Fading Out

by Trisha Wolfe

  His mouth tips up into a bright, adorably sexy smile. “You have.”

  I shake my head, trying to gain traction with my wandering thoughts. “So, why are you here?”

  He looks away and points to a man talking to two of Ryder’s team members. “Coach insists we do some charities a few times a year. Not that we—or I—don’t want to anyway. He just feels it readies some of us for the big leagues.”

  I notice it’s only a select number of players; the ones who get the most attention at school. The ones who, obviously, the coach feels are going to go pro after college. Turning my attention back to Ryder, it hits me for the first time that this man will soon be in a whole different league.

  “He’s priming you for the big time,” I say, reaching for my sparkling water, needing the moisture for my suddenly dry throat and also to give my hands something to do.

  Ryder laughs, a deep sound that resonates in my chest. “I don’t know about that. But I like going to these. They give me an excuse to invite hot chicks out and show off.” He bows out his chest, showing off his tux, and I cannot help but notice that—yes—he looks damn fine in it.

  I don’t argue that fact. Instead, I avert my gaze toward the dance floor. Where I watch my father lead Becca across the room toward the refreshment table.

  “Dance with me,” Ryder says.

  My stomach clenches. The way he says it…it sounds intimate. “I’m only here for the ambiance,” I say, shaking my head.

  Rejection just doesn’t compute with this guy. As if my refusal is only a dare to further his advances. He rises from his chair, smoothing out the lapels against his chest, and offers me his hand. “We had a date planned for tonight. I suspect it would’ve included dancing.”

  Licking my lips, I search the crowd, to where my father and Becca are enraptured in some conversation with one of my father’s colleagues. He probably won’t even notice…maybe.

  Knowing that Ryder won’t stop until he’s effectively made a scene, one in which he’s determined to get his way, I reluctantly accept his hand.

  “Over there,” I instruct, nodding to a secluded corner.

  “Damn, carrot cake. Leave a guy a little room to be the horn dog.”

  My face flames. “Oh, my God. Will you ever stop being so crass?” His hand gently touches the small of my back, and an electric wave of heat ripples over my body.

  “I can be any number of things you’d like,” he whispers near my ear. Then he’s pulling me into his strong embrace, leading me effortlessly in a slow dance. My gaze is stuck on his chest, my muscles bunched tightly, as I will my limbs to relax.

  I can’t help but to compare him with Lucas. The way Ryder holds me possessively, like he’s daring anyone to take me from his arms. How Lucas domineered the dance, making sure I followed his lead. Ryder leads, but with a give that allows me to change the pace if I deem.

  Ryder pulls me closer, which should be the most awkward thing; he’s so much taller than me, just so much more…everything. But my body molds seamlessly against his. My skin tingling with anticipation of his touch.

  With a sigh of doomed acceptance, my will being completely obliterated, I look up to find his eyes. Those glacier blues that are staring right into me. “You know this is a bad idea,” I say, surprising myself with my honesty. But I mean it. Nothing good can come of us being together in any form.

  Ryder only smiles. “I know any bad idea with you can only be interesting.”

  Damn, but he’s going to be trouble.

  14

  Ryder

  I’ve danced with girls before. At formals, and prom. I was duty-bound. Dancing just…I don’t ever consider it, really. I don’t mind it, but I don’t go out of my way to make it happen. Not even at clubs.

  If a chick snaps me up to dance at a bar, hell, I’ll go for it. Whatever usually works to make her happy and leads to me getting with her later. That’s how it works.

  But right now, this minute, I’m invested. This isn’t a simple dance with a girl at an event. This is the defensive line being tested. The prelude to the after. And what’s strange, I feel no desire to rush it—to skip over quickly to get to the next part.

  My hand rests against Ari’s back, hovering between firm and relaxed. I’m conscious of applying just the right amount of pressure. With Ari, if you push too hard, she bolts. If you don’t push at all, she withdraws into herself. For the short time I’ve known her, been paying attention to her, I’ve figured that much out.

  Her silky dress feels fragile against my big hand. I’m trying hard to keep my eyes on her face as she looks up at me, but my gaze keeps drifting to her bare shoulders, the creamy skin on display that looks as soft as I imagine it feels. Her dark hair has been swept up into some up-do that leaves a few ringlets tumbling over those sexy shoulders.

  I’m a starving, condemned man, just needing a taste. I release her hand to brush a loose strand from her shoulder. My fingers gently glide across her skin, taking in the satiny warmth, and I feel her shiver against me. It stirs a deep sigh from my chest.

  Her freed hand snakes up along my chest as she wraps her arms around my shoulders. Her hands lock together behind my neck, and I’m aware that this is difficult, because of the height difference. But I’m not complaining one fucking bit. It forces her body all the closer because of it. Her breasts press up against my chest, her stomach aligns with my waist, her thighs flush to mine.

  We’re barely moving now. Swaying just slightly. I’m tempted to pull her farther into that dark corner.

  Ari tilts back her head farther. Her eyes—lit liquid amber by the light—flick over my face as she pulls her bottom lip between her teeth. A groan lodges in my throat, my whole body aching to be alone with her.

  “Arian,” a deep male voice says, interrupting the entrancing moment.

  Both our heads whip around, our bodies putting more than an inch of space between us.

  “You should introduce us to your friend,” he continues. He’s tall and wiry, but not weak. Built how a solid businessman should be. His dark hair is short and sculpted neatly to the side, his facial features all hard angles. Important.

  I don’t need the proper introduction to know who this man is, but Ari proceeds at his request. “Father, this is Ryder Nash. The quarterback for the Braxton Bobcats.”

  Releasing Ari from my hold completely, I step toward him and punctuate the air with an outstretched hand. “Nice to meet you, sir.”

  His slight hesitation is witnessed briefly, but I keep my hand steady, until he accepts it with a hard shake. “Pleased to meet you, Ryder.” He gives my hand a firm squeeze before releasing it and wrapping an arm around the woman next to him. “This is my wife, Becca Wyndemere.” She nods, and I acknowledge her back. Then, “So, college football. That’s great. What year are you?”

  My back stiffens with tension. I feel the inquisition coming on. But that’s okay. I take a quick peek over at Ari, note her rigid posture, and release a rickety breath for the both of us. I admit, I don’t get the parent third degree often, ever. But that’s because I never found a girl worth the trouble.

  “I’m a senior, sir.”

  He nods slowly. “I see. You plan to go pro next year?”

  “Dad…” Ari inserts into the conversation.

  But it’s really okay. “I do, sir. At least, that’s the plan at the moment. But I also plan for more schooling. Possibly graduate school. A couple years down the road.”

  “That’s wonderful,” Becca says. I glimpse Ari’s unease toward her mother, but I don’t let on. “You have to always have a plan B. What’s your major?”

  I smile. “Creative writing.”

  A thick wall of silence stacks up like bricks between both parties. The music from the orchestra fills the vacuum of air. I pull the lapels of my tux straight.

  “Well, that’s certainly an interesting plan B,” Mr. Wyndemere states. He looks about the room before he says, “Did your parents attend?”

  Now this…migh
t get uncomfortable. I don’t talk about my parents to anyone. And I’m not willing to make an exception now. “No, sir.”

  When I don’t elaborate, he presses on, undeterred. “Are they local? Would I know them?”

  He knows my last name, so he most likely knows the answer to those questions already. I’m starting to understand why Ari seems so anxious all of the time. “Yes, sir. Well, a couple towns over, actually. I’ve lived here my whole life. So I think it’s safe to assume we’ve not been acquainted until now.”

  His eyes widen, maybe from disbelief that a jock could outwit him. I’m not going to play the “measure you by your parents’ worth” game with him. I’ll be as polite as possible, for Ari’s sake, because I really do understand her situation—but I won’t allow anyone to use my family to make me feel less than. I suppress the urge to turn the topic of conversation around, and wait for his response.

  “I see, well. That’s wonderful.” He looks at Ari and smiles brightly before turning a hard gaze on me. “I’ve always thought there was something to be said about sticking to your roots.” He nods curtly. But he leaves what’s to be said, unsaid. Although his insinuation is perfectly clear to all.

  “Jonathan, I’m practically parched,” his wife says, linking her arm through his.

  “Right, dear.” He acknowledges her almost as an afterthought. Then quickly says, “Again, it was a pleasure to meet you, Ryder. Arian”—he lifts his chin in her direction—“we’ll be leaving soon. The event is winding down.”

  He leaves before Ari can reply.

  An awkward quiet builds between us. I’m not sure just how much her father’s opinion of me weighs on her…and I’m not positive how to broach that subject. Or if I should simply ignore the obvious.

  She says, “Well, now that the torture part of the evening is over…” And turns toward me.

  Relieved, I smile. I’m only concerned about what her family thinks of me if she is. I take her hand and begin to guide her toward a table. “That wasn’t so bad,” I say.

  She pulls her hand free, and my chest tightens. “I’m sorry.” She moves in closer to me as she says this, her head turned to the side. So that she’s not looking directly at me. That pains me more than anything her father could’ve slung at me. “That was uncalled for. He’s just…I don’t know.”

  “A father?” I offer, but we both know that’s a simplified excuse for what just went down.

  Even so, she accepts the pretext gratefully with a small smile and a glance into my eyes. “Thanks. But I think I should just leave. It will only get uglier from here if—”

  “If you’re seen with me longer than what’s considered appropriate?” My brows inch together. I am trying to keep my cool, because I get where she’s coming from, but it’s still a blow to my ego. “Do you have a dance card I should fill out, too?”

  “Ryder. Don’t.” The warning startles the sarcasm right out of me. “I’m not my parents.”

  “Glad to hear,” I say, and immediately regret it. Dammit, but I’m hot tempered sometimes.

  Rolling her eyes, she releases a little, clipped laugh. “Right. So this was fun. I think we were safer when we were at war.”

  A heavy breath releases from my nose. My lips press firmly together. I could get ahold of this situation right now and stop where this is going. It’s all up to me. I’m just unsure if I want to. My gaze drifts over her dress, her small frame, so tiny and fragile looking. Underneath, I know what hides. That fire she turned up at the beach, that blaze she fueled at the game.

  It’s enough to put me on frustrate right here. But I decide against demeaning myself. Groveling, even. Especially in front of her…or for her. I’ve done enough of that for one lifetime.

  I take her hand and bring it between us, then place a kiss to the back of it. I catch the tremble in her arm, and my gaze snaps to her face. Slowly, I pull myself up to my full height, and say, “Thank you for the dance, Arian.” Then I turn and head toward Coach and the guys.

  As I walk away, the urge to glance back and measure her reaction roils in my gut.

  15

  Arian

  The town car—which is my parents’ modest term for limousine—pulls to a stop at the front of my dorm. I requested that my father drop me off a few blocks back, but as always, he insisted. Worried about me walking a whole parking lot’s length in the dark.

  Which could be looked at as simply a father’s concern—if I didn’t know better. He wants me seen. Wants the other students to know I’m not like them; I’m above them.

  “If it bothers you so badly, then you shouldn’t have sent me to this school,” I say, searching through my clutch, avoiding his stare. I dig out my room key and grip it tightly before reaching for the handle.

  “Markus will get the door, Arian.” He snaps his fingers and our driver hustles out. Then my father is looking at me. I can feel his glare raking over me like ice cubes tumbling down a ladder. “We’ve already discussed why here,” he adds. “But I expect while you are in attendance, you do not find yourself in another less than desirable position.” He sighs, as if it’s all too challenging to deal with me.

  I almost laugh. Me, the defiant daughter. “Understood,” I say simply, and turn to accept Markus’s hand after he opens the door.

  “Wait.” This from Becca.

  My eyes close. I stand still, my back to her, as I wait to hear her take.

  “Ari, please. You know how much your father and I adore you,” she says. An ache hitches in my throat. Adore, not love. Noted. “We so want you to make friends. And that plump girl you room with is so nice. We’re not trying to isolate you, we just want you to be conscious of your acquaintances.” She pauses for a purposeful beat before clarifying her point. “This is the time of your life in which the company you keep is of utmost importance.”

  In other words, my mingling with the town’s football god/playboy is unacceptable. Again, duly noted. I’d love to turn around right now and tell them I had no intention of seeing Ryder seriously, but their forbiddance is making it all the more appealing. Only I know how childish that would come off, and it’s not at all true.

  I want to be with Ryder all because of his own doing.

  Ugh, but I just wish to God they’d stop critiquing my every move, word, acquaintance. With a sigh of resignation, I say, “Thanks, Becca. I’ll keep that in mind.”

  Before the door shuts, my father speaks up. “I’ve been given word that we’re to attend the Reilly’s dinner party next month. Please coordinate your schedule with Becca’s so that you’ll have a proper dress by then. Lucas has been asking about seeing you. You should make this happen even before the dinner.”

  I swallow past the aching lump threatening to choke me. “You said…” I stutter out. Try again. “You said after graduation. You’ve already given him your consent, haven’t you?”

  My father’s thick brows pull together, a haggard expression crossing his face. “Ari, listen. I’m very concerned, love. These guys you become involved with—”

  “One guy,” I clarify.

  “Yes, well it’s worrisome. I think it’d be best for you if you were settled with the right man sooner rather than later.” His eyes touch mine, finality in their depths. “For the sake of your health and wellbeing, it’s time to accept an offer and move forward with your life. And Lucas is a prime choice, sweetheart.”

  My heart drops. Free fall.

  I wrap an arm around my waist, as if I can’t stop the stirring nausea, and thank my father for tonight. What’s expected. Then I hurry into the building and practically run toward my room. A few lingering stares at the girl racing through hallways like Cinderella trying to beat the clock follow after me, but I’m not concerned with them.

  I just want to get out of this ill-fitting dress and into my pajamas before I scream. Chocolate is in dire need, too.

  * * *

  One thing is good: I don’t feel anxious today as I leave the lecture hall and head toward my lunch hour. I don�
�t worry whether Ryder will look my way, smile, come over and talk to me. For the past two days, he hasn’t so much as proven his neck can swivel, never mind acknowledge me.

  Since the charity banquet, since my father so meticulously pointed out that I’m off-limits, it’s as if Ryder doesn’t even know I exist. Which is probably the way it should’ve been from the start. But I can’t pretend his sudden avoidance doesn’t sting. Rejection—even when it’s for the best—is still rejection.

  For the most part, I’ve stopped obsessing over him. The more hours that go by, the more I find something else to fixate on that’s not Ryder related. Like fitting into a size two, which will stop the endless, concerned calls from Becca, and like Vee’s mission: her new raffle idea.

  “You should just call it the Get Into Gavin’s Jockstrap Project and be done with it already,” Haley says to Vee from across the small table. We’ve decided to eat lunch off campus today, at a local coffee shop a few blocks away. Which is—okay, I admit—mostly why I’m not angsting over seeing Ryder. And I’m not entirely sure they didn’t suggest eating here for that exact purpose.

  Right, so I’m still obsessing. But after what my father said…and the way I reacted toward Ryder after…how can I not? I feel bad, worried that Ryder took my father’s insulting probing to heart. Or, that he thinks I’m anything like him. It’s all so dumb. Me agonizing over a guy who probably hasn’t had one singular thought of me since then. A guy that I can’t have, regardless.

  “A, would you please tell this girl I’m not doing the boosters for Gavin.”

  I hear Vee’s voice, understand her statement, but my brain is having a difficult time processing the meaning. I push back against the cool metal chair and look between them. “She is,” I say to Haley. “But anyway, she’s already been in his jockstrap.”

  Vee groans and Haley laughs. “So just suck it up and make your move, Vee,” Haley says, swirling a wooden coffee stirrer around in her cup. “You’ve built this up to epic proportions. It’s pretty simple, really. He’s a guy. Guys like sex. Offer him sex.”