom. I’m sure I had before then, I had to have, but that was such a profound moment that it’s the one that sticks out above the rest.
After my father summed up my mother in a sentence, like he would a business transaction gone wrong, I never asked him again. I knew I’d never get a real answer as to her whereabouts. And he probably didn’t know or care, anyway. He’s not the type to dwell. I imagine my mother offended him in some way, probably by leaving him, and that was it. No contact—from him or me. He wrote her off.
She’s a blacklisted Wyndemere.
And she became the instrument by which I measured my life. Making sure I stayed well within the lines, never straying, as to not bring down that banishment upon myself.
I don’t know why I’m even continuing to think on the matter now. I told Vee a form of the truth, the short—that I didn’t know her. And I should be thinking of anything else. Her question has just caused some deep, cavernous void to expand in my chest. Along with my parents’ continued belittling of me after my expulsion, I’m feeling more than vulnerable.
Empty.
I pick at the lacy tablecloth, pulling at a loose string, hoping the event wraps up early.
“Something witty.”
My fingers release the string, and I turn in my chair to face Ryder. His hair is slicked back away from his eyes, the color darker than usual, not falling in its typical, haphazard style. He’s fidgeting with cufflinks that are attached to a black tux, a black tie rests under his smoothly shaven neck, and his eyes are squinted, the creases extending toward his temples as he smiles.
I take all this in within a matter of a second before my brain catches up, questioning why he’s here. Did he follow me? “What did you say?”
Pulling out the chair beside me, he sits quickly. “I said, something witty.?
?? He leans forward, elbows to thighs, his broad shoulders even more pronounced in the tux. “I’ve been staring at you for about five minutes, trying to come up with some clever thing to say. But I couldn’t wait to talk to you any longer. So, here I am. Without a witty line. Just my presence.”
I twist my crossed knees toward him, pulling the long skirt of my dress with so I can hide my discarded shoes. “And why is your presence here, exactly?”
He waggles his eyebrows, making my mouth inch into a smile. “I’d accuse you of stalking me,” he says. “But then you could accuse me of the same right back. I mean, what are the chances that we were both required to attend the same event, and yet, didn’t manage to discover this particular detail until now?”
My smile grows. “This is where you were going to take me?”
He nods, long and slow. “In fact, it was. And I have to say—” his gaze plunges to my champagne colored dress; the little bit of cleavage it reveals and the tapered waist “—you did an excellent job of finding something to wear on such short notice.”
I wave a hand through the air dismissively. “Yeah, well, thank you. But this was not my doing.”
“Ah,” he says, and his eyes leave me—I note not without difficulty—to roam the room until he locates my parents. “So you really weren’t standing me up.”
I shrug. “I have no reason to lie to you…yet.”
“Other than the possibility you may get tossed into the ocean or your car egged. Or milked.” He makes a face, scrunching his forehead. “Yeah, milked doesn’t really work. We need a proper name for that.”
Glancing down at the table, I try to stifle my laugh. “Well, there is that. I could always spend the rest of the semester in fear…but—” I look up at him quickly, and damn. I do not want to get pulled into his thrall. I’m fighting it hard—but the little bit of champagne I had earlier is making me too easy a target for his charms. “But I feel I’ve leveled the playing field some.”
His mouth tips up into a bright, adorably sexy smile. “You have.”
I shake my head, trying to gain traction with my wandering thoughts. “So, why are you here?”
He looks away and points to a man talking to two of Ryder’s team members. “Coach insists we do some charities a few times a year. Not that we—or I—don’t want to anyway. He just feels it readies some of us for the big leagues.”
I notice it’s only a select number of players; the ones who get the most attention at school. The ones who, obviously, the coach feels are going to go pro after college. Turning my attention back to Ryder, it hits me for the first time that this man will soon be in a whole different league.
“He’s priming you for the big time,” I say, reaching for my sparkling water, needing the moisture for my suddenly dry throat and also to give my hands something to do.
Ryder laughs, a deep sound that resonates in my chest. “I don’t know about that. But I like going to these. They give me an excuse to invite hot chicks out and show off.” He bows out his chest, showing off his tux, and I cannot help but notice that—yes—he looks damn fine in it.
I don’t argue that fact. Instead, I avert my gaze toward the dance floor. Where I watch my father lead Becca across the room toward the refreshment table.
“Dance with me,” Ryder says.