Fading Out (Living Heartwood 3)

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.