Chapter Two
Rygaard
Senior Year
“Kenny, stop.” Presley giggles from the sidelines, rolling her shoulders and tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear. Classic Presley move, the one she does when she’s into a guy. “You’re so funny.” She gushes, and I swear, my blood starts to boil.
The football game is in full swing, and so was Presley, working that damn flirt game like she was born for it.
She had a recital that ran late, so I told Coach I wasn’t playing. No Presley, no game. ‘If you do that, you’ll be suspended for the next two games. Is that really what you want?’ I still hear his words.
Still didn’t give a single fuck. I couldn’t play without her there. Couldn’t focus. Didn’t even try.
And now, here she is, laughing at something that prick Kenny said, with his hand hovering a little too close to her ass.
My ass.
Let his hand fall any lower, and I swear I’ll break every finger on it.
They haven’t seen me yet. I’m standing just far enough to stay hidden but close enough to hear every damn word.
“Come on, Prez, lemme see what you’re hiding under that jacket,” he croons.
Before I even think, I’m off the wall and moving.
But then she speaks. “Now, Kenny,” she says, cool and sharp, “what makes you think you’re worthy of seeing what’s under my jacket, let alone putting your hand on my ass?” That smirk could drop a grown man.
She points in my direction. “My brother is right over there. Think he’ll let you leave here with both hands still attached?”
I freeze mid-step.
She knew.
She knew I was standing here the whole time.
I meet her gaze, and she smiles, just before smacking Kenny’s hand away.
“Number one, he’s not your brother. Two, your pathetic crush on him is childish. Three, no one's gonna want a stuck-up bitc- ”
Crack.
My fist lands before he finishes the word.
He goes down hard.
“Don’t you ever speak to her like that, you fucking piece of shit.” I’m on him, straddling his chest, fists raining down like hellfire. “You think you can talk to a lady like that?” I roar, every punch fueled by months of pent-up rage.
Then, two small hands land on my shoulders. Warm. Calming.
Presley.
“Ry, stop… He’s not worth it.” Her whisper is soft, gentle, like wind brushing fire into ash.
I let him go. Watch him slump, unconscious. She helps me up.
“Princess?” I ask, dazed. She’s glowing, calm, hands on either side of my face like she always does when I’ve gone too far.
She smiles, God, that smile, and murmurs, “There’s my Ry Ry.”
“I’m here,” I whisper back.
“Take me home?” she asks sweetly. Then adds, “With a stop for ice cream?”
There’s no way I could say no to this girl. I’d give her the shirt off my back. The last breath in my lungs.
I close my eyes, breathe her in, lilac and cherry blossom. “How do you always get your way with me?” I murmur.
“Because… you’re simply the best?” she squeaks.
“No. It’s because I can’t say no to you. And you damn well know it.”
“Well,” she says, placing a kiss on each cheek.
“Well, what?”
“You could say no. You just don’t.” Brat.
I raise an eyebrow. “Maybe I’ll start now.”
She freezes. Then, hands on hips, eyes locked on me like a sniper: “No, you won’t. And if you try, we can start that game tomorrow. But right now? You’re getting me ice cream.”
She grabs my hand and drags me along, giggling like she’s in charge.
And I let her think she is.
Little does she know, she’s had me by the balls since the day I realized she wasn’t Rafe’s snaggletooth kid sister anymore.
She turned fourteen, and suddenly, the baggy boy clothes and glasses were gone, replaced by skin-tight crop tops that showed off her flawless brown skin, those damn leggings that hugged every inch of her curves, and heels that should’ve been criminal.
Her eyes, deep and rich, held a new kind of fire, one that made my heart skip in ways it shouldn't.
I was done for.
Especially that night she came down the stairs in that white dress for homecoming. When she said she had a date, I shut it down. She didn’t talk to me for a month. Didn’t matter.
No one else was touching my girl.
Now, she’s pulling me through the crowd, all smiles and sass.
By the time we get to my ‘67 Impala, she pushes me against the door, fishes my keys from my pocket like she owns me.
“I’m driving,” she announces.
I can’t stop smiling.
She hops in the driver’s seat like she’s been doing it her whole life. “Get in!” she grins. I slide in, and the engine growls to life. “I love it when she purrs like that.” I glance over. She’s bouncing in her seat like a kid on Christmas. “Why’re you looking at me like that?” she asks.
“Like what?”
“Like I’m about to wreck your baby.”
She has no idea. “It’s just a car, Prez.”
Her jaw drops. “ Just a car?! ” she gasps, petting the dash. “He didn’t mean that, baby. Forgive him.”
I turn to her, voice low. “Because you’re more important than this stupid car, Princess.”
She bites her lip, and I know I should look away.
But I can’t.
I reach out, wipe a smudge from her cheek, and for a second, it looks like I’m gonna kiss her.
She goes still.
But instead, I grab the seat belt and buckle her in.
“Safety first, Prez.”
She’s stunned, eyes wide. To ease the tension, I tease, “You do know how to drive a stick, right?”
She smirks, grabs the wheel with one hand, shifts with the other. “Do I know how to drive a stick? And you call yourself my brother.”
Then she peels out like a bat outta hell.
“Hold on, Ry.”
And I do.
To the wheel.
To this girl.
To the hope that one day… she’ll be mine.