Something to Someone (Someone, Somewhere #2)

Chapter 25

TWENTY-FIVE

MERCY RULE

Caroline

Unfortunately, Ryder was right on all accounts. Scott called, and I didn’t answer.

Granted, I didn’t hear my phone ring anyway. I was too busy beating Ryder’s ass at air hockey and any racing game we could find.

The arcade he took me to had a little bit of everything. In the car, my stomach was making it known how hungry I really was, so we first stopped at the restaurant inside. And Ryder was, yet again, right. The mozzarella sticks were straight out of my dreams. We ordered—and ate—two baskets worth and shared a pizza.

Then we took our drinks and hopped from game to game. Ryder was a million times better than I was at Skee-Ball and basketball, but I had him beat on anything that required driving and my favorite, air hockey.

I looked up at the score and smiled. My cheeks hurt from smiling so much.

Shooting my arms in the air in celebration, Ryder looked rightfully dejected. He’d scored once to my ten. Mercy rules should have applied after eight, but I enjoyed the victory too much.

“We need to switch sides or something,” he said, setting his mallet (yes, I had to Google the name of it after I won the first game) down on the edge of the table.

I picked up my margarita and took a sip as I shrugged. “We can switch if that makes you feel better,” I said. Ryder retrieved his own drink, and we both walked around opposite sides of the table. “But it’s going to be even worse when I kick your ass from this side, too.”

He set his drink down on the conveniently placed table and narrowed his eyes. “Who knew you were so goddamn competitive.”

I rolled my lips and picked up the mallet and disc. “It’s a sickness.”

“No, what’s a sickness is how much you gloat after you win.”

I shot him my best “ who me?” smile and dropped the disc on the table. He fumbled for his own mallet and rolled his shoulders a couple of times, bouncing up and down like he was preparing for an Olympic trial. I rolled my lips to hide my widening smile. He was so serious it almost made me want to concede a few points.

I didn’t, but he still scored enough to make it a closer game. When he did score, he always celebrated like he had actually won an Olympic medal—asking passersby if they saw what he had done or jumping up and down while pumping his arms in the air. There were a few whoops sprinkled in there, too.

And maybe part of me would have been embarrassed if I wasn’t having such a good time. He was fun and exuded a light that I wanted to experience. It was warm and felt good against my skin.

I won the last point by banking the disc off the side and managing to sink it directly into the goal. Dropping my mallet, I tried not to gloat, as he’d accused me of. I picked up my drink and stepped around the table. Ryder met me in the middle .

I stuck out my hand for him to shake. “Good game.”

But he ignored my offering and growled low in his throat as he wrapped his arm around my waist and pressed me to him. Without hesitation, he stooped and kissed me soundly. He was unbothered by anyone else, and I wished I could be that relaxed. But there was a nagging voice in the back of my head that said we were bound to get caught being so affectionate out in the open. Not even the dim lights or pounding music over the speakers were enough to hide us.

I didn’t have the strength to pull away, though. Soft yet firm lips brushed mine, and my free hand squeezed his bicep.

We pulled away just before it became too much for such a family establishment.

“Why does your competitiveness turn me on so much?” he asked, and I could no longer ignore the definite hardness pressed against my hip.

“Ryder, I think everything I do turns you on at least a little bit.”

His smile widened, and I matched it. “You’re right.”

“As always,” I quipped which earned me a pinch to my side. I yelped and tried to jump back, but he grabbed my hand and laced our fingers together.

“Let’s sit at the bar for a while,” he said, and I nodded. Both of our drinks were nearly empty, and being the competitive assholes we were, we’d expended a lot of energy trying to beat one another.

We chose two seats at the end of the bar where Ryder swiveled the barstool for me to sit. “You keep doing things like that, and it starts to feel more like a date,” I said. He took his seat and waved to the bartender who was headed our direction. He ordered us another round and sat back. I raised one eyebrow at the other obvious example of date-like behavior.

“So, you’re saying I need to act like an asshole?”

“Yes, exactly. Let me struggle getting onto the barstool, order my own drinks, pay for my own food. ”

He took the final sip of his whiskey and leaned back in his seat. His navy-blue T-shirt pulled tight over his chest, and his legs spread just enough to make me want to slip between them.

“Not going to happen, but thanks for the feedback.”

The bartender returned with our new drinks and retrieved our empty glasses. I was mid-sip when Ryder asked, “Is that how Scott treated you?”

Tequila nearly came out of my nose at the abrupt change in subject, but I managed to choke it down. It burned, and my eyes watered as I set my glass on the bar top.

“What are you talking about?”

“Did Scott treat you like crap when he took you out? He felt comfortable showing up at your house and asking you to dinner, so I’m guessing you’ve been out with him before.”

Spinning the tiny straw in my glass, I had no idea what to tell him or what he really wanted to hear. “Actually, I’ve never met him a day in my life. So odd. People are extremely forward these days.”

“Caroline,” Ryder chided, and my eyes bounced to his. He’d leaned forward in his seat, facing me but with an elbow on the bar. Serious, intent eyes held mine.

With a sigh, I took another sip and turned more toward him. Enough that my knees fit between his.

“No, he didn’t treat me any particular way. Every time we went out, he pulled my chair out, bought the meal, paid for my ride home.”

Ryder nodded, and I wished we weren’t having the conversation at all, but especially not there. The music was loud enough it was hard to hear yourself think let alone speak to another person.

“So, why can’t I do it?”

Because it means more coming from you, I thought but didn’t say out loud.

“I’ll let you buy my drinks if it’ll make you feel better,” I said instead .

He put his hand against his chest and feigned relief. “Wow, perfect. That’s exactly what I wanted.”

I tossed my hands in the air and nudged his knee with mine. He dropped his hand and reached for mine, taking two of my fingers between his. My chest loosened a little bit when that easy smile once again found his lips.

“It’s not a dick-measuring contest,” I said. “Just because he bought me expensive dinners, doesn’t mean I expect the same from you.”

Ryder’s eyes narrowed, and his smile took on a far more devious, calculating quality. I immediately stiffened in my seat and prepared for the next words out of his mouth.

“But if it was a dick-measuring contest…”

My sigh was loud enough to be heard over the music. What a poor choice of words on my part. “I know men don’t often believe this, but I promise, size is not always most important when determining if the sex is or will be good.”

He nodded and continued stroking my fingers that were resting on his knee. “Fair enough, but my curiosity is killing me, so humor me. Head-to-head, no pun intended, which would you choose? Using whatever factors you see fit to decide.”

I took another sip of my drink to give me more time to contemplate my answer. Not that it was really a contest, but I was trying to decide whether the truth was the best option. Fortunately, or unfortunately, I didn’t know, there was just enough alcohol running through my bloodstream that my filter had been significantly altered.

“I’m here with you, aren’t I?”

When I glanced back at him, Ryder appeared subtly triumphant, and if I wasn’t mistaken, there was a blush darkening the apples of his cheeks just above his stubble.

“That you are,” he said in a low voice that sent a shiver of desire through me. His fingers against my hand slowed, and his eyes darkened. “You’re saying you’re not here because of my winning personality and exceptional not date choosing skills? ”

My eye roll only made him smile wider. “I only tolerate those parts.”

“Okay, so just so we’re clear. I’m better in bed than expensive-suit-wearing, six-figure-salary, five-course-dinner, Scott?”

Another sarcastic, snippy remark was on the tip of my tongue, but behind the playfulness in Ryder’s eyes was something more. Something akin to worry or anticipation for my answer. And the feeling that sat heavy in my chest and my stomach when I was around him made me want to extinguish it.

“You are much better in bed than…Scott.” Anyone, I almost said but caught myself. It was a step too far. Although I hadn’t said the word outright, Ryder caught the change in my voice and tone. Like it wasn’t what I meant to say.

Thankfully, he didn’t question it further. “We can finish these,” he said, motioning to our drinks in front of us. “Then we can go back to your place, or mine, and put my much better, highly superior dick to good use.”

I laughed and blamed my blush on the alcohol in my system, not the images that were conjured just by Ryder mentioning his highly superior dick.

“Although my apartment probably isn’t a good idea. It’s a maze of boxes and other random shit in piles.”

“When do you move?”

“In two days. Connor, Theo, and my mom will be there bright and early Saturday morning to help me pack the U-Haul and drive it across town.”

Across town, not across the country. And somehow, closer to me. The offices of the engineering firm that hired him were on my side of the city. If he’d stayed in his apartment near campus, he’d have at least an hour commute one way. It only made sense for him to find something new. And the fact that it was closer to me was just a perk.

“Do you need any more help?”

He gave me a toothy grin before he sipped his drink. “No, we’v e got it covered, although I enjoy your company, so I wouldn’t be sad if you happened to stop by.”

“I think I’d need a reason to be there. Not just ‘stop by,’ but I can help you unpack after.”

“Perfect,” he said and leaned forward, grazing his lips over mine in a sweet, chaste kiss. “You can put your touch on it, too.”

“My touch?” He chased my lips as I leaned back, searching for another. He tugged me forward, and I couldn’t resist.

He hummed against my mouth and the chaste kiss was on the verge of something neither of us knew how to stop. We were both just tipsy enough to be happy and carefree.

“Yes, your touch. I think it would be nice to have in my new place.”

He wanted me in his space. My touch, as he called it. But I knew what he meant and the way he said it. Like he wanted me to linger there long after I was gone.

“Like when I look around, I can still see you there,” he continued, confirming my interpretation.

And it felt good to be wanted that much. It felt…

Abruptly, I stood, nearly stumbling from the chair. Ryder jolted to catch me, but I was able to right myself before falling flat on my face.

“Sorry, bathroom,” I muttered. I started walking, but Ryder caught my arm, and my heart stalled.

“That way,” he said, pointing the other direction. I spun and smiled as I walked the way he indicated. Around the bar and down a long hallway lined with photos of random people smiling, obviously posed, and playing games.

A woman was pushing out of the bathroom as I walked in, and in my haste, I almost ran her over. She scoffed, unappreciative of my tight-lipped smile and apology.

Unbothered by her annoyance, I continued into the bathroom and found the first empty stall. With the door shut and locked behind me, I finally let out the shaky, labored breath I’d been holding .

The beat of the music playing in the entire establishment was just as loud in the bathroom and drowned out everything else. Except my thoughts, the incessant, stupid thoughts.

I’d been careless. Thinking that we could keep it casual was foolish. Ryder meant more to me than almost any other man had. At least anyone in the last decade, and that itself was already a bad start.

A man that meant that much to me was bound to leave. I knew better, but I didn’t seem to care about my rules when it came to Ryder. Around him, the past was nonexistent, and the lessons I’d learned from it were inconsequential.

He made it easy to think that there could be something more.

Running my hands through my hair, I breathed in through my nose and out my mouth. I did that several times, but it was unsuccessful at calming my racing heart. Wherever I learned that supposed technique, they were lying.

We couldn’t keep doing what we were, that much I knew for sure. But what I couldn’t decide was what I should do about it. Tonight solidified what I already knew. We were both bound to get hurt when it ended. Any faith I had that we could walk away without it had vanished. As had my willing suspension of disbelief.

When I said it would end badly, I didn’t want to be right. Breaking Ryder’s heart would shatter mine, too.

I used the restroom and stepped out of the stall. Walking up to the sink, I glanced at the mirror. Although I looked the same, I felt completely different. Not that I’d resolved anything, but I could feel and see the resignation hanging over me.

I washed my hands and took another unhelpful breath before I stepped back out into the hallway. The entire walk back to the bar, I braced myself and prepared to see him once again. Still unsure what I was going to do but knowing what I should. I turned the corner and came to a stop.

Ryder was gone. His barstool was empty, but both of our drinks were still there. I continued slowly walking toward our seats and finally spotted him a few feet away from our barstools. He was standing in front of a row of capsule machines. The ones where you paid a quarter and got a temporary tattoo or the world’s worst candy.

He was turning the handle when I came to a stop next to him.

“What are you doing?” I asked, but he didn’t respond. He leaned down and lifted the metal lid, letting it clang back down after he’d retrieved the little plastic globe holding his prize. A few other plastic containers were sitting on top of the machine.

“You went to the bathroom, and I saw these here. I couldn’t resist. I remember begging my mom to let me get something, anything when I was a kid,” he began, popping open the little container and surveying the contents. “We didn’t have a lot of money for a really long time—perks of having teenage parents—but these were cheap, just a quarter, so most of the time when I asked, she said yes.”

He must have been excited about his prize because he smiled wide, and my heart did a weird stutter thing that I didn’t particularly care for.

“Here,” he said. “It’s for you.”

The prize he’d won was a silver ring with a cute little light purple flower in the center. It was nothing more than nickel with glued on jewels, but it was sweet. Too sweet.

“You don’t have to wear it or anything,” he clarified. “But it just reminded me of you. It feels stupid now that I’m saying it out loud and watching you hold it.”

My heart was doing that stuttering thing again, only more violently. So violently that I thought I was having a heart attack. Then my stomach flipped, and I considered rushing back to the bathroom in case I puked.

Why did he have to be so good ? Why did he have to make me feel things?

It was a goddamn fake ring, and somehow it made me want to wrap my arms around his neck and press my lips to his.

I’d realized I’d been quiet for too long, clutching the ring betwee n my fingers, when I looked up and recognized the dejection on his face. All at once, everything inside me wanted to fix that.

“Thank you. It’s not stupid,” I said quietly and tested the ring on a few different fingers before I realized it fit perfectly on my right ring finger. I wiggled my finger and let the light catch the jewels. It was my favorite color.

I cleared my throat and looked back at Ryder. I smiled up at him because it was hard not to. Then I remembered the pile of other, unopened prizes. “Looks like someone left their prizes behind,” I said.

Ryder shrugged. “I couldn’t manage to get that one,” he said, pointing to the ring on my finger. “So, I kept trying.”

Realization dawned. “You went through all those prizes because you wanted this one? For me?”

“Yes,” he said like it was obvious, and he wasn’t sure why I was questioning him.

Too fucking sweet, I thought again. And I let my urges win. I stepped closer and wrapped my arms around his neck. His hands landed on my hips like they were meant to be there, and I simply kissed him.

With every second we were connected, everything else floated another mile away. Any thoughts, feelings, ideas, I might have had minutes earlier were so far in the distance, they were nothing more than an echo.

Because all I could think or feel with Ryder’s lips on mine and his arms wrapped around me was, yes.