21. Alice
Alice
Tonight was a strange night.
It wasn’t bad, quite the opposite actually, just strange.
I know it has to do with what I overheard in that conversation between him and Sully.
There were pieces of the story that I didn’t know, and now I do.
It makes it harder for me to hold a grudge against him, but at the same time, I still know what he’s capable of.
When things got uncomfortable, he left me.
Easily. Without a second thought, and that’s the part that I’m trying to remind myself of and hang on to.
I feel torn. Like I’m split down the middle.
I want to forgive him. I want to set the record straight. I want to move on from the horrible place we were at, but then there’s the logical part of me that’s holding back, telling me not to, and for good reason.
During another conversation I once had with my therapist, we discussed the neurological sides of the brain.
She talked me through my confusion about him in terms of science.
Depending on whether you are right- or left-handed, one side of the brain handles emotions that deal with engaging with the world, whereas the other side deals with emotions of avoidance.
Our brain can be at war with both sides trying to persuade us to do one thing or another, but when you toss in love, it becomes murky.
Love engages both sides, both hemispheres, and deactivates the different parts needed to sometimes make rational decisions.
That’s where the expression “love is blind” comes from.
Am I swaying myself toward the good sides of him and the good times and being blind?
Is my judgment being clouded by my emotions? The good ones that make the scales tip toward forgiveness?
Earlier today, he asked if I wanted to ride with him to the gala, and I couldn’t. I need the separation to keep my head on straight. But when he asked if I wanted a ride home, there was nothing that I wanted more.
Spending time with him, talking to him, dancing with him—it’s like the best dopamine hit on the planet.
I hate that I’m drawn to him.
I hate that even after what he did to me, I still want to be near him.
I hate that he still affects me positively.
I hate that I’m willing to let the scales tip just so I can soak up more hits.
“Do you own this tuxedo?” I ask him as we’re driving back to my apartment.
His brows pop up, and he quickly glances at me and then back at the road.
“I do. I bought it for tonight. Figured I would need it again soon enough for something else. Why? Does it look okay?”
“Yes. It fits you nicely.”
I let my gaze travel over him. He’s laid the coat and the tie across the back seat, so he’s wearing just the white shirt with the black vest, and then the black pants.
He’s opened the top button. There’s no belt, and his shoes are shiny black.
I reach over to take his arm. He goes willingly, and I look at his cuff links. They are silver footballs, and I laugh.
“I shouldn’t be surprised, but I am.”
His hand falls to my lap, and he keeps it there, tangling his fingers with mine.
“I couldn’t help it. I was going through the options in the store, and when I saw them, I had to have them. What about you? Buy this dress?”
I look down at the beautiful fabric and then back over at him. “No. I rented it.”
He looks at me. “Shame.”
My cheeks heat at the compliment.
The rest of the ride home, neither of us speaks. He’s put on some music, he holds my hand, and I push away all the warning flags to live in the moment.
A moment that is content. A moment that reminds me of our past, but also a moment of something new.
Too soon, we reach my apartment, and he parks the truck.
Silence falls over us, as well as something else.
Instead of thinking too hard about it, or questioning it, when he slides out of his side of the truck and comes around to open my door, I let him.
He takes my hand, laces our fingers together, and walks me to my front door.
I turn to face him, and a thousand butterflies take flight.
What is it about a boy standing in front of a girl in a setting like this that is so .
. . sensual? All of my physical senses are lit up.
He’s handsome that it almost hurts me to look at him.
I can still smell the modern, fresh scent of his cologne.
His hand is warm against mine, and I know if I leaned into him, his body would be too, a body that I’m craving to touch.
Don’t get me started on taste. He has perfect lips.
He always has. I’ve spent more time thinking about what it would be like for him to press them against mine again that I ache for the contact.
“Thank you for bringing me home. I appreciate it.” I squeeze his hand instead of letting it go.
“Anytime,” he says, his gaze lovingly scanning my face. And yes, I said lovingly.
We all know when a guy wants us. There’s an edge that forms around them, making them a little stiffer than usual. Their eyes are darker in a way that’s almost a warning, and their breaths become a little more shallow than normal.
This is not what Ryder looks like.
Ryder is not stiff. If anything, he looks a little defeated in a way that tells the world, this girl owns me.
His eyes are dark, but they’re soft in a passionate and warm kind of way.
His shoulders are loose, almost like they’re curved toward me so he can be closer, and his breaths are steady, content.
He blinks, and the action is slow, not sharp and quick.
Almost like he’s waiting.
Which I realize he is.
It isn’t about him wanting me. It’s about him giving himself to me.
And right now, it’s obvious that he wants to give me whatever I want.
But he won’t, and I know, based on what I heard the other night during his talk with Sully, that if I ever want this to happen, if I’m lucky enough to have the privilege of kissing him, I have to initiate it.
He won’t do it. He tried once, and knowing what I do now, I know that rejection hit harder than anything he’s ever felt out on the field.
Without overthinking it, I rest my free hand on his arm to lift on my toes, rules be damned, and place my lips on his.
They are warm, just like I knew they’d be, full, and the backs of my eyes sting.
I never thought I’d get the opportunity to kiss him, yet here I am.
Here I am, trying to open this door between us that at one point I know he wanted, but somewhere in the last fifteen seconds, I’m realizing he’s gone as stiff as a board.
I know I didn’t read him wrong. I can read him better than anyone. This makes me confused.
Confused and suddenly stupid.
Dropping down to my feet, my eyes squeeze shut, as I can’t bear to see the look on his face.
Is he disappointed in me? Is he disgusted by me?
Or worse yet, is he amused and indifferent to me?
He wanted this too. I know he did. But then again, after all this time, maybe I can’t read him anymore, and now I have no idea how he’s going to react.
Did I just make things worse?
Taking a step back, embarrassment sweeps over me as a lump rises in my throat.
I’m about to spin to unlock my door and go hide inside when his fingers pull on my hand to stop me.
I’d forgotten that we were still holding hands.
Wrapping his free hand around the back of my neck, his fingers tighten a little as he brings me back closer to him.
I open my eyes to find them dark. So dark my stomach dips, swirls, and sparks in the most electric way.
And they’re trained on my lips.
Feeling brazen, I take a step toward him and place my hand on his chest. His heart is pounding underneath his shirt, and I need him to know mine is doing the same.
Shaking his hand free from mine, I gently move it and place it over my heart.
As large as it is, he may as well be palming my breast, but he understands what I’m doing as our eyes lock and hold.
“Please. Kiss me, Ryder,” I whisper.
He inhales sharply, and his gaze bounces back and forth between mine.
His hand on the back of my neck tightens, and not wanting to waste any more time, his hand on my chest slides over my breast, across my rib cage, under my arm to my back, where he pulls me up and into him, and his lips close over mine.
Oh God.
I know this kiss is going to ruin me, and I can’t wait to be swept away. Actually, I already have. I’ve waited a lifetime for this kiss, and I want it so, so bad.
Tilting my head, Ryder presses his lips against mine and holds us there.
I don’t know if he needs a second to compose himself or if he’s relishing the sensation like I am.
Eventually, he pulls back just a little to look at me.
His warm breaths hit my mouth, and my free hand moves to cup his cheek at the same time he slides around from the back of my neck and does the same.
I breathe him in. A shared breath that holds years of longing.
His thumb brushes the corner of my mouth, and I turn to kiss it, while keeping my eyes locked on his.
“Alice.” His rough tone is pleading.
“Ryder,” I respond, moving closer as his name leaves my mouth and brushes against his.
He closes the minuscule distance and again presses his lips to mine.
This time, instead of pulling away, he sucks my bottom lip between his, bites it a little, and then runs his tongue over it.
A gasp escapes me, opening my mouth, and after what feels like five lifetimes, I’m finally getting my first taste of Ryder.
And it’s even better than I imagined.
He’s not hesitant at all as his tongue dips in to find mine. While they say that first kisses are usually awkward, there is nothing awkward about this one. We’re in sync with each other, as if we’ve been kissing for years, not just moments.
This kiss isn’t rushed. It’s slow, deep, and consuming.
He takes his time exploring my mouth and savoring my lips.
From one side to the other, he tilts our heads to try every angle.
His tongue leisurely dances with mine, as if he has no other place in this world that he needs to be.
And his fingertips grip solidly in my hair.
I’m overwhelmed in the best way by being this man’s sole focus.
Our surroundings could be going up in flames, and I don’t think he would notice.
This makes me feel treasured, wanted, and that’s all I’ve ever dreamed of from him.
For him to want me as much as I want him.
Time passes. I don’t know how long, but I do know that my lips are swollen, my skin feels a little tender from the rough edge of where his lips meet his skin, and there’s a light shadow as the stubble from the day has made an appearance.
He looks perfect, he feels perfect, and no matter what happens, this was the greatest first kiss of all time.
Lowering back to my feet, he follows and places his forehead against mine. His eyes are shut, and he’s breathing hard, but then again, so am I.
“Thank you, Alice,” he says quietly.
“Thank you for what?”
His eyes open, and he pulls back a little to find mine. They’re pained with a hint of gratitude.
“Thank you for giving me that. At least once in my life.”
Once in his life?
“Ryder,” I whisper, but he shakes his head for me not to speak.
What does he think I’m going to say? Because if I have my way, there will be many more kisses like this one. But as he stands up to his full height, I see all the bricks on all four of his walls slowly stack around him.
The moment is over, and by the tortured look on his face, there’s nothing I could say to change it.
Taking a step back, he gently cradles my head, runs his thumb across my cheek, and then walks straight past me and back toward the parking lot.