“Probably because she’s so cute and cuddly…” I squint at him, but he continues on down his dangerous path. “Like a… kitten.”
I smack my lips together to accept his challenge, the sound bouncing off the kitchen appliances, but it only causes his grin to widen. “Actually Simone’s the cute and cuddly one. I’m more known for my claws.”
He snorts in answer and then speaks under his breath. “Yeah like a kitten’s claws, maybe.” If I could be one of those sharks with laser eyes, he'd be in trouble. As it is, my death glare only makes him smile, his white teeth on full display. “You don’t frighten me, Marissa.”
I place a hand on my hip and pop it out the best I can while sitting on a stool. “Maybe you don’t know me well enough.”
“Don’t worry. I can handle you.”
My eyes widen at his declaration, but I try to play it smooth and calm in my girly response. “You’re not like Finn and looking for a girl to cuddle with?”
He crosses to stand by my side leaning a hip on the counter edge all sexy and confident. “There is no way Finn’s ever used the word cuddle.”
I poke him in the stomach. “You never know. He might.” Damn Aspen and her girl code of silence not allowing me to tell Ryland what a cuddler Finn can be.
“Is that what you want? A guy to cuddle you.” He leans down, his lips a hair’s breadth away from mine.
“Maybe.” The word passes and in the next second his lips make contact.
Ryland’s hand cups the back of my head as I wrap my arms around his waist signifying I’m in and ready for the experience. Between his frustration over his dad’s phone call and our playful teasing, I’ve had no time to worry about turning into a weirdo in front of him. A moment of panic bubbles up, but I push it back. I want this and I’m going to take it.
On a breath, his tongue pushes past my barrier and flicks against my teeth. I use the chance to suck on it for a few seconds before he pulls back, breathing deeply.
“Fuck, Marissa. Do that again.”
I grin but comply when we resume. His hand streaks down my back landing on my ass where he pulls me closer to the edge of the stool and his body. Not wanting to be left out, I circle my legs around his hips. In one planned and easily choreographed move, he lifts me off the stool. I squeeze my legs harder and throw my arms around his neck holding on for dear life, but not allowing our kiss to stop.
“Are you okay with this?” He walks with me to the couch, our eyes never losing contact as I stare into the depths of his deep blue pools.
I nod my head not able to think of words without giving away the fact I’m enamored with him. Unsure what I’m agreeing to — more kissing, sex, a relationship —— I take a deep breath and promise to let myself go with the moment. I’ll freak out tomorrow about what it means. Tonight there’s just the two of us and whatever happens I’m ready.
I settle on the couch astride him, my legs pushing into the hard and cold leather of the sofa. Little kisses plaster the side of my neck as his lips feather touch their way down to my collarbone in a zigzag fashion leaving me in suspense where each one will fall.
His hands stroke my lower back slowly and make their way higher, pulling my shirt with them, but it’s too slow for me. I need Ryland now. I want to feel the skin of his hard chest as it rubs against mine. Tired of waiting, I reach down and pull my shirt over my head revealing one of the black lacy bras I’ve been wearing around the last week.
In hindsight maybe my subconscious admitted feelings toward Ryland when I went back to matching bras and underwear. The last few months I’ve worn nothing but white granny panties. Why put in effort when no one is going to see them?
His head starts to lower but I pull on the hem of his t-shirt stopping his movements until he takes it off. Once clear of the offending material, he pushes up his knees raising my chest closer to his height and licks my left nipple through the lace of the bra. The scratchy material against the coolness of his mouth sends shivers through my body and I instinctively edge closer.
“I really like this color choice for you,” he says before giving the same treatment to the other hard nipple.
My head falls back, but it’s not my style to not have a comeback. And I can’t stop myself from making one to his comment. “It matches my personality."
Using two hands he unhooks the front clasps and slowly peels back the material exposing my breasts to the chilly room. “When I’m done with you, you’ll be in fiery bombshell red from here on out.”
I immediately think of the two I already have in red, but decide if this thing lasts longer than tonight, I’ll need to stock up.
“Lift your foot up.” He holds on to my knee as I question him with my eyes, but I do what he says. With my knee free from the couch, Ryland twists his body taking me with him until I’m lying on my back. The cold leather causes a shiver and my nipples peak more.
“My ankle is fine, Ryland.” I wrap my legs around his midsection and pull him toward me so our bodies line up.
His tongue roams across my chest and neck stopping every few inches to kiss or suck on my skin. “Are you sure?”
“Oh my god. Shut up. It’s fine.” I push him back until he’s standing over me with hungry eyes.
Tomorrow’s a vast unknown. Let alone where Ryland will be in two months, but right now he’s mine and I won’t let the opportunity pass me by. I'm done waiting for my life to line up perfectly. Screw my previous version of perfect. I’m ready to make a few minor adjustments. Maybe.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
A woman laughs down the hall and the high horse-like sound rips my attention from the sales spreadsheets laid out on my desk. Sheila, a second-floor secretary neighs again, the sound distinguishable as only her. Its carnival day. The office’s reward for the work in the community last week. I should be out laughing with my coworkers but instead I’m feigning work for a few quiet moments alone with my thoughts. Quiet being relative when Sheila’s in the vicinity.
The problem isn’t Sheila or her horse laugh. The problem is me.
I had sex with Ryland.
Soccer super star Ryland Bates.
It didn’t start out as sex, but after an hour of heavy petting, we couldn’t stop the progression. I didn’t want to. The sex isn't the problem. I enjoyed that… immensely, but what do I do now? Do we do it again? Start a relationship? Act like it never happened? Why is this being an adult shit so hard?
I snicker at my own innuendo and then hit my head on my desktop without enough force to do any damage. I bet Ryland isn’t having a freak out. I bet he’s strutting around his condo today. He certainly seemed smug when I saw him last night. Aspen and I spent six hours together yesterday and I didn’t spill the beans once during girl brunch. Five minutes after Simone left, my bestie started grilling me on what I was hiding. I had to tell her.
Of course Pen’s no help with what I need to do now, and by the time I made it back to Ryland’s place, Grant was there playing Dragons Reborn with Finn. The few minutes Ryland and I occupied the same space were awkward and ripe with tension, so I did what I do best in times of stress. Retreated.
But I had a plan! A great plan where I question him in the car on the way to work this morning. It had potential, but then Ryland texted late last night saying he had to leave town and wouldn’t be home until late tonight. I had to find my own ride to and from work. How convenient, right?
“Are sales that bad for February?” Scott walks into my cubical. It’s a casual day, but he’s wearing a light blue polo tucked into a pair of khakis and a brown belt. It’s his typical style and it has nothing on Ryland in a pair of thin basketball shorts.
“Huh?”
He picks up one of the loose pages. “Well I figured it must be bad by the way you’re trying to tap your pen through the desk.”
I drop the pen I’d been tapping. When did I develop a nervous habit? “Just thinking.”
“Well, come on. They opened up the midway games and I hear there’s skee bal
l.”
I gather up the pages of data and pile them in a corner of my desk, ready for another day, before following Scott to the large conference room to kick his ass in skee ball.
Water splashes over the side of the kiddie pool in the corner of the room falling on the large tarp set up underneath for just this reason. The green plastic frog falls to the bottom of the pool and I bite the inside of my cheek.
“Okay, you’ve got one frog left. If you make it, you’ll win a small prize.” Scott leans over my side to help line up my shot. “Try to make it this time.”
I laugh and pass the frog back and forth between my hands pretending to weigh it, like that will help me. “You’re so helpful.” The truth is I do need pointers. Not only did I lose four rounds of skee ball, but I’m on my third attempt on the frog toss and haven’t hit a lily pad yet.
Scott takes the long legged frog and places him on the small pad in front of me. “Not so hard this time, but hard enough to make it to the pool.”
“Again, so helpful.” I flick my hair behind me and give the pad a quick hit.
The frog sails through the air and lands smacking a rotating lily pad. Two of his legs fall over the side, but his base remains out of the water. Damn, I guess his mansplaining helped.
A row of cheap stuffed animals hangs from a rope against the wall and I scan them all deciding which to take home with me. There’s a bright pink panda bear with eyes a little too closely set to one another. A blue teddy bear holds a heart with love stitched across it in a swirly font, in case anyone wants to out themselves in an inner-office relationship I guess. They’re kind of pathetic, exactly what you’d expect from a carnival. My eyes fall on a green frog with longer than normal legs and I decide he’s my prize since it fits with the game.
“Congratulations,” the pond’s attendant says as he passes me a small bag full of water… and a bright orange goldfish.
“A fish? I thought I got to pick a stuffed animal.” I point to the row behind him but take the fish, holding it cautiously. The bag’s top is pinched between two fingers where it’s been sealed off.
The attendant shrugs and motions on the next person in line.
Scott takes the bag from me and holds it up to the light. “Wow, a fish. What will you name him?”
“Name him?” I can’t name him. What am I going to do with a fish? I’ve already broken enough of Ryland’s rules. There’s no way I will be able to hide this one from him.
“What about Bubbles?” Scott hands the little bag back to me like it contains an explosive substance. Not a fish guy apparently.
For some reason I too hold the bag above me and peer at Bubbles with better lighting. “Eh, I’m not feeling Bubbles. What about Goldie?”
“As marketing people we should be better at this, but Goldie sounds great.” He places a hand on my shoulder in a quick pat.
Goldie swims around his little plastic bag and stops to stare at me. “What am I going to do with a goldfish?” I ask no one in particular.
Drake, an obnoxious account executive from the fourth floor, stands behind me leaning over my shoulder and giving Goldie eyes. “Well if he makes it through the day, I’d suggest you flush him or take him home.”
“Flush him!” It’s a ludicrous idea. I’ve named him. I can't let Goldie die. I’ll sneak him home and hide him in my bedroom. That sounds like a reasonable plan.
**
The elevator doors are half open before I realize Ryland’s home. Past the hallway he sings along to a song playing over the speakers. So much for spending the day in Palo Alto with Finn checking out new software.
I step into the hallway and carefully place Goldie in my purse. He’s been in the bag for over three hours. I’m worried his time is running out. How much oxygen does a fish need?
Maybe if I sneak out, I’ll make it past and to my apartment before Ryland realizes I’m home.
“Is that you, Marissa?” he yells from the main living area.
I cringe — who else would it be — and keep walking with the quietest steps possible. “Yup, headed home. I have a few things to do."
Two steps past the hallway I spot Ryland on the couch. Rather than being too involved in his video game, he’s twisted in my direction wearing a smile. Some first-person shooter game is paused on the television.
“Do you need help?” He starts to stand, but I wave a frantic hand in front of me.
“Nope.” No I do not need your help breaking rule number one. It’s the first rule for fuck's sake. I’ll do it on my own, thank you very much.
His expression turns speculative. “Why are you being weird?”
“What? Me weird?” I try to laugh, but it sounds nervous. “I’m not being weird. Just a busy, busy night. You know. I’ll stop by later.”
I’ve inched toward the door as we’ve talked, each step bringing me closer to freedom, but not fast enough. My hand is on the door handle, but I stop at his next question.
“Do you want to play? I’ll switch it to DR.” He searches the couch around him, probably trying to find the remote he’s always losing.
Taking a peek in my purse, I continue to hold it open so I don’t squish Goldie. “Oh gosh. I’d love to.” I turn toward the door hopeful it might hold a magical answer. It’s still just a door. “Really I would, but I have this thing… important thing. I'll come back… later.”
Before he puts up another question, I slip out the door and make a mad dash for my apartment. With Goldie’s bag resting on the counter, I keep one hand on him so he can’t go Finding Nemo on me and search the cabinet above him.
I need something to stick a fish in as a temporary bowl until I get to a pet store. The bowls are too shallow and the glasses too small in circumference. Worried time is ticking away for my gilled friend, I spot a large tall pitcher on the top shelf.
A kitchen stool provides me with enough height to reach it and I fill it with lukewarm water from the faucet before dropping Goldie and his bag of water in. Aspen and I had a Beta fish in college our freshman year. He lived about two weeks before we came home from a frat party to find little Flipper had gone belly up. I’m determined to give Goldie the best and longest goldfish life possible…… however long that is.
“I could have grabbed the pitcher for you. Your ankle isn’t fully healed yet.”
I spin around and gasp from the scare. Shit. When the hell did Ryland get here?
I step in front of the counter in an attempt to hide Goldie behind me. “Oh…um…” My words trail off. I’ve got nothing.
Ryland steps up to the bar counter without trying to peek around me. I suspect he’s already seen Goldie. He rubs his head while shaking it from side to side, his eyes cast downward. Kind of like I’m a small child caught with my hand in the cookie jar and he's not quite sure what to do with me.
“Goldie is cute and I won him and I couldn’t just flush him. I had to bring him home with me. There was no other choice.” I rush the words out, my hands flailing in front of me, but I don’t step away from the counter.
“Jesus, you named it?” He continues with the head shaking. “It’s rule number one, Marissa.”
“Him. Yes, I named him. Goldie Bubble Flippers.” I decide a full name sounds more permanent and what a great way to honor the fallen fish of past and Scott’s suggestion this afternoon.
He raises his phone to an ear and I wonder if the screen is still cracked or if he’s had time to get a new one. “Finn? Yeah, do you know where to buy a fish tank?” They speak for a minute longer before Ryland hangs up and hands me the coat I threw over the second stool. “Come on. We can walk there.”
I jump in excitement. “I get to keep him?”
He sighs and says a little prayer to the ceiling. “Yes, but we’re throwing the pitcher out when we get back.”
I put on my jacket and follow him into the hallway not bothering to lock the door. “I hope you didn’t pay a lot for it.”
“Well probably less than what this free fish will cost me
in a tank and supplies.” The elevator leads directly to the parking lot so Ryland turns toward the stairs for an exit to the street.
“Ryland, I’m totally going to pay for the tank and food. Maybe fake seaweed and of course he’ll need rocks for the bottom."
Ryland snorts as I continue to list off supplies little Goldie needs for his new home. “Much more than the crystal pitcher.”
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
In the end Ryland paid for the fish tank and supplies, but it’s worth it. Little Goldie swims circles in his new five-gallon tank dodging the fake seaweed in his path. He stops to make his little fishy face at me through the glass.
“The no fishing sign’s a nice touch.” Aspen taps the glass tank and Goldie swims toward her finger.
“Yeah, Ryland picked it out.”
“Do you plan to keep it on the coffee table?” Simone asks taking another sip of wine.
Both women silently stare at Goldie and his tank like they’ve never seen one before. Aspen and Simone stopped by for a drink and to chat. Or in Aspen best friend terms — to get the scoop on Ryland and me. She’s occupied with the fish tank now, but soon we’ll move on to why she’s really here. The details of our week post sex.
“Ryland said he’ll look for a stand this weekend. Then we’ll put him closer to the window.”
“Ryland, huh?” Aspen pushes.
Here we go.
“I can’t imagine what would have happened if you’d had a fish when you were here, Aspen.” Simone says.
Aspen taps on the glass again. “Me either.”
The two women share a look and I have a spike of jealousy at their connection. Aspen’s always had an easier time making friends. She’s just so damn nice. Not only did she share this place with Simone for a few weeks last year, but now they both live in the apartments above the RDA building. The two softies have bonded and I’m left trying to corrupt two people rather than one. Three if we count Amanda, but I think she’s quite the rebel under her cute pixie cut.
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