Chapter 7 Just When I Think You Can’t Get Any Hotter #2
It’s subtle, the hitch in her breath, the way her lips part ever so slightly, how her pupils dilate further, but I notice it all.
And for the first time, that intense, magnetic force that pulls me into Mabel’s orbit over and over doesn’t feel one-sided.
It doesn’t feel like all the energy in the room is contained in my chest. No, it’s buzzing between us, electrical sparks firing off in every which way as we sit in the aftermath of my admission.
My body has a mind of its own, and I’m helpless against the way my eyes zero in on her lips.
Helpless against the urge to lean in, to tighten my grip on her thigh, to bring us close enough to feel the warmth of her breath fanning my face.
But then Mabel is moving, swatting my hand away and scurrying out of her chair.
“Nice try, Rye Bread, but pretending to think I’m pretty won’t get you your money back. Now, I don’t know about you, but I’m in need of a treat. Winning really gets my sweet tooth going.”
She tries to sound indifferent, but I can hear the edge of panic in her tone.
Oh lord, I have fucked up.
In the time it takes me to collect our vouchers—the chips are just for show these days—and throw a couple of bills on the table as a tip for Bunny, Mabel is already breezing through the heavy curtain that separates the high roller club from the rest of the casino.
It takes a few long strides to catch up with her, but when I do, my hand on her shoulder is immediately shrugged off.
“Mabel, slow down.”
“I want to hit the gelato spot we walked by earlier before they close. I’m dying for a scoop of chocolate hazelnut.”
“Mabel, I’m trying to talk to you,” I say, this time hooking my arm around her elbow. “I’m sorry if I freaked you out. I shouldn’t have said—”
She yanks her arm away from mine like I’m some gross seaweed brushing her leg in the ocean.
“Not here, Ryder,” she spits, anger burning in her eyes. It’s not her usual playful annoyance staring back at me. It’s a genuine ire that I can feel in my gut, and I throw my hands up in surrender.
“Mabel, I—”
“Not here,” she says again, her gaze flitting around as casino-goers and passersby begin to notice us standing here.
I follow sheepishly as she stomps towards a quiet alcove, pressing her forehead on the wall between a janitor’s closet and an electrical room.
I tuck my hands into my pockets, watching in confusion as she takes three long, deep breaths, the same way she does before a run in competition.
I don’t dare try to speak again, not until she’s ready to talk.
“Why are you such a dick, Ryder?” Mabel asks after what feels like an eternity, not turning or taking her forehead off the white, tiled wall.
It’s not the first time Mabel has ever called me a dick, but it is the first time that I can’t pinpoint what I said to earn it.
It’s also the first time she’s called me a dick without the mirth of a fire-breathing dragon.
She sounds sad, defeated, and it’s making my gut churn.
I open my mouth, then close it again, unsure of what to say.
“I’m really trying, you know. Danny, my parents, your parents. They all want me to give you a chance. I came out tonight; I was willing. I was even having fun. But you’re so…Ryder. Goddammit, you are so Ryder, and it pisses me off.”
“I’m…sorry?” I say, though it sounds more like a question than anything else. Mabel turns, and she looks…exhausted.
Beautiful, but exhausted. I press a knuckle to my chest, suddenly feeling the grip of an invisible fist around my heart. I wrack my brain, trying to figure out where the night went sideways, but I’m coming up empty.
“Mabel, I know I’m a pain in the ass. I know I tease you sometimes, but I truly don’t know what I did to bug you just now. I thought we were having fun. I realize I should probably know the answer to this, but I’m sorry, I don’t. Can you please tell me what I did so I can apologize. Please?”
The seconds hang heavy between us as I wait for her answer.
“Did you mean it?”
“Mean what?”
Her beleaguered sigh cuts deep. Pinching the bridge of her nose, she closes her eyes.
“In there,” she gestures back towards the high-roller room. “All that stuff you said about me, about looking at me. Did you mean it?”
A knife to the gut might have hurt less than the sad look in Mabel’s chestnut eyes when she opens them and looks up at me.
That fist around my heart squeezes tighter, everything in me locking up tight.
There are a million things I want to say, want to confess, want to scream at the top of my lungs. But instead, I just say,
“Of course I meant it, Mabel. Every word.”
And then I see it. It’s quick, so quick that if I didn’t have twenty-five years of memorizing the woman in front of me under my belt, I might have missed it.
Mabel’s eyes drop to my lips, her already pink cheeks flushing hotter.
I reach out and take her chin in my hand, my thumb brushing the skin under her bottom lip while I tilt her face.
“Come on, Marshmallow. You’re seriously telling me you didn’t know?”
Mabel’s lips part as she gazes up at me, her warm breath skating across my skin, and the noise around us is drowned out by the sound of my heart beating rapidly in my chest.
Oh my god. Oh my god. I’m going to kiss Mabel. I’m finally going to—
Mabel takes a comically large step back, slapping a hand over her mouth to stifle the laughter bubbling up from her chest.
Okay, I guess I got a bit ahead of myself.
“Why is that so funny?” I ask as she covers her face with both hands, backing into the wall while laughing into her palms. That sound is so infectious, I can’t help it. It doesn’t matter that I’m confused and maybe a little butt hurt, I start laughing, too.
“Nothing,” she says between heaving gasps.
“Nothing. It’s just. Danny said something to me earlier and I—” she’s cut off by her own giggles, doubling over and sending her red hair flying over her face.
I place a hand on her shoulder, and when she flips back up, she’s wiping a tear from the corner of her eye.
“Oh god, I need a drink. I need ten drinks. Want to hit one of the casino bars and get ten drinks with me?”
Well, that’s a blow-off if I’ve ever seen one.
I basically admit to the woman that I’m crazy about her, and I get nothing in return.
It hurts, but looking at Mabel, the tension still coiled in her shoulders and the frown line on her forehead still deep enough I could lose a pinky in it, I decide not to push.
The unmistakable flash of cameras hit the corner of my eyes, and neither of us needs to turn to know that passersby with cell phones are seizing the moment to snap a photo of Mabel and me in the wild.
She winces briefly, but schools her features just as quickly in a practiced move she’s nailed down over the years.
When the photos hit the internet in a few minutes, it won’t look like we’re in the middle of a weird, confusing, pseudo-argument.
We’ll look like two life-long pals taking a break from the hustle and bustle of the casino, maybe deciding that it’s time to pack it in for the evening.
Through gritted teeth and a phony smile, Mabel groans.
“It’s probably not the best idea to get ten drinks with an entourage on our tail, huh?”
I try not to roll my eyes as I nod, and Mabel sighs.
“It’s a good thing I’ve got that bottle of champagne in my room. Guess we should probably call it a night.”
Well, that is the absolute last thing I want to do. I should let Mabel go, but that is the rational, adult side of my brain speaking, and he’s kind of a dweeb.
Instead, I let the mischievous part of my brain take the reins. Palming her hips, I squeeze gently.
“I’ve got a better idea. Do you trust me, Marshmallow?”