Chapter Seven
Presley
Why the hell did you kiss him, Presley?I mentally facepalm, dragging myself for making such a reckless move.
That was really fucking stupid. Now he’s gonna know. Nobody’s gonna know. I don’t care if nobody knows, just him.
These are the conversations I have with myself when I spiral too far into my own head.
"Little Hellion, I’m not a broken record. This is the LAST time I'm asking: who is your crush?" Rygaard’s voice cuts through my thoughts like a blade, pulling me back to the now.
I blink, re-centering on the boy sitting in front of me. My best friend. The boy I want to share all my firsts with.
When did he get like this?
Like… this .
He looks like he just rolled out of bed, not like he’s been grinding through football practice for hours.
That dark hair of his falls messily around his ears, his emerald-green eyes darker than usual, like a storm’s rolling through them.
His cheekbones? So unfairly sharp. And don’t even get me started on his arms in that damn tank top.
Defined, tattooed, everything I shouldn't be staring at, and yet, here I am.
Drowning.
He clears his throat. Right. He asked me a question.
Welp. Now or never.
I square my shoulders and take a breath, letting the truth fly free. “You.”
His brows shoot up. “Me?”
“You’re my crush. And the reason I’ve been driving Rafe crazy with my wardrobe. I’ve been trying to get your attention, Ry Ry.”
It feels like unloading a thousand-pound weight. Terrifying, but freeing. Like taking that first leap off a cliff and hoping the water catches you.
What if this ruins everything? What if he stops coming over? What if he can’t unsee Rafe’s annoying, too-young sister pining after him?
No. Don’t do that. Don’t spiral. I said what I said. I’m not backing down. Not this time.
Rygaard just watches me. Silent. Unreadable. And the wait? Agonizing. Until finally, A wicked smirk tugs at his lips. “Me? I’m your crush?”
I nod, trying not to spontaneously combust.
“Well, Princess…” he says, raising a brow, “what are we gonna do about that?”
Oh God. Oh God.
“I don’t know, Ry. You tell me.” I smirk, trying to fake a confidence I barely feel.
“Nope. You’re the one with the crush, the ball’s in your court.”
“Giving little ol’ me the reins?” I tease. He nods. “I’m not exactly dominant, but if you want me to boss you around… your funeral.” I grin. “Kiss me, Ry.”
No hesitation. He leans in and does exactly that.
At first, it’s soft.
Sweet.
Like he’s tasting something he’s been craving for a long time. But then I moan and everything changes. His hand knots in my hair, lips taking more, pressing harder. Tongues tangling. The kind of kiss that rewrites your DNA.
He grips beneath my thighs and lifts me up. My legs wrap around his waist instinctively as he walks us to the edge of the bed and sits down, keeping me straddled on his lap.
“Tell me I was your first kiss,” he murmurs, forehead resting against mine, his voice low and raw. “Please.”
“You were,” I whisper. “And I want you to be all my firsts.”
His eyes soften. Something flickers there, surprise, pride, hunger. Maybe all three.
“I know I won’t be yours,” I say, meeting his gaze head-on. “But at least you’ll be mine.”
“What makes you think I’ve had any firsts with those girls at school?” he asks, a smirk curling his lips.
“Because you’re hot, on the football team, and half the girls at school talk about you like you’re a walking fantasy. I mean, I hear it all the time. How they’d let you bang their brains out.”
“Classy,” he mutters, then smirks. “But let me ease your mind, baby girl. I’ve been saving myself.”
My brows shoot up. “You? Seriously?”
He nods. “Deadass. No one’s touched me. Not where it counts. Not even close.” I flush instantly, and he notices. “That blush? Fucking beautiful. I wanna see more of that.”
Feeling bold, I lean in and whisper, “That can be arranged.”And I kiss him again.
This time, it’s fire. Hot, messy, urgent. I grind against him, and he responds with a groan that makes my entire body melt. My fingers dig into his hair, holding on for dear life.
Then he pulls back, breathing heavy. “Let’s get one thing straight, Presley.”
“What?”
“I wanna fuck you like I need my next breath, but I won’t. Not right now.”
I pout.
“Don’t do that,” he growls. “You’re too fucking adorable. Makes me wanna bite that lip.”
His voice drops, dark and serious. “Don’t think this is one-sided. You’ve got me. You’re under my skin, in my blood. You ignited something in me, and now you don’t get to just leave me burning.”
Very Fifty Shades . Very hot . Very do it.
I lean in again, testing him. His eyes track every move. When I’m close enough, he bites my lip, just enough to draw a little blood.
My hand flies to my mouth. “Ow.”
“Don’t dare me, Princess. I like those kinds of games.”
“So why aren’t we… y’know. Doing it?”
“Because you’re not ready. Hell, I’m not ready.”
“What is there to be ready for?”
He taps my legs, urging me to climb off. I fall back onto the bed with a groan. “Ugh. What now?”
“I’m gonna beat Wiley’s face in.”
“Um… what?!”