Page 26

W ith a practically naked Ryder beside me in bed, I can’t properly focus on my mindless scrolling.

Instead, I pig out on the stupid amount of food we ordered in and smile like a damn fool because this is the best New Year’s Eve I’ve had in a long time.

The ball is going to drop in three hours.

I haven’t laughed this hard since the last time we were together, and I both love and hate that because I’m enjoying this much more than I’d admit to him.

“I’m genuinely concerned,” Ryder says, staring at the television as it plays an episode of a murder documentary I found.

“So, you, like, watch true crime shows often?”

“Sometimes, I watch them right before bed,” I say, smiling because I can already anticipate his response.

“I find them comforting.”

He stares blankly.

“You find this shit comforting? Saylor, a favorite blanket is comforting. A snack. A beer. Hell, even a stuffed animal from childhood.” He waves his hand toward the screen.

“This shit is not comforting.”

“Tomato, tomahto.” I shrug, grabbing one of the cookies from the bakery order Ryder placed.

“If it makes you feel better, I also love reality TV shows, Desperate Housewives , and One Tree Hill .”

“What about Grey’s Anatomy ?” he asks.

“My mom loves that.”

“No.” I giggle.

“I work in a hospital; I know things shown on there are not how things are done. It annoys me to watch it, truthfully.”

“You watched One Tree Hill . Pretty sure everyone’s parents don’t just … let their kids live alone,” he replies, and instantly, my eyes widen.

“Ryder Cambridge, you’ve seen One Tree Hill ?” I gasp.

“Are you serious?”

“Oh, calm down. My cousin Sasha did when she came over,” he states boldly.

“I just happened to be in the room a time or two and was basically forced to watch.”

Testing him, I sit up in bed, turning my body toward him.

“Okay, so tell me then … Team Peyton and Lucas, or Team Brooke and Lucas?”

“Brooke, obviously,” he says unapologetically before shrugging.

“Fine, I got sucked into a few of the episodes when she was watching.”

I picture it—Ryder Cambridge in front of a TV, watching a drama-filled show like One Tree Hill .

Smith would make fun of me so bad when he came home and I was watching it.

I wonder what he’d think if he knew his best friend was a fan.

“Why Team Brooke?” I lift a brow.

“Why not Peyton? She and Luke are clearly soulmates.”

“Yeah, well … soulmates don’t have to hurt five hundred people just to be together, in my opinion,” he says, reaching for the box of cookies and picking up one of the chocolate ones.

“Shit shouldn’t be that hard. You either like someone and want to be with them, or you don’t and you move on.”

This conversation may be about a drama series from the early 2000s, but suddenly, a nerve of mine has been struck.

“But sometimes, things are just not as cut and dry as, Yo, let’s be together and ride off into the sunset, baby ,” I snap.

“There are things to consider before you just … you know, jump into something with someone. Peyton had her own issues. And then Lucas overcomplicated her life by being obsessed with her and trying to always be the good guy.” I wag my finger like I’m in a full-on debate.

“And then Brooke kept throwing herself at him, and she knew that her best friend was miserable in her current relationship and was crushing on Lucas. Still, she kept going after him. Basically leaving him no choice but to give her a chance.” Once I’m done word-vomiting, I pause, swallowing and pushing my shoulders back.

“All I’m saying is, Peyton had her reasons for being wishy-washy—that’s all.”

He’s clearly finding amusement in how irked I am getting over something that was supposed to be lighthearted.

Maybe I’m taking it to heart because, inside, I know what we’re doing is wrong, and one of us is going to get hurt.

But even if that’s true, Ryder seems more than okay with being friends with benefits, despite his whole you either like someone or don’t belief.

“What has you all worked up, Sail-On?” He flips onto his side, facing me.

“Also, if it makes you feel any better, I’m Team Naley for life.”

Normally, those last words would make me swoon because we should all be Team Nathan and Haley.

But I’m still so stuck on what he said before—about either liking someone or not—and I can’t let it go.

“You like this arrangement, right?” I blurt out, pulling my legs up and crossing them in front of me.

“This is what you want?”

I don’t know what made me say it.

I guess because, now, I’m overthinking everything.

Perhaps he thinks I’m being Peyton and sending mixed signals.

No, it can’t be. I’ve been very clear about what I want out of this.

“What are you really asking me, Saylor?” he drawls, eyes searching mine.

“Better yet, what is it you want me to tell you?”

“The truth, I guess,” I whisper.

“Do you think I’m overcomplicating this? Or are you happy that we’re keeping it platonic?”

“You told me to bite my tongue when I felt the need to tell you my feelings,” he throws back, his expression growing colder.

“So, now what? You don’t want that anymore?”

“I don’t know!” I hiss.

“I don’t know what I want anymore. But I know one thing: I don’t want you to look at me like I’m this complicated human who messes with your life.”

“I never said—” He stops, realizing what I’m saying.

“You’re taking my words about a damn TV show like I meant them for you. That’s fucked up.”

“No,” I say, shaking my head and climbing off the bed.

“It’s just … hearing your perspective on it has made me look around and ask myself, What the hell are we doing? ” I drag my hand over the top of my head.

“You surprised me for Christmas, took me on an adorable date, and then got me an insane hotel room that overlooks Times Square.” I put my hand on my chest. “Ryder, you have practice tomorrow, and yet you traveled half the night just so you could be here for New Year’s to help me check that item off my list.” I drag in a shaky breath.

“What we’re doing isn’t right. You’re having fun. You’re pulling out all the stops, and I’m trying to put on this cool girl persona that is not me at all.”

“Saylor,” he whispers, climbing off the bed and taking my hands, “it’s okay—”

“No, it isn’t.” I sniffle.

“I am not the girl who does friends with benefits. Or the one who plays hard to get and acts like I don’t want love or a relationship. That’s all I’ve ever wanted! But I know I’m not the girl men settle down with. I’m the fun one. The sexy one. The wild one,” I practically cry.

“And now that you’ve realized that and the fun is over, I know what’s going to happen.” I look down.

“It’s okay though. Just go. Go before I get more attached, like the pathetic, hopeless romantic that I am.”

He doesn’t walk away, but instead, he cups my cheeks, forcing me to look at him.

“I’ve been biting my tongue because that’s what you told me to do. I agreed to this friends-with-benefits thing because I thought it was the only way I could carry on with this friendship.” He peers down at me.

“After I had you once, there was no way I could just be your friend, Saylor. No fucking way at all.”

My heart pumps loudly in my chest, and I frown.

“What are you saying?”

Keeping his palms against my face, he bends down closer.

“I’m saying, I want much more than just to be your friend, Saylor Sawyer. But you’ve been so damn stubborn about it that I didn’t want to push you away by telling you that.”

He brings his lips to mine, pressing a kiss to them.

“I want you. I’ve wanted you for a long damn time, but after spending Christmas together … that want has become a need. A fucking must.” He kisses me again.

“I like you. I really, really like you.” He stops, grinning.

“Even though, if I’m being honest, you scare the absolute shit out of me.”

“I do?” I whisper.

“Why?”

“Because you’re the type of girl who gets away. And when you do, the sorry motherfucker you left behind will spend his life thinking about you.” He kisses my forehead.

“And I don’t know who convinced you that you’re not the type of girl men settle down with because, Saylor … that couldn’t be further from the truth. I’m just sorry you don’t see it.”

Everything is changing within seconds, and I don’t know where to even go from here.

“My brother,” I squeak.

“I don’t want to bring more drama into his life. You’re his best friend.”

“Are you worried you’ll get tired of me and not want to come around Smith when I’m there?” he asks softly.

“What?” I frown. “No. I’m scared that when you move on, it’ll be awkward with you and my brother. He always takes my side.” I cringe.

“Even when I wish he wouldn’t. I wish he’d put himself first.”

He drops his hands from my cheeks and grips my chin instead, forcing it upward so that my eyes are staring directly into his.

“You don’t have to worry, Saylor.”

“Everyone says that,” I whisper.

“No one goes into a relationship thinking it’s going to end shitty.”

“Just give me a chance,” he utters against my lips.

“We can take it slow. We can go at whatever pace you want. All I want is a chance.”

I stare at him, unable to even croak out a word.

“Trust me,” he whispers.

As guarded as I’ve tried to be since the shit show with Rowan, everything that comes from his lips seems genuine.

So far, he’s given me no reason not to trust him.

I lean against him, and my loose T-shirt brushes against his bare chest just before I press my lips to his.

“Okay,” I whisper before kissing him again.

“I trust you.”

I can see the exact moment it happens.

The moment when Saylor Sawyer drops the mask and shows me who she really is.

Someone who is vulnerable, despite the way she’s been trying to hide it.

A person who believes in true love and wants it for herself, even though she’s spent all our time together saying that’s not what she needs.

I’ve seen through her wall the whole time, but I didn’t want to force her to show me herself; I wanted her to trust me enough for her to do it on her own.

But then she said the words I trust you , and my heart hurt.

The secret I’ve held inside since I found out that it was her in that sex tape or that I accidentally saw a few mere seconds of it—well, that’s something I should tell her.

But I’m a coward. I’m too fucking scared that it’ll ruin what we’ve built.

So, like a bitch, I keep it inside, even though I know I can’t run from this forever.

One day, it’ll come out, I’m sure.

“I want to fuck you so bad,” I murmur against her lips.

“I want to feel your pussy wrapped around my cock, choking it with desperation, the way it always does.”

“Yes,” she moans, nipping my bottom lip.

She’s so beautiful with her wet hair and oversize T-shirt on over her panties.

She hasn’t even touched me yet on this trip because I got so turned on from licking her pussy while fingering her ass that I came on myself.

So, until the ball drops, I plan to bury my cock inside of her, filling her over and over again with my cum until my cock can’t physically do it anymore.

And then … I plan to do it all over again.

With a blanket draped around her bare body and my briefs on, we peek out the window to Times Square as the countdown kicks off.

I’ve never been the guy who stays awake to watch the ball drop.

Unless I was at a party and it happened to be on the television, I didn’t give a shit about witnessing it.

Even right now, I’m far more concerned with kissing Saylor than I am that damn ball.

But here I stand, eyes locked on it.

I loop my arm around her back, digging my fingertips into her side.

When the countdown gets to ten, she gives me a quick glance, her eyes wide with excitement and her smile big.

“Ten, nine,” we say together, and she turns her gaze back to the ball, resting the side of her head on my body.

“Eight, seven, six, five, four, three, two, one! Happy New Year!”

We both cheer, and I pull her against my body, before leaning down.

I plant a long kiss on her lips, and I swear I can feel her heart beating.

Pulling back, I grin down at her.

“Happy New Year, Brat. Glad I got to be the lucky son of a bitch who was here to ring it in with you.”

“Me too,” she whispers, her smile still broad.

She wraps her arms around me, squeezing me tightly.

“Thank you, Ryder. No one has ever done things for me the way you have. Thank you so much.”

And with those words, my heart melts in my chest like I’m a fucking pussy.