Chapter Nine
Ryker
T he baseball house is quiet for a Friday night, and that’s probably because all the guys are at the football house tonight for their party. Bored, I venture downstairs in search of some cookie dough Pop-Tarts, my guilty pleasure. I keep a stock of them hidden in the pantry, where no one can find them.
I tend to be protective over what’s mine.
I close the pantry, a box of Pop-Tarts in tow, and head to the living room, where Cuddy, Noah, and his girlfriend, Emily, are sitting on the couch playing Mario Kart.
“Hey, Ryker,” Em says, waving at me.
“Hey,” I reply as I sit on the couch, needing a distraction from my thoughts that keep circling back to a certain girl who’s at a party tonight.
“How come you’re not at the party?” Cuddy asks.
There goes my whole not thinking about her plan.
“Didn’t want to.” I shrug, shoving a Pop-Tart in my mouth.
“Theo’s your best friend, though,” he points out as he shakes his controller.
“And? ”
“As a best friend, it’s your duty to attend parties thrown by your friend,” Noah chimes in.
“It’s true,” Em adds in quietly. She’s always been soft-spoken and one to keep to herself. Noah and her ended up dating after she tutored him during our freshman year.
“Meh, he’s fine. Theo has lots of friends,” I retort, watching as Emily knocks Noah’s character off the track.
Cuddy sits up, a mischievous glint in his eye. “Did you know that Travis asked Camille to the party tonight?”
What? Is he fucking serious?
“Where did you hear that?” I sound frantic, which is unusual for me, but as of recently, there are a lot of unusual things happening to me.
Cuddy and Noah exchange a glance, but I don’t have to read into what just transpired between them.
“From Travis himself. He bragged about it in the showers after our workout. He said he’s pulling a move tonight,” Noah finally says.
I spring up and off the couch. Not bothering to pick up the box of Pop-Tarts from the floor, I head to the entryway and grab my keys.
In no fucking universe is he touching her tonight.
“Where are you going?” Cuddy asks, his tone snarky as fuck, and I don’t even care why right now.
“You guys know Travis is a pig. I’m not letting him get anywhere near her.” I snarl, throwing my leather jacket on. “Why the hell did you wait this long to tell me?”
“Didn’t know it was something I needed to tell you,” he remarks.
“She’s a grown woman, you know. She can handle herself and make her own choices. Maybe she wants Travis to make a move.” Noah shrugs, playing devil’s advocate, and I could throttle him for the images that pop into my head of Travis’s grimy hands all over my princess.
“Fuck off, both of you.”
I leave with that, storming out of the house, and rev up my bike as I make my way over to the football players’ house. It’s not far, but I want to get there as soon as fucking possible.
I park on the curb outside the house, noting the mass of people who are piled on the porch, beers spelling out “party” on the front lawn and music raging from inside.
It’s a shit show here.
I storm inside, not responding to the various people who shout my name and try to call me over. I have one person I’m here for. I don’t give a shit about anyone else. It’s packed inside the house, and I bump into a few shoulders as I move through the crowd of people.
I check the living room and kitchen with no sighting of her. My gut churns as I think of her being upstairs with him. I have no right to be pissed off about it, but I don’t trust Travis. Not for a single second.
I’m about to go upstairs when Theo spots me. His eyes widen, the cowboy hat on his head nearly tipping off as he leans forward in shock. “Ry guy, is that you?” he shouts, running over to clap me on the back.
“Hey, have you seen Camille?” I ask, skipping formalities.
“Yeah, she was downstairs playing Dance Dance Revolution with some of the guys from your team,” he says.
I go to brush past him, but he grips my shoulder, halting me in place.
“What is it?” I snap at him, impatient.
“What is it with you?” he asks, raising an eyebrow at me.
“I don’t trust Travis around her, okay? I’m making sure she’s okay. ”
“You could’ve texted me to keep an eye on Millie Moo, but I must admit your presence here has really made my night,” he tells me earnestly.
“It’s a good party,” I tell him, trying not to be an asshole. There are tons of people, the music’s good, and laughter’s constantly bouncing throughout the rooms. Telltale signs of a good party.
Theo dramatically puts a hand over his heart. “Thank you. Now go find your girl.”
I don’t stay to correct him, even though he’s wrong. She’s not mine, and she never will be.
Yeah, right, my mind mocks me.
Ignoring it, I barrel down the stairs and see a couple of guys from the team dancing. I want to laugh at the sight, but a flash of silky champagne hair redirects my focus.
I find Camille in the hall with her back against the wall, looking uncomfortable and bored as Travis leans over her while she looks away. I see fucking red as I march over to her, not stopping until I yank on Travis’s shirt, pulling him away from her as I shove him against the opposite wall.
“Dude, what the hell?” Travis huffs, struggling against my arm that’s over his chest.
“What did I tell you?” I seethe.
“I have no idea what you’re talking about. Get off me.” He attempts to move, but I hold him in place.
“That girl is off-limits and looks uncomfortable as fuck with you towering over her. If I see you near her, you’ll never throw a baseball again,” I threaten him.
Travis chuckles. “That sounds familiar. Isn’t that how you got arrested before?”
I narrow my eyes as I shove against him harder before letting him go. I don’t know how he knows about that, but it’s not something I want getting out to the press. I was never charged. They made me do community service instead, but it still doesn’t look good for draft prospects.
He walks away, leaving Camille and me alone in the hallway. She looks like a knockout tonight, dressed in ripped jeans, her signature high-top white Converse and a cropped sweatshirt. It’s different from her usual outfits, but I like it all the same. Honestly, she could wear a paper bag and still be the most stunning girl in the world.
“Are you okay?” I ask. I was so lost in my rage while I had him against the wall that I didn’t check on her.
I should have done that first.
“Yeah,” she breathes out, running a hand through her hair. “You didn’t need to do that. I can stand up for myself.”
“I never said you couldn’t.” I look at her intently because something tells me she doesn’t believe in herself that she could’ve. “But sometimes it’s nice to have someone looking out for you too.”
“It is,” she whispers.
I take a slow step toward her, gauging her reaction. Her eyes flit back to mine, a sense of hope in them, for what, I don’t know. I carefully bring my hand to her chin, and she sucks in a breath.
“Did Travis do or say anything else I should know of?”
She shakes her head, those big eyes of hers locked on mine. It takes the fucking breath out of my lungs. Her eyes dart to my lips, sending a low growl to slip past my lips as I put the other hand on her hip and bring her closer to me.
Camille closes her eyes for a beat, and when they open again, it nearly brings me to my knees. She looks so damn vulnerable, open, and trusting. Her breaths come in quicker, her eyes dipping to my lips once more.
I know she wants me to kiss her, and I fucking want it more than anything, but we can’t. I need to get out of this hallway before I do something stupid. So I clear my throat and drop my hand, letting it fall away as I take a step back.
Camille looks disappointed, but quickly covers it with a smile.
“Well, thanks for…uhm, yeah, good night.” Her tone is hurried and awkward as she walks away from me.
Not on my watch.
I follow her through the house, all the way out the front door. She begins walking down the sidewalk, when I cut her short as I step in front of her.
“Where do you think you’re going, princess?”
“Home.” She gives me a smile, but it wavers.
“You’re not walking,” I tell her, pointing to my bike on the curb. “I’ll give you a ride.”
I don’t know how I expected her to respond, but the big smile and hand clap she does is not it. It’s cute as fuck.
“Yes, please!” she exclaims, bouncing on her toes.
Jesus. If I knew giving her a ride on my bike would warrant this reaction, I’d have done it a lot sooner.
We walk over to my bike and I pop the back open for the second helmet. I turn and find her waiting eagerly, her eyes lit up with excitement.
“Can I put this on you?” I ask her, never wanting to cross a boundary with her. I wish she would share with me what happened to her so I could understand her more, but I want it to be on her own terms.
“Yes.”
I bring my hand up to her cheek, my knuckles brushing across the soft skin there. She shivers under my touch, and it makes me refocus on the task. I brush her hair behind her ears, then carefully pull the helmet over her head.
“You okay?” I ask her .
“Mhm.” She smiles at me, still looking gorgeous as ever even with the helmet on.
I tug mine on and take a seat on my bike, offering my hand to her to help her climb on the back. Camille takes it, her small hand fitting perfectly in mine. She mounts the bike, but sits further back than I’d like.
I keep my foot down on the ground for balance and reach with both of my hands behind my back, each one gripping the outer sides of her thighs. I gently pull her body forward until her chest is pressing against my back.
Having her this close to me is a bad fucking idea, but I can’t seem to stop myself.
“Stay like this and hold on to me,” I instruct her as I look over my shoulder to face her. “Where do you live, by the way?” I ask her, and she tells me.
Then I pull the visor down on her helmet, and it suddenly hits me that she’s now my responsibility. If something happened to her while riding my bike, I wouldn’t be able to handle it.
I turn forward, do the same to my visor, then begin revving the engine. Camille’s hands gently rest on my hips, barely gripping me, but that won’t do. So I put my hands over hers and drag them over to my front so that they’re holding her close to me.
I rev the engine once more, and her grip on me tightens. “You okay, princess?” I shout over the sound of the engine.
“More than okay. Let’s go,” she shouts back.
It’s with a smile that I kick off the curb and cruise down the road. Usually, I enjoy the sound of nothing but me and my bike, the rustle of trees in the wind. But tonight? Fuck, there’s never been anything that has sounded as good as Camille’s carefree laugh that swirls around us as we take off down the road.
It’s infectious and endearing. I don’t think driving alone will do it for me anymore after experiencing a ride with her like this .
We don’t have a long ride ahead of us, but I’m going to take it slow and enjoy the fuck out of having her wrapped tightly around mine, her laughter mingling with the wind, making it the most perfect sound I’ve ever heard.
Camille lifts her left arm and I almost reach for it, but when I look in the side mirror, I watch her let it float in the air, her fingers moving like a wave and letting the air float through them.
I let her have her fun for a minute, then convince myself that it’s because of her safety that I need her arm back around my waist.
A few minutes later, we pull up to her fancy apartment, dread settling into my body. I don’t know why, but I don’t want this night to end.
I shut my bike off and kick the kickstand out. “You get off first,” I tell her, holding my hand out for her.
She ignores it, dismounting the bike on her own and lifting the helmet off her head. Camille shakes her hair out, running her fingers through it with the biggest smile on her face.
It’s the sexiest thing I’ve seen in a long time.
“Thank you so much for that. I had the best time,” she tells me, pure joy clear as day on her face.
I smile under my helmet, knowing I’m safe to do it there. Lifting it off, I dismount the bike and leave it on the seat. “You keep surprising me, princess.” I gaze at her, trying to understand exactly who Camille is deep down.
“Let me guess, you hate surprises?” she muses, raising a brow at me.
“I don’t hate anything when it relates to you.”
What the hell did I just say?
I internally facepalm while Camille visibly blushes, but her eyes seem wary. I don’t blame her. I keep saying one thing and doing another. I need to get my shit together .
“Good to know, Ryker the biker, good to know,” she teases.
“Stop calling me that.” I scowl.
“Why? It’s the perfect nickname. It rhymes and it’s true,” she points out.
“Princess doesn’t rhyme nor is it true, but it’s perfect for you,” I fire back, although I’m not sure that last bit is true. The more I get to unravel bits of her, the more I learn that she’s less formal than I thought.
There’s a quick glance of worry in her eyes, but it passes just as quickly. I wonder why, for a moment, and I’m about to ask when a man comes rushing out the lobby doors.
“ Camille , où étais-tu? ” he snaps, and I instantly take a step in front of her, but he isn’t deterred in the slightest.
“ Quentin, qu’est-ce que tu fais ici? ” Camille replies to him, then looks at me when she notices how tense I am. “Ryker, this is my brother Quentin.”
I take a closer look at the man, and it hits me. Quentin Laurent?
Holy. Fuck. He’s the starting pitcher for the Detroit Panthers and the best in the league. I try to keep my cool, but the inner child in me wants to ask for his autograph.
And he’s her brother? No. Fucking. Way.
“ Je suis arrivé il y a quelques heures et tu ne répondais pas à ton téléphone. Il faut qu’on parle. Tu n’es peut-être pas royal ici, mais tu dois quand même faire attention. ”
Camille and Quentin glance at me, but I don’t have a clue what the hell they’re saying. The word royal sticks out to me, but for all I know, he called me a royal asshole.
He wouldn’t be wrong.
Camille seems fearful and upset. It bothers me and I want to do whatever I can to put that big smile back on her face.
“Hey.” I lower my voice as I face her. “You good? ”
“Yeah, I just need to talk to my brother.”
I take in her full pink lips, down to her slender neck that I have the urge to explore with my own. “Give me your phone.”
Her eyebrows narrow, but she does it anyway, giving it to me unlocked. I put my number in there, then hand it back to her.
She takes it and looks at the new contact, her eyes lighting up with the same hope I saw earlier.
“Just in case you need to reach me for social media stuff,” I tell her, lying through my damn teeth. That’s the last thing I want her to text me for.
Just as quickly as the hope in her eyes came, it flashes away. Camille straightens and hands me the helmet she had on as she brushes past me. “Thanks again. Have a good night,” she says softly.
She walks away, her long hair bouncing in the moonlight. How many more times am I going to let her walk away while I regret every second of it? Wishing I could chase after her and wrap her in my arms where I know she’d be safe.
Unlike how my heart feels when it comes to her.