“But he is funny.” I look back at Ryker, who’s now standing next to me at the cage.
“Did you teach him that?”
I blink innocently. “Maybe.”
“Uh-huh. You talk about me to your bird. Fascinating.”
“Not really. We do a word of the day sometimes,” I say as he stalks around my den, his eyes checking out my small but well-built house. His gaze takes in the decor in shades of gray and soft ecru. An elegant but rustic farmhouse-style chandelier illuminates the beige leather sofa and two baby blue plaid chairs across from it. The baseboard trim is thick and was recently painted a vanilla color by me this summer when I needed something to keep my mind busy and writing wasn’t cutting it.
“Oh, what was today’s word?”
I pause.
“Red?”
“Quarterback.”
He grins.
And we do that staring thing.
“Nice place,” he says, breaking our gaze as his eyes drift over the furnishings. “Homey. I like it.”
“I grew up here,” I tell him, my fingers touching one of the lime green pillows on the chairs. “My mom decorated. She was…pretty awesome.” I pause. “I guess you don’t get back to Austin much?”
“Nah, it’s just me and my dad, and he’s always busy with work. Hey, I’m sorry about your mom.” He pauses. “You mentioned it in the bookstore…”
I nod.
“What happened?”
I rarely tell anyone the details of my mother’s death. “She…she had a pulmonary embolism, a blood clot in her lungs. It was completely out of the blue and happened while she was riding her bicycle to work.”
“Shit. I’m so sorry. That must have been awful.”
Since her death, I’ve learned to harden myself to the events, but the sincerity in his voice gets to me. Tears tug at my eyes, and I push them down, adjusting my glasses. “It was a shock. What about your family? You said your mom left when you were three?”
“I rarely see her,” he says. “My dad works all the time. He runs a small real estate company in Austin.” His eyes land on the TV. “So, is this the movie you love so much?”
My gaze follows his. “Wanna watch with me? I just made some popcorn.”
“I’m more of an action and adventure guy.”
I sniff, feeling offended. “I bet if you watch the rest of this with me, you’ll like it.”
A smile tugs at his lips. “You’re making a bet with me?” He shakes his head. “Oh, Red. You’re on dangerous ground.”
I nod, feeling confident. “There’s some action in this one—scary killer dude.”
“What are the stakes?”
“If you like my sparkly vampires, you’ll have to make me spaghetti tonight.” I’m giddy at the thought of watching him cook.
He considers me, his gaze thoughtful. “Done. And if I think Twilight is stupid, I get to read your notebook.”
Oh…shit.
I lick my lips, and his gaze traces the movement. “How will I know if you’re being honest when you say if you liked it or not?”
“You’ll just have to trust me.” His sea-green gaze glitters. “Why do you like it so much anyway? The way I understand it, Edward’s not even a badass. He’s more of a touchy-feely bloodsucker.”
I huff. “How do you know so much about it?” I put my hands on my hips as he plops down on my couch and proceeds to make himself comfortable by arranging pillows and propping his feet up on the ottoman next to him.
“I may have googled it after you mentioned he was on your pillow. Can I see the pillow?”
“Nope. You’re getting nowhere near my bed.”
He laughs.
As I watch, he leans back and raises his arms to stretch before grabbing the remote and starting the movie back up.
I’m still staring down at him, trying to wrap my head around the fact that Ryker Voss is sitting on my couch, acting casual—and is going to watch a movie with me.
He pats the spot next to him. “Come on, Red. We’ve got a vampire to ogle.”
Penelope
Ryker Voss is the most annoying football player alive.
Twilight is over. It’s after midnight, and I should be dead tired, but instead, I’m debating the merits of my favorite book.
“That movie just plain sucked,” he announces smugly.
I sit cross-legged, facing him, blue in the face from trying to explain the plot points.
He’s shaking his head at me.
I’m feeling petulant and grumpy. I wanted him to love it as much as I do. “Don’t you have a heart?”
He laughs. “Where were the gore and fangs? Not to mention the questionable hairstyles, creeping on her when she sleeps—and the sparkling in the sun thing? Toss in the no sex and it’s two stars at best.”
His eyes are lit with amusement as he watches me sputter. I wave my hands around, trying to find the right words to bring him over to my side.
“You’re telling the truth?”
He nods.
My shoulders slump. It’s like eating the best piece of chocolate ever and giving a piece to your friend only to have them spit it out.
“I think the no sex is part of the appeal,” I say. “Saving yourself for the one person you truly love—that means something.”
He scoffs but then sobers when he reads the look on my face.
His lips part, and I see a dawning on his face. “Are you a virgin, Penelope?”
Panic at being so transparent rises for half a second until it ebbs away. I don’t know why, but I feel like I can be myself with him. “Yes.”
His face changes, the humor softening into amazement. “A twenty-one-year-old virgin…at Waylon? Impossible.”
I stare down at my hands.
“Are you sure?” He’s leaning in closer to me now, the heat from his body radiating to mine.
I roll my eyes. “I can assure you I’ve never had my cherry popped, hooked up, yada, yada, yada…”
I glance back up, and he’s staring at me, his gaze swirling with an indecipherable emotion.
“How far have you gone with a guy?”
I cock my head. “Seriously? You’re asking for specifics?”
“It’s just so rare. I’m fascinated.”
I chew on my lips. “Good. I’m glad you’re not prejudiced against virgins.”
His lips quirk. “You’ve been kissed. Obviously.”
I nod.
His gaze lingers on my chest. “And second base?”
I nod.
His face grows still. “Third base?”
The air grows heavy. “What is third base?” I murmur.
“You want me to describe it?” he asks. There’s a flush on his cheeks as we stare at each other.
Heat rises in my face. Yes. I want him to spell it out in excruciating detail, so I can replay it over and over when he’s gone.
“Third base is when a guy—or a girl…” He stops and looks at me.
“Guy.”
“Puts their hands…” He glances down at my legs and clears his throat. “Inside your underwear and touches you.”
Fire licks at me. It feels as if he’s touching me now, sliding his hands under my panties, his fingers dipping inside—
I suck in a breath. “Hmmmm, I see. And the purpose of this is to…”
His chest rises. “Fuck, Red. To get you off. Make you come. Have you ever had an orgasm?”
My eyes lower. “Oh, definitely. I’m just waiting for a special person to give myself to completely.”
With scarcely a movement, he leans in and brushes my lips with his.
“What was that for?” I whisper as he stares down at me.
“Because…shit…I don’t know. I wanted to.” He sighs.
I twist my hands in my lap, my mouth saying something I don’t intend it to. “A guy has never given me an orgasm. I mean…I have had one, but not caused by an actual human male.”
His chest rises up and down in quick succession and he swallows. His e
yes darken. “I see.”
I pick at one of the loose threads on my cardigan. He watches me. “Sometimes I wonder if the feeling itself is different, you know, with a guy. If it’s still that intense burst that goes off in your head and makes you warm and tingly.” I let out a ragged breath I didn’t know I was holding. “I think about it a lot. Who I want it to be…”
He stands abruptly.
“Ryker?”
He opens his mouth to say something but then shuts it and takes off for the kitchen. I’m not even sure he knows where he’s going, so I hop up and follow him.
“What’s going on?”
“I need some water. With ice, preferably.”
From behind him, I watch as he flings cabinets open and shuts them.
“Glasses are on the right side, next to the fridge.” I move in closer in case he needs help.
He opens the right one, grabs a glass, and fills it up with ice from the dispenser. Then he turns to the sink and starts filling up the glass. It overflows.
He doesn’t notice.
“It’s overflowing,” I say.
He curses and pours out some of the water then lifts the glass and drinks it down.
“Um, I have some Gatorade if you’re really thirsty.”
His shoulders are tense, and he hasn’t turned around, and my heart beats double time at the sparks in the air.
He sets the glass down on the counter and takes three huge breaths before facing me.
His expression is conflicted, a range of emotions flitting across his chiseled features. I can’t read them, and I suspect he doesn’t want me to.
I’m not sure what’s going on. I shake my head. “I’m sorry if I went too far. I’m just comfortable with you. It’s like we have this easiness when we’re together—”
“No, stop. This isn’t your fault.” His voice is husky.
I ease over to my sucker drawer and pull one out. I’m so fast, I have the wrapper off and the candy in my mouth in three seconds. I ignore the fact that my hands are shaking. “Want to tell me what’s going on then?”
He dips his head and rakes his hands through his hair. “Fuck. Red.” He says my nickname like it’s torturing him.
“What’s wrong?” I’m a little shrill now.
He sticks his hands in his pockets, looking unsure as he glances around the room. Anywhere except at me. “I shouldn’t be here.”
My jaw tightens. I enjoy him being here.
He scrubs at his jaw. “I just—don’t need a distraction right now. I have to keep my head in the game.”
“Why is me being a virgin a distraction to you?”
He groans. “It’s not—you are.” He waves his hands at me. “The whole vibe you have.”
“Me?” I walk closer, being tentative because he looks like he might bolt at any moment. “What do you mean?”
He tugs on the ends of his hair, as if he’s debating. “I’m into you, okay? I think about you a lot. Something about that kiss…” He groans. “I think about kissing you, fucking you—then fucking you some more.”
My heart roars like a jet plane ready for takeoff. It’s so loud I’m sure he can hear it. I swallow. “Me? A girl who’s never seen an actual peen except on Tumbler?”
He nods, his eyes finding mine. His are low and heavy. “You. And you’re into me, Red. I already know you are. I see it when we have our little stare-offs. I sure as hell saw it out there when we talked about third base.” He looks down at me. “Your pupils are fucking dilated, babe. You’re hot for me. Put that with how I feel…and it’s dangerous.”
I sputter. He isn’t wrong, but…
He gives me a hard look. “Tell me, did you go to lunch with Connor?”
I recall our conversation at Sugar’s when Connor texted me. “No, I had too much to do. Why? What are you saying?”
He glares at me. “You know what I’m saying. Do you really want him?”
I don’t say a word. I’m afraid of revealing too much.
He lets out a heavy exhale. “I haven’t had sex with anyone since last semester—since all that shit happened. It’s the biggest dry spell I’ve ever had since I was a teenager.”
Oh.
“Four months,” he tells me.
“Is it because you can’t get it up?”
He throws back his head and laughs and then sobers. “Fuck no. I’m hard as nails right now. For you.”
I toss a glance down at his pants, and yep, there it is. My body gets hot.
“I just…I’ve been trying to focus on doing everything right with football…until you.” His ocean-colored eyes swirl with emotion. “And, dammit, I don’t want to hurt you. You’re a nice girl—a virgin, even—and I don’t know how the hell to deal with—”
“I don’t want to be hurt either, Ryker.” My chest feels heavy, as if someone has poured concrete on it.
“I won’t let it get that far, Red. We’re friends, and that’s something.” I watch as he seems to gather himself, shutting the cabinet door he left open and pushing his glass back from the edge of the counter. His eyes find mine. “It’s late. I need to go.”
I frown. “You’re leaving after that little bomb? Now?”
He gives me a curt nod, his jaw grinding as if he’s keeping words from coming out. “Goodbye, Red.”
And then he’s walking down the hall and opening my door and slipping into the night.
I’m rooted to the floor. I realize he didn’t even ask to see my journal when he won the bet.
But that doesn’t matter.
My breath catches as the truth hits me.
Ryker Voss hasn’t been with a girl in months, and I’m the one he wants.
But he’s afraid.
I am too.
I don’t need a quarterback fucking up my life.
Tangled emotions rise up, and I suck in a shuddering breath. No matter what I tell myself, he’s stealing my heart, bit by bit, and it’s going to take everything I have to resist falling.
The next day, I hop in my car and cruise to the Chi Omega house. Now that I have Ryker and Connor coming to the party, I signed up via email to help with the planning committee.
I park by the curb and waltz inside, putting my purse on the pink high-backed Queen Anne style armchair next to the door. My eyes take in the oak paneling, medallion wallpaper, and Victorian furnishings.
This place needs a Property Brothers makeover, but it’s the same one my mom pledged. My gaze lingers on the chair where I just dumped my purse. I’ve seen pictures of that very piece of furniture in my mom’s albums, and it makes me feel close to her. She was here…just like I am.
I hear crying as I walk down the hall. The sound comes from the common area where we have our meetings. Usually those doors are open, but today they’re closed.
I tap lightly on the wood. “Hello?”
When I don’t get a reply, I try the door, but it’s locked.
I chalk it up to sorority house drama when Keri, one of the pledges, appears next to me.
“It’s Margo,” she whispers furtively.
I frown. “Our president?”
She nods. “She’s been in there for half an hour. We were talking about the theme for the party, and she just ran out of the meeting.”
I scratch my head. Margo’s the kind of girl who eats metal shavings for breakfast and spits them at girls she doesn’t like afterward. She never cries.
Keri shrugs. “The planning committee chairperson said we’d just proceed without her.”
“I wouldn’t count her out yet,” I say then nod my head toward the room past the kitchen, a sunroom where we have a copy machine, a couple of laptops, and a bulletin board. “Why don’t you head back to the meeting, and I’ll meet you there.”
Keri wavers. “They sent me back here to report on how she is—”
“Tell them she’s fine and will be there in a minute.”
Pledges. Margo and I may not be best friends, but we’ve been together for three years, and no freshman
pledge is going to be talking about her and why she’s crying. She hasn’t been here long enough.
She reads my face and scurries off.
I tap on the door again. “Margo. It’s me, Penelope. Let me in.”
“Go away.”
Her voice is wobbly, and I sigh. “As soon as you open the door.”
I hear sniffling and guilt brushes over me.
“Open the door or I’m going to go get a hairpin and pick the lock, and you know, it might just mess up these old antique doors. I know how much pride you take in our house—”
The door flings open, and my mouth gapes at what I see. The normally coiffed and cool Margo is a mess with smudged mascara and stray hairs poking out from under her headband. Even her clothes are askew, as if she’s been lying down. My eyes take in a fuzzy blanket draped over the couch in the back along with a pile of potato chip bags and candy bar wrappers.
“Why do you care?” she snaps.
“You’re a person, Margo. I care.”
She shrugs and flips around then takes a seat on one of the couches in the room. I follow her inside and shut the door, taking the seat next to her as I reach over and grab a wad of tissues off the cherry coffee table. I pass them over.
“Is this because I invited Ryker?”
She takes my offered Kleenex and dabs at her hazel eyes, the green in them more prominent when they’re wet.
She tugs her navy cardigan around her shoulders. “You stole him from me.”
I snort. “You embarrassed me in front of our whole sorority. Like you really liked him anyway?”
“God, no.” She holds a hand to her chest as if the idea will give her a heart attack.
I smirk. “Exactly. I know your type. Wasn’t your ex some kind of uppity Mayflower descendent?”
“His name was Kyle. And yes.” She clams up, a stoniness taking over her expression.
I nod, recalling the details. “And you caught him with a Theta. Sasha? She’s their president, right? And you wanted Ryker on your arm so everyone will see him and it will get back to your ex…” My words drift off. “Am I close?”
She wipes her nose. “Guess you really are the genius your dad says you are.” Her words are brittle.
I frown. “You’re jealous of me and my dad?”
She shrugs. “You have everything, Penelope.”
I Bet You Page 11