Chapter Ten
Rygaard
How can I say no to this girl?
Easy… I can’t.
“I wouldn’t have it any other way.” I make sure her door is locked. I don’t need Rafe or her parents walking in to find their daughter pressed up against me, because that’s exactly where she’s going to be.
So close you won’t be able to tell where I end and she begins.
She weighs nothing, light as a breath, so it’s easy to peel the covers back with her still in my arms. I lower her gently into bed.
“What do you want to put on?” I ask.
She nibbles her bottom lip in that way I like but says nothing. Her eyes flick to my shirt.
Yeah… that one. The one I’m still wearing.
I’d give her my skin if she asked for it. “Use your words, Princess.”
She huffs and mutters, “Can I wear your shirt?” Rolling her eyes like I’m the problem.
“If you wanted it, all you had to do was ask, but it’s wet.”
“I did ask. With my eyes. You’re the one who needed to hear it, Ry and I don’t care if it’s wet.”
That sarcastic tone always gets me. Always makes me grin.
“In case you haven’t noticed, I like it when you do what I say... like the good girl I know you are,” I tease, pulling the shirt over my head and handing it to her.
She takes it, pressing it to her nose like she needs it to breathe. “Intoxicating,” she mumbles, slipping it over her head.
“What’s intoxicating?” I ask, already knowing the answer.
“There you go again, Rygaard. Always needing me to say things out loud. Newsflash: I’m not your obedient, little submissive,” she says, falling back onto the bed with a dramatic sigh.
“You will be,” I murmur. “Right now, you’re just my mouthy, Little Hellion.”
“And you like it. So shut up,” she shoots back, scooting over and patting the space beside her. “Are you getting in, or what?”
“You’re really cute when you pretend I annoy you,” I say, climbing in beside her. I grab a few pillows and start stacking them between us.
She glares. “Why are you doing that?”
“I thought you didn’t like me touching you?”
“I need physical contact to sleep, smartass.”
I smirk. “If you’re sleeping, how do you know you’re touching anything?”
“Oh my God, shut up and open your arms.”
No hesitation. I settle back, arms open. She slides in close, adjusting herself like she’s trying to melt into me.
“You good?” I ask when she finally stops moving.
“Peachy,” she whispers.
I breathe deep, content. Like this is exactly where I’m supposed to be.
“Ry?”
“Yeah?”
“Thank you,” she says, voice soft enough to fold into a whisper.
“For what? I didn’t do anything.”
“Yeah, you did.”
But she doesn’t say anything else.
A few minutes later, her soft snores fill the room, and I’m smiling like an idiot. “My little Princess is hell on wheels,” I whisper, pulling her closer.
My eyes drift shut, and for the first time in a while, I sleep without ghosts chasing me.
* * *
Ever since the night Presley fell asleep in my arms, I haven’t been able to sleep without her.
I’ve got a long list of reasons for my insomnia, my parents top the list, but Presley curled into my chest? That’s my cure.
It’s become our ritual. She texts me when the coast is clear, and I sneak in like I’ve done what feels like a hundred times before.
My parents argue more than they breathe, and half the time it’s about me. About how I spend more time across the street than in my own damn house.
Can you blame me?
Sharonda and Jack Collins live like some picture-perfect postcard family. They work late, but when they’re home, it’s family time , real, genuine, annoying-in-the-best-way family time.
Rafe pretends he hates it, but you can see it in his eyes, he lives for it.
Me? I used to leave when their parents got home, pretending I didn’t want to intrude. But sometimes, I’d circle the block just to watch from the outside, wishing I had a sliver of what they did.
Inside that warm house, I saw it all: the love, the laughter, the way Sharonda doted on Presley, the way Jack clapped Rafe on the back like he was proud of everything he ever did.
I longed for that.
At my house, it was all about image. My dad’s politics. My mom’s designer getaways. They didn’t want a son, they wanted a legacy.
My life? A business transaction they never let me sign off on.
But it’s senior year. Soon, I get to make my own choices.
* * *
“Earth to Rygaard!”
Luke, our wide receiver, waves a hand in front of my face.
“You’re doing that thing again, Ry.”
“What thing?” I ask, even though I already know. I space out when I think about her. Always.
“That goofy-ass face you make when you’re in La La Land,” he laughs. “Either that or you’re trying to fart and your ass cheeks are locked in battle.”
The whole team laughs. Idiots.
We’re gearing up for game six. We’ve won the last five, and we’re on fire.
“Shut up, asshole.”
“I know what your problem is,” Luke grins. “You need to get laid.”
The other guys pile on, throwing out dumb suggestions like they’re horny middle schoolers.
“Nah,” Rafe says, stepping in. “He lets it all out on the field. That’s why we keep winning.”
“Leave it to Rafe to come in and save his boyfriend,” Luke snorts.
“Anyway,” he continues, “you coming to the after party? Win number six deserves celebration.”
“Yeah,” Weston smirks. “Julie’s gonna be there.”
I roll my eyes.
She’s had a crush on me all season, but she’s not my type. Never has been. Never will be.
Because Presley is my type.
“I’m going,” I say, slamming my locker shut. “But I could give two fucks that Julie’s gonna be there.”
“You serious?” Weston looks like I just murdered his dog. “Dude, that’s social suicide. She’s hot.”
“Then you fuck her,” I say, brushing past him.
Rafe jogs up beside me. “Don’t mind him. Weston’s brain is eighty percent hormones.”
“I’m not worried about him,” I say, but then a thought hits. One I can’t shake. “Is Presley going to the party?”
He doesn’t miss a beat. “Probably. She gets out of dance at five-thirty. Might skip the game, but her ass is definitely gonna be there.”
He walks off, lost in his own thoughts.
But me?
I’m smiling.
Because if she’s going to that party…
I’ll be the one playing with her tonight.