Page 32 of Running Risk

RYLEE: NOW

Stretching my body, my head pounds, and I open my eyes but immediately pinch them closed from the bright light filtering through the windows.

I groan and clutch my head as I roll onto my back, bumping into something hard and warm.

I freeze. Slowly, I turn my head and glance over my shoulder.

I’m met with a bare, sculpted chest, and my heartbeat kicks up a notch.

My eyes trail up the body and over many scars to his face, finding Clayton.

He’s relaxed with his mouth slightly open.

His chest moves with his breathing, and his hand relaxes on my hip.

The sheets are draped around his stomach, so I can’t see if he has anything on.

I throw the sheets up, checking myself and see only my black lace bra and matching thong.

I squeeze the sheets against my chest and rack my brain for memories of last night.

I remember the dancing and feeling on top of the world in his arms. I could feel the effect I had on him, which only made me want him more.

It felt great to be wanted. But I don’t remember how I got back to my house, or where my clothes are.

I’m attempting to remain calm, but my head aches, and dread fills my body.

I glance at him as I slowly slide off the bed, pausing every few inches.

When my feet touch the floor, I stand up, letting the bedding fall.

I sway as the pounding increases in my head.

“Ry?” Clayton’s gravely voice startles me.

I spin around, making the room spin more. I grab my robe, draped across the foot of my bed, and clutch it to my chest to hide as much of my body as possible.

Clayton watches me with amusement. “Everything okay?”

“Excuse me?” I narrow my eyes at him.

He nods to my end table. “There’s water and Motrin right there to help the hangover.”

“Do you mind?” I wave in his direction, still lying on the bed, watching me.

He tucks his arm behind his head, resting his head on his forearm. “What?”

“Turn around, Clayton,” I say, raising my voice, then cringing when my head lurches in pain.

He chuckles. “Why? It’s nothing I didn’t get a good look at last night.”

I gasp. “Oh my god.” I cover my mouth while still clutching the robe.

“We had sex.” I back away from the bed toward the bathroom.

“I can’t believe this,” I whisper to myself, looking at the ground.

“How can I not remember?” I’ve been dreaming about being with him since I was sixteen.

How can I not remember when it finally happened?

“Um.” He sits up in the bed, resting his weight on his hands behind him. “I mean, as much as I wish you could remember last night, and how you threw yourself at me . . .” He chuckles, and I narrow my eyes at him.

“I didn’t throw myself at you.” I tuck the robe around under my arms, keeping my open back against the bathroom doorway. This is so humiliating. How could I throw myself at him? I blame the alcohol because there’s no other reason.

Clayton gets off the bed, stalking toward me as his eyes never leave me.

His jeans hang low on his hips, and his chest and abs muscles are on full display as he gets closer.

It takes effort not to drink in his whole body.

He pinches my chin with his thumb and forefinger, bringing my eyes up to meet his.

“When we have sex, you will remember.” His eyes look at my lips, and my breath gets caught in my throat as my heart hammers inside my chest. He leans in closer, his mouth hovering right above mine.

“And I want the first time we kiss to be seared into both our minds.” He tilts his head to the side, leaning in closer as his cheek ghosts against my jaw, making my entire body tingle.

“I’ll make coffee while you take a shower. ”

I slowly nod as he straightens, and his eyes flick to my neck, smirking as he walks out of my bedroom. I slump against the doorway, needing a moment to calm myself. What just happened? My mind keeps replaying what he said.

When we have sex?

I will remember?

I finally peel myself off the doorway and walk into the bathroom.

Planting my palms on the countertop, I peer into the mirror.

My hair’s a rat's nest on top of my head, and my mascara is smeared under my eyes. I stop my appraisal when my eyes narrow on the side of my neck. There’s a small discolored mark there, like a bruise. Like a . . . hickey?

Dropping the robe, I storm out of the bathroom. “What is this?” I stop right behind Clayton, standing at the coffee maker.

He glances over his shoulder. “Your underwear.”

Hands on my hips, I say, “What’s this on my neck, Clayton?” I motion toward the mark.

He faces me, folding his arms across his chest. “Hmm. Looks similar to mine.” He angles his neck to the side.

I blink, then scan his neck, finding a similar mark on the crook of his neck. My eyes jump to meet his, and I find playfulness reflected there. I haven’t seen him like this in, well . . . I can’t remember the last time. He looks happy, and I’m confused. “I didn’t do that,” I state.

“There’s no one else who could’ve done it.”

“Be serious.” I scowl. He makes no sense.

What’s he saying? I’ve had feelings for him for the majority of my life.

No relationship lasted because I always found that they didn’t matter to me as much as Clayton always did.

Even when we weren’t close, I couldn’t find someone to replace him in my life.

I have felt that there has been a major void since he left.

I don’t want to mess this up and assume, after all these years, that he could actually have feelings for me too.

He sighs. “I am.” His hands frame my face, and I don’t move. “I wouldn’t let anyone else mark me but you. Now, will you please go get dressed because I’m having a hard time keeping my eyes on your face.”

My eyes widen, remembering I’m standing in front of him in my underwear in the kitchen. I dash into my bedroom and close the door. I run a hot shower, and as the fog clears in my head, a few memories come back.

Clayton was holding me against his chest as we swayed to the music, and I lightly press my fingers against my stomach, remembering his hand laying claim to me.

I called him a beautiful man, and he held me closer, saying, “There’s no one as beautiful as you.” I tuck wet strands of hair behind my ear, thinking of how it felt to have his lips skim the edge of my ear.

I pressed my face into his neck and felt the shiver vibrate through him.

It only egged me on, so I brought my lips to his neck, which elicited a groan from him.

I lightly trace my lips, enjoying the memories of feeling his skin against them.

He told me that I was torturing him. I remember thinking that I was just getting started, hence the hickey, but no matter how close we got to kissing, it never happened .

I squeeze my eyes closed as I let the water run down my face.

Wiping the water from my eyes, I squeeze some shampoo into my palm and massage it into my scalp.

Another memory begins. It was toward the end of the night, and Avery said he would take Trish home.

We were sitting at a booth, and I was cuddled up in Clayton’s arms. He tucked the hair in my face behind my ear, saying he should get me home too.

He stood, cradling me against his chest, and got into an Uber outside.

Once he got me home, I remember begging him to stay with me and stripping off my clothes.

He only tucked me in bed, saying he wasn’t going anywhere until he knew I was okay.

Rinsing off all the soap, I get out of the shower and wrap myself in a towel. I wipe the condensation off the mirror and look at my reflection. I examine my neck and rub at the discolored spot, remembering his lips there.

How I wanted them in more places.

How I wanted him alone and not in the middle of a bar.

How I’ve always wanted him.

Still in my towel, I leave my bedroom and find him reading a book while sipping his coffee on my couch.

I watch as he scans me. His eyes seem to darken the longer he looks at me.

I can’t help noticing how relaxed he looks.

No nervous tells. No rushed behavior. No shirt in sight, and I can’t stop myself from wondering something.

“I have an idea.”