Page 9

NINE

I should be dressed up for the dinner reservations Ryan made at some swanky restaurant, but I’m not. My hair is in a messy topknot, and I’m lounging in my coziest sweats and tee. Despite my efforts to get into the right headspace for tonight, seeing Jace in the flesh for the first time since our breakup threw me for a loop I still haven’t recovered from. To make matters worse, my apartment search was a total bust.

Although Ryan offered me a place to stay in Chicago, I’m hesitant. Living with him might not be the best idea. My goal is to be independent, not rely on another man, so moving in with him feels like I’m straddling a line I’m not sure I want to cross.

After realizing there was no way I could afford rent on my own and launch my rescue, I resorted to browsing ads for people looking for a roommate. What I found was discouraging.

There was a woman who seemed deeply into juju—sound baths, energy work, and meditation. I could use some peace and positivity, but I’m not even sure what a sound bath is.

Then there was the model with a Teacup Pomeranian, seeking a partner in crime. Being fashionable was a prerequisite, though, and my love of neon-yellow Crocs likely disqualified me.

The final post, the one that made me slam my laptop shut, was from a man in his thirties looking for a female roommate to share a one-bedroom. Socializing with him was a requirement. Needless to say, that wasn’t going to work for me.

Moving in with Ryan is starting to sound more appealing. Even if he did choose the most pretentious restaurant for our dinner date. Hangout. Whatever this is. It isn’t our vibe at all—we’re taco truck, pizzeria, pub food people, at least I thought we were. Maybe he likes this kind of thing now? Which is why I was trying to rally.

It only took trying on one dress that made me self-conscious and uncomfortable before I decided it wasn’t happening and traded my evening wear for sweats.

Ryan is sitting on the couch on his phone when I enter and lean against the doorway. He looks so handsome in a black suit sans tie. The top couple buttons of his shirt are undone, showing a tiny peek at his chest. His hair is slicked back, a style I’ve never seen him wear. I prefer his usual messy look. I clear my throat to catch his attention, and when he glances at my outfit, a smile spreads across his face.

“You think we can stay in tonight? Order room service and watch a movie or something? I’m not really in the mood to go out,” I explain.

“Sure, that sounds great.” He stands and meets me in the doorway.

I shift from side to side. “Sorry, you got all ready. You look handsome.”

He opens his arms, offering the comfort I need, and I take it without hesitation, wrapping my arms around his middle and resting my cheek against his chest. I fill my lungs with his scent, clean with a hint of something woodsy. It’s not cologne, just his natural self and the faint smell of soap. I’ve always loved it. He squeezes me closer, pulling me against him until every inch of my body is pressed to his.

We stand there, wrapped in each other’s embrace, lingering far longer than a friendly hug should. I step back and glance up at his face. Expecting to see disappointment over his ruined plans, but his expression is happy and relaxed.

He walks a couple of steps back to the living room and grabs a leather folio off the coffee table, holding it out to me. “How about you order us some food, and I’ll get changed. I can eat you in bed—” He turns to walk toward his room but suddenly pivots. “Whoa… no!” He laughs awkwardly as his cheeks flush. “I meant to say, we can eat in bed, and you can pick a movie.”

I know it was a slip of tongue. Or maybe a Freudian slip?

I try to speak, but nothing comes out. I clear my throat and try again, “Okay. Yours or mine? Bed, I mean.” My cheeks heat.

“Mine.” He resumes his path to the bedroom.

After ordering more food than two people could possibly eat in one sitting, I head toward Ryan’s room. I thought I’d given him enough time. How long does throwing on sweats really take? But I thought wrong, or maybe right, depending on your perspective.

He’s standing with his back to me, but the mirrored closet reflects a full view of his half-clothed body. His chest and back are on display, beautifully sculpted with muscle. Not bulky or super lean, but somewhere right in between. Compared to Jace’s leaner frame, built for speed, Ryan has a more muscular build as a two-way forward.

He’s in the middle of changing, wearing only low-slung sweatpants with the band of his black boxer briefs visible. The locker room was a tease compared to taking in his full upper body.

There are a couple of tattoos I didn’t see the other day. They are all relatively small, and I can’t see what they are from this distance. He has one on his sternum, at least ten scattered on his arms, and one on his left side. I have the urge to trace them.

A deep chuckle interrupts my thoughts. He meets my eye in the mirror’s reflection with amusement. “Hannah, you look like you’ve seen a ghost. I don’t know if I should feel complimented or offended.” He smirks.

My cheeks feel so warm they could melt an ice cube. Any semblance of a dignified response is stuck in my throat, so I grab a pillow from the bed and chuck it at his head, which only makes him laugh harder. “I was caught off guard, you jerk.” I try to sound indignant, but the laughter bubbling up makes it impossible.

He grabs a T-shirt and quickly tugs it on. “There, I’m all covered. Don’t want to offend your delicate sensibilities, Sunshine.”

I grab another pillow, ready to launch it, but his long strides close the distance before I get the chance. Suddenly, I’m scooped into his arms, bridal style, and tossed onto the bed. I land with a huff, dissolving into a fit of laughter that cramps my stomach and blurs my vision. When I finally wipe away the tears and open my eyes, he’s lying beside me, head propped on his hand, watching me.

His expression is unreadable, but there’s something in his gaze—something soft, something I’ve never noticed before. Without saying a word, he gently wipes away a tear I must have missed. His thumb lingers at my temple, caressing in a soothing motion I’m not even sure he’s aware of. I think he might kiss me, and I’m not sure how I feel about it. But unlike the cringe I felt at the possibility of Jace doing the same, I feel something closer to anticipation.

The moment his hand leaves my face, I quickly sit up in bed, trying to put some space between us. Even as I do it, I’m not sure why. It feels like we’re in danger of crossing lines we can’t come back from. Clearing my throat, I grab the remote from the nightstand and flip through the options to distract myself. Heat radiates from Ryan’s thigh, where it rests inches from mine, making it hard to focus. I scoot back against the headboard, and Ryan mirrors the movement, moving to the other side of the bed.

“What should we watch?” I try to get comfortable.

“Whatever you want.” His voice is soft, almost amused.

After watching about twenty trailers, we finally settle on a thriller about a detective hunting a female serial killer. Our food arrives not long after, and we eat in comfortable silence, pausing the movie occasionally to share theories and predictions.

“I told you,” I gloat as the credits roll.

“All right, my turn. I get to pick the next one.”

It doesn’t take him long to settle on another thriller. I slide under the covers, getting comfortable. “I’m gonna win this one too,” I say through a yawn.

He chuckles. “Leave it to you to turn movie watching into a competition. I thought I was supposed to be the competitive one here, being the athlete and all.”

Scooting closer, he wraps an arm around my waist and pulls me against his side. I tense for only a moment before melting into him. The steady rhythm of his heartbeat echoes in my ear as I rest my head on his chest. I tell myself I’ll move back to my side in five minutes. Just five.

I squint my eyes open, feeling disoriented. The sky outside the window is dark, and the only light in the room comes from the faint glow of the television. There’s a warm, comforting weight wrapped around me, like I’m tucked into a heated blanket. I’m no longer resting on Ryan’s chest but lying on my side, with him curled around me like a koala. One arm is tucked beneath me, the other draped across my body, while his knee is wedged between mine. As I try to wiggle free, he grumbles and pulls me closer. I roll over to face him, giving his shoulder a light shake.

Sleep still thick in his voice, he asks, “What time is it?”

“Don’t know. We fell asleep. I should get up and go back to my room.”

He hums, which I take as agreement. I try to get up, but instead of letting me go, he cradles the back of my head and gently draws me closer. My forehead presses against his neck, and his chin rests on the crown of my head. “Go back to sleep, Hannah.”

My mind scrambles for a rebuttal, but my body has already surrendered, and I drift back to sleep, wrapped in his arms.

When I stir again, sunlight spills into the room, and Ryan’s voice, full of excitement, pulls me from sleep. “Wake up, sleepyhead.”

The spicy-sweet scent of chai coaxes my eyes open, and a big mug waits for me on the nightstand. Ryan hovers at the foot of the bed, watching as I take my first sip. It’s perfect, made just the way I like it, with milk and just enough sugar to balance the bitter black tea.

I’m waiting for the awkwardness to kick in after a night of cuddling, but it never comes. He smiles at me before grabbing a change of clothes and disappearing into the attached bath. Maybe it’s not a big deal for him. I’m sure he shares his bed with women often enough that having me there wasn’t anything special. Though I’m guessing the no-sex-before-cuddling part is probably less common.

We have only two days left. Today is media day, and tomorrow is the All-Star game. Ryan flies out the day after, and I’m not ready for the weekend to end. It’s been the perfect escape from my real life. A post-breakup, pre-life-rebuilding vacation.

While I managed to dodge my influencer duties yesterday—thanks to Ryan sending me videos from the skills competition to post—I won’t be as lucky today. I’ll be filming short videos with the players for social media while Ryan handles interviews. I thought he’d have to be there before the press, but he doesn’t seem to be in any rush.

“Shouldn’t you be at the arena?” I yell to him through the half-open door. He really has a habit of not shutting them.

“Nope, I’ve got a couple of hours before I need to be there. Get up, come with me on a run.”

I laugh, remembering my last attempt at a run. I’m definitely not ready for that level of embarrassment with an audience. “Absolutely not. Do you even know me?”

“Okay.” He strides out of the bathroom, dressed in shorts and a long-sleeved Saints shirt. “Fine, we’ll walk on the beach, and we can pick up something for breakfast first.”

“Sold!” I hop out of bed and head back to my room, quickly throwing on some leggings and a sports bra, and tying a flannel around my waist in case it’s chilly. “Okay, I’m ready.”

He meets me in my room and loops his arm over my shoulders, leading me out of the hotel.

“Do not even think about it!” I’m running away from Ryan, sand flying up under my feet as the salty air blows my hair into my face. Which is making it hard to track him. It’s not exactly an equal match with him being a foot taller than me and, you know, him being an athlete. I dodged him the first time he tried to grab me, but he’s closing in again.

“Give up, Hannah. We know you’re not winning this one,” he shouts, sounding close.

“You promised we wouldn’t run!”

His deep chuckle reaches my ears, and in the next moment, I’m lifted off the ground and pressed against his warm, bare chest. When did he take his shirt off? He adjusts me in his arms, wrapping one around my back and sliding the other under my knees. My instinct is to loop my arms around his neck, but I resist, kicking my feet and trying to squirm out of his grasp. I’m unsuccessful. He tightens his grip, clearly not intending to let me go now that he’s caught me.

He jogs, carrying me effortlessly, as if I weigh nothing to him. Before I know what’s happening, we reach the water. The cold ocean spray splashes against the soles of my feet and the backs of my legs. He keeps going despite my protests, wading deeper into the sea. As the water reaches his waist, my butt dips into the chilly waves, forcing me to loop my arms around his neck. “Don’t you dare! Ryan Michael Logan!” I shriek. “Do not do it!”

He does it. His booming laugh is the last thing I hear before I’m fully submerged in icy salt water. It’s not exactly a polar bear plunge, but it’s still a shock to my system. He’s right there when my head breaks the surface. While he stands with the water just reaching his chest, I’m left treading water, too short to touch the ocean floor. I launch myself at him, trying to dunk him under, but I don’t have enough leverage. Instead, I end up with my legs wrapped around his waist, arms around his neck, and our faces just inches apart. His laughter cuts off abruptly as he registers our new position.

His gaze fixates on my lips. I instinctively lick them and lower my eyes to his, which are slightly parted. For the second time in the last twenty-four hours, I think he might kiss me. I’m still unsure how I feel about it, but I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t a little curious. How would his lips feel against mine? Would it be a slow, teasing glide or something hungry and possessive? Would his stubble leave my lips red and raw? The thought sends a flutter through my stomach.

His fingers dig into the soft flesh of my hips as he pulls me closer. The movement causes a glint around his neck, the sun reflecting off a silver chain resting on his sternum. I hook my finger around it, inspecting it more closely. I’ve never noticed it, but it’s clearly not new. My heart clenches with an emotion I’m not ready to name.

“What’s this?” I ask, even though I know the answer. His cheeks flush. I’m not sure if it’s a result of my discovery or from physical exertion.

“You know what it is.”

In college, I was obsessed with rings—nothing fancy, mostly cheap sterling silver bands that I would stack. I don’t wear them anymore, preferring gold now. But I had one I would wear on my thumb. It was thicker and had my name engraved on it. I would always spin it around my finger, a nervous habit. I lost it the summer I met Ryan.

On the necklace hangs that ring.

“Have you worn it this whole time?” Too stunned to filter my thoughts.

“Yes.”

I’m speechless, unsure what to say or even how to feel. Emotions flicker through me like scenes from an old-time movie, disjointed and overwhelming, each one adding more confusion than clarity. Why does he have it? And why does he still wear it?

I try not to get ahead of myself, but it’s impossible not to search for meaning. Sure, people wear friendship bracelets, but this? Wearing my ring around his neck, close to his heart… it has to mean more than that. My mind tumbles back to when we first met, to the way I used to feel about him before life complicated everything. Those feelings are hard to erase completely, no matter how hard I’ve tried.

I shake my head, trying to steady the hope rising in my chest because with that hope comes conflict. As much as I want to believe this means something, I can’t afford to. Not when I’m trying to stay away from situations that might leave me losing myself again. It’s not a risk I can take.

Maybe I’m just reading too much into this. It wouldn’t be the first time. Desperate to dispel the swirl of emotions building inside me, I finally speak. “Where’d you find it?”

“Umm, well, I guess technically I stole it.” He looks away sheepishly.

I sigh as some of the tension leaves my body, replaced by amusement. “You stole it?”

“Yep, that one time we were late for class because you overslept. Natalie let me into the dorms to wake you up. It was on your nightstand. I kind of… just… umm… pocketed it.”

I can’t help the laugh that bubbles out of me. “You little klepto.”

“Since we are doing the confessional thing…” He mumbles something under his breath that I don’t catch.

“What?”

He shifts back and forth in the water, still holding me around the waist. “I also stole your phone number,” he confesses with a small, guilty smile. His eyes flick down to where my finger is still hooked around the chain, then meet mine again.

“You what?” I squint, trying to remember how we even exchanged numbers all those years ago. “You told me you got it from the class roster online.”

He clears his throat, a flush creeping up his cheeks. “Uh, no. You asked how I got your number, and I said, ‘the class roster was online’… which was true. I didn’t lie.”

I can’t help but revel in his discomfort. “Wow, I’m learning so much about you today, Ryan Logan. So, how did you really get my number?”

“Well, remember the second time we met at the Zete fraternity? You sat on the back steps with me for a bit and forgot your phone. Which I promptly returned to you.”

“After sending my number to your yourself?”

“Yeah.” He cringes, rubbing the back of his neck.

“Who knew you had so many stalker tendencies? Should I be worried?” I tease, not feeling an ounce of worry at all. I’m thankful to find humor in the situation because it’s easier to laugh than to face the feelings I’m not ready to evaluate.

“Only if you’re planning to escape.” His chuckle vibrates through my chest, where we’re still connected. Before I can react, he tickles my sides and tosses me into the water. As I surface, sputtering and laughing, he swims after me, all the while mimicking a villain’s sinister laugh.

We keep playing in the water until I end up in his arms again. My second attempt at dunking him fails, and I’m pulled tightly against his body. There’s something different between us this weekend, something simmering just beneath the surface. I haven’t felt it this strongly since that first summer I met him.

Okay, maybe I’ve felt it a few times over the years, but I’ve never acted on it. I always pushed it aside, but here, now, wrapped in his arms, it’s undeniable.

There’s a buzz.

An electricity.

I lean into it, just for a moment.

Pressing my body closer to his, I kiss his cheek, then bury my face in the space between his shoulder and neck. My heart hammers wildly. I take slow, steady breaths, trying to calm it, filling my lungs with salt spray and the familiar scent of Ryan.

He kisses my shoulder gently but doesn’t break the silence between us. Does he feel this pull, too?

“Let’s get you out of here. You’re shivering,” he says softly, his breath warm near my ear.

I am shivering, although I’m not sure it’s solely because of the cold water.