Twenty-Three
My Favourite Game
Spencer
Yeah, I bet his morning head game is on point. That man could suck the chrome off a tailpipe. I wouldn’t mind waking up to—nope. Stick to the rules, Stark. He can’t hurt you if you don’t let him. That’s the game I’m best at. My game. My rules.
We head toward the exit of the dog park in silence, but I can feel Ryan’s eyes on me, the way he always watches—hungry, curious, hopeful. My chest aches in ways I refuse to acknowledge.
Fucking weddings.
I decide to distract myself. There’s an abandoned tennis ball on the path. I stop, pick it up, and lob it halfway across the grass. It’s barely out of my hands before Ryan is off like a shot, running after it.
Oh. My. God. He’s an actual golden retriever.
He snags the tennis ball, then his long legs eat up the distance back to me. He stops, bouncing on the balls of his feet, tossing the ball in the air and catching it with that infuriatingly perfect timing.
“Nice arm, Spencester. Want me to go long?” He’s still grinning, cheeks flushed, sweat at his temples.
I shake my head, scoffing. “No thanks. I’m not throwing balls with a professional athlete.”
He pumps his eyebrows. “I don’t know, you throw balls pretty well. They slap my ass just right.”
“Jesus, Ryan.” I can’t help the huff of laughter, even as I roll my eyes. He just flashes that sunshine grin, and we start walking back toward the reception, passing under the last pink glow of sunset. For a few blissful seconds, I can almost forget the tangle of everything else.
After a minute of walking, Ryan says, “Speaking of playing ball, season starts in less than three months. Would—” He hesitates, scratching the back of his head, nervous. “Would you come to a game? Our first pre-season game is here and the whole crew is going. I’d love it if you went with.”
My gut flips. Getting invited to a game by a jock brings up old ghosts—memories of Travis, of shame, of hiding—but Ryan’s not like that. Not once has he made me feel like a sideshow or a dirty secret. He’s asking, not pressuring.
I clear my throat, swallowing down the old panic. “Maybe. Yeah. I think I can do that.” I surprise myself by meaning it.
He turns to look at me, eyes wide, a grin so bright it almost hurts. “Really? Are you sure? No, don’t answer that. No takesie backsies.”
“Yeah, I’m sure, Ry. Could be fun,” I assure him.
He bumps my shoulder with his. “Let’s get back to the reception. Let’s give it another hour—but then I need you to make good on that promise to fuck me senseless. And Spence?”
“Yeah?” My voice is all gravel and want.
“Lots of hair pulling tonight, kay?”
“Fucking hell,” I mutter, half under my breath. Ryan just laughs, turning his stride into a little skip, the bastard.
The rink is even more alive now than before, lights blinking, music echoing off the walls.
Ryan heads off to spend time with Anthony and Chance, and I make a beeline for the bar, needing a minute to gather myself.
I order a scotch for me and a beer for the jock across the room who has sunshine eternally shooting out of his ass.
Seriously, a blond man should not have this much power over me.
I’m lost in thought when Jen appears out of nowhere, sidling up to the bar and giving me a once-over.
Fuck. Alarm bells go off in my head. Here we go.
“What?” I sigh, bracing for impact. I know she was playing at something earlier with Murph.
She huffs, “Don’t ‘what’ me. What the hell’s up with you? I know weddings aren’t your happy place, but you look like someone took a shit in your Jimmy Choo’s.”
The bartender slides the whiskeys over. Without missing a beat I say, “Can we get an orange juice for preggers over here, please? I think her blood sugar’s low.”
Jen flashes her teeth at me. “How did you know that’s what I wanted?”
“Because” I raise a brow and take a sip of my scotch, “I know you, Jen. It’s against my will, but I do.”
“You’re welcome.” She shrugs.
When the bartender brings her juice, I slide it over. “Drink your juice, Shelby.”
She cackles, clutching her glass. “Ha! Very funny. We need to do movie night soon and start with that one.” I nod, and she catches my brief smile. “So, what’s going on with you and Ryan?”
Panic spikes. When Jen gets a scent, she doesn’t let go. “Nothing’s going on. What do you mean?”
She tilts her head. “Oh, I don’t know. You were pretty growly when Ryan was getting all chummy with Murph. You had murder eyes and everything.”
I scoff, but inside, my pulse is racing. “Why would I be growly? There’s nothing to be growly about. No growling happening.”
She just gives me that look, like she’s already figured out the truth and is waiting for me to catch up. I fidget with my scotch glass. “Besides” I say, as casually as I can, “Ryan is straight.” The lie tastes like battery acid on my tongue, but I won’t be the one to out him.
“Mmhmm,” she says, voice loaded.
She sips her juice, then sighs, rubbing her very pregnant belly. “I don’t know, Murph is fucking delicious. I don’t think there’s a gender or sexuality safe from that level of sexy.”
I let out a sarcastic laugh. “Good for him.”
Jen leans in conspiratorially. “But my Spidey senses tell me that tattooed pretty boy likes the dick. Which—I’m surprised you haven’t been all over him. Why is that?”
I shrug. “I don’t know. Just not in the mood, I guess.”
She gives me a knowing look. “Yeah, okay. Or maybe you’ve got someone else’s ass on the brain.” She nods toward Ryan, still chatting with the grooms.
I grab the drinks I ordered, and turn to go, but she grabs my arm, stopping me. Her face softens. “Maybe it’s time to let yourself have something. To believe in someone.”
My shoulders slump. “We’ve been over this a thousand times, Jen. I don’t—”
She cuts me off. “I know exactly how you’ve been hurt. But not everyone is Travis.” She nods her chin toward Ryan again.
My throat closes up, the old ache pressing at my ribs. I lean down, press a kiss to her cheek, and whisper, “I love you, and that’s about all I have capacity for, friend.”
She squeezes my arm, hard. “I don’t believe you. And we’re not done talking about this. Now shoo. I need to go find a man with a fetish for pregnant women.”
I bark a surprised laugh and escape, weaving through the tables toward Ryan.
He’s still with Anthony and Chance, all of them beaming like something out of a damn romantic comedy.
I hang back for a second, taking it in—the way Ryan’s head tips back when he laughs, the way his hands move as he talks, how present and easy he looks with his friends.
I don’t know how I got here, but Jen is right. Normally, I would’ve been putting my best moves on the best man, but the thought didn’t even cross my mind. I didn’t clock how hot he was—not until he was making googly eyes at Ryan.
And now, I’ve not only agreed to go to a football game for him, but I’m actually… excited? Like I’m some giggly sorority girl. I might as well be flipping my hair, for fuck’s sake. And this is how I know I will be undeniably and unavoidably fucked if I don’t stick to my rules.
I watch Ryan turn and catch my eye, those dimples on full display. He waves me over, and just like that, I go—because he asked, and because I want to. And it scares me senseless; how much I want to.
It scares me because, in my experience, people either push you away or leave you. My father. Travis. And perhaps, most painfully, my mother.