17. Chapter 17
Chapter seventeen
Bexley
I must be losing my mind. That would be the only reasonable explanation for what I'm doing. No, seriously… I might need a shrink.
Rylan glances over the front of my house, brows together, intrigued, as I ascend the front steps onto the porch.
"I'll grab your shorts," I tell him, watching as his eyes light up in astonishment. "You can come in if you like."
To be fair, I didn't realize I was going to do this either. My body decided to take charge and bring him here, which is ridiculous if you ask me. That's how all horror movies start.
Without waiting for a response, because I expect him to say no, I walk inside, leaving the door open. Before I can make it down the hallway to my room, the front door closes behind me, and I find Rylan standing inside. His eyes dart around with curiosity, checking out the living room to his left. At least I kept myself busy over the weekend with stress cleaning so it's pretty spotless.
"It's… cozy," he remarks, earning a snort from me.
"Probably tiny in comparison to the mansion you live in," I shoot back. But I'm not bothered by it—I like our house. It holds all my favorite memories, even the ones I try not to think about anymore.
Heading into my bedroom, I grab his gym shorts from atop my dresser, quietly gasping when I nearly bowl him over as I spin around. I didn't realize he had snuck in behind me.
"Nice bedroom," he grins, taking in the light blue walls.
My eyes scan it with his, giving a little shrug in reply. "It's not much but it's my safe space."
I have no idea why I'm telling him anything, or why I brought him here in the first place. This is Rylan Astor we're talking about, for fuck's sake. But still, there's an odd peace in our meetups, and I find myself finally able to drown out my own demons whenever he's around.
"It's nice," he says, eyes lingering on the double bed. "It's definitely you ."
I'm not sure if he's referring to the purple bedding that matches my hair currently, or the random Lawless Dragons posters on the wall above my desk, but either way, I have to agree with him.
"Here," I tell him, holding out the freshly washed shorts. "Though, I'm sure you own multiple pairs."
Rylan grins, brushing my hands with his as he takes the neatly folded material. "I do. But these are my special pair now."
Oh, shit. The way his eyes are watching me, his words… it's enough to send flutters down my chest into my stomach. I need to control these strange sensations, because even though we agreed to peace, that's all it can be.
That's all we can allow.
Sure, the playful banter is fun. But being friends is not on the cards. Neither of us could survive that. Too many people rely on us, and we'd break a system that has been in place long before we were around.
Clearing my throat, I jiggle my car keys. "I'll drive you back to the school. I assume your car is there."
"It's not," he says quickly through a tight jawline. When he catches me looking at him in sheer confusion, he smiles brightly. "I got a lift with Tai this morning, but he had some errands to run so I said I'd find my own way home."
"Oh," I mutter, caught off guard. "Uh, would you like a lift back to yours?"
Rylan nods. "I'll give you money for gas if you like."
"No, it's fine," I say.
Famous last words.
Because why does it feel like there's alarm bells going off in my head?
I can't help but notice that when I pull into the Astor residence, Rylan's truck is nowhere to be seen. But I don't dwindle on that fact, pulling up at the wide-circular entrance.
There's a little turning bay on the gravel, surrounding a bronze statue of… something. It's very abstract, like the artist just took to the metal with a baseball bat until it warped into an acceptable shape. When I park in alignment to the front door, Rylan looks over from the passenger seat, eyeing me with a hint of uncertainty.
"Would you like to come in? I can give you back the shorts. You might want to use them for other things." There's nothing sinister or mocking about his tone, and for once, I actually find myself amused by his taunts. But seriously, fuck those damn shorts.
Laughing, I reply, "Sure," still questioning if I've left my sanity somewhere.
Turning off the engine, I slip out of the truck, staring at his house.
It reminds me of a large house from a fairytale, vibrant green vines lining the dark, charcoal cottage bricks. The wooden door is polished, reflecting our physiques as we approach.
There's a keypad by the front door, hidden from view by the shrubbery, and Rylan punches in a code without bothering to hide it.
Interesting…
I see the six digits easily, burning them into my mind for some reason. There's a beep of approval, and Rylan pushes open the door, holding it for me.
Stepping inside the entrance, the air whooshes out of my lungs, eyes rising as I take in the structure. It's absolutely beautiful, not like I expected—especially not from someone like Max Astor.
Similar to the outside, the inside is full of classic features, the interior renovated to bring life back to the wooden floorboards and bannisters. Family photos hang on the walls, giving it a homely feel. There are even pictures of Tai and Hunter when the three of them were younger, still looking as suspicious as ever. They were clearly up to no good in the photo, a secret hidden behind their grins.
"My room is upstairs," he says, gesturing for me to follow.
Kicking off my shoes by the door, even though he doesn't ask me to, my feet groan under the soft, plush carpet of the stairs as we ascend. My fingers run along the polished railing as I take note of the large sky-window on the roof. The crystal patterned glass welcomes the afternoon light, and when I reach the landing, I spot large windows at either end of the hall as well.
Rylan takes a right, and just before the glass panel, he stops at a door. Pausing for a moment, he gives me a warm grin, before opening the door.
Instantly, I'm breathless again. His bedroom is light and airy, full of blues and grays. There's a large balcony on the other side of the room, overlooking the front entrance of the grounds.
To my left, there's a large window above his desk, mounted bookshelves full of different kinds of literature. And on the right, his king-sized bed is donned with matte black matching bedding.
It's nothing like I expected, but it's still Rylan-coded.
In an open space between the bed and the balcony door, a 75-inch television is affixed to the wall with floating shelves holding his beloved PS5 in front of two beanbags.
"Your room is amazing," I murmur, glancing around. "I'm just surprised you don't have your own bathroom and staff in here." It's a joke, but Rylan walks back to the door, opening it.
"See that door across from us? That's my bathroom. It also has a walk-in closet attached."
Of course, it does…
Shaking my head, I head over to the beanbags, eyeing the console. "Still playing COD?"
"Yeah," he answers, making me jump when he appears right behind me.
I resist the urge to spin around, grossly aware of how close we are.
"I'll play you sometime," I offer, silently deflecting from the nerves that burn from our close proximity.
Rylan laughs, his breath tickling the back of my shoulders. "Think you can beat me?" he teases.
Finally, I turn around, facing him. There's no way I'm shrinking away from a challenge—even if I've never played COD before in my life. How hard could it be, really?
We're even closer than I imagined, barely three inches between us. My head tilts back so I can find his eyes easily. "Absolutely."
A wicked smile appears on his face. "Care to make a bet?"
"What's in it for me if I win?" I ask.
Rylan leans closer, and for a second, his eyes dart down to my lips. As quickly as it happens, the baby blues shoot back to my eyes. "Whatever you want."
"That's playing a dangerous game, Rylan."
"Maybe I like danger, Bexley."
What the hell are we doing?
So close, I can feel his breath on my lips. I find myself unable to tear myself away, despite knowing that I'm in trouble territory. My body is tense, urging me to reach out and touch him.
Every single reason why I shouldn't be here has vanished, and I'm mesmerized by his eyes and lips, wanting to just brush my fingers along the soft, pink edges to see if they feel exactly like they look.
For the second time today, my body just does what it wants, giving in as my thumb gently strokes his bottom lip for all of about two seconds before Rylan grabs my hand.
"Bex," he murmurs, running his finger along the inside of my wrist. "Don't tempt me. You'll regret the end result."
"And what's the end result?" I ask quietly.
Rylan's eyes darken, a storm brewing behind them. The baby blues become clouded, murky, swirling around as he holds my gaze.
"We'll—"
The words are cut off as his cell rings, the sound of Lawless Dragons' Imaginary Insanity blaring. He sighs, but doesn't let go of my hand, digging into his pocket.
"What's up?" he answers, still locking eyes with me.
Slowly, his brow furrows as he listens to whoever is on the other end, before he finally breaks the tension and looks away.
"Alright, I'll see what I can do," he says, hanging up.
Cold reality hits me like ice water, but before I can pull back, he brings my wrist to his mouth, placing a gentle kiss along it. "Duty calls, princess. I'll walk you out."
I don't sleep that night. Not even a wink.
After I left Rylan's house, the two of us continued to text like nothing had happened. But it had.
Something had shifted between us, and being in the unknown was not a place I liked to be.
It takes all my willpower to remember that this could just be a game to him, an excuse to gain leverage. Even when my body urges me to touch him.
Fuck. We almost kissed, I think. It felt like it.
We're not friends. We're still enemies. And even though we agreed on peace, it would be stupid of me to give in to temporary urges.
But also, why? Why do I feel like this?
There's no doubt in my mind that I'm attracted to him. Hell, I'd be crazy to deny the fact that Rylan Astor is gorgeous. They all are. But that's not an excuse to forget about my wits and risk everything.
I paid a quick visit to Mom afterwards, barely escaping the rain as it suddenly returned and pelted down on Ridgeview Valley. We were starting to hit the peak of this terrible weather forecast, and I was thankful for the excuse to stay inside. I tell myself that the rain is the reason I took pity on Rylan and let him get inside my car. As for the gym shorts? I can't explain that. And even more confusing was the new pair that now sit on the top of my dresser staring at me.
It's obvious he paid for them—I saw the receipt in his bag when he pulled them out. But the idea that he's being nice is so foreign to me that I begin to obsess over the reasons as to why he's doing this.
Blackmail. False sense of security. A game.
It can't just be out of the goodness of his own heart. Wolves don't change—all they do is fool people with sheep's clothing.
Pulling the covers over my body, I scroll social media for a bit, noticing that the posts of the fallen kings are becoming less frequent. I had asked everyone from Cedar not to share them anymore, and they hadn't. But in the Willowbrook public pages, a few people were still causing drama, but they quickly vanished, likely on the receiving end of scathing threats.
As darkness takes over my room, my mind is plagued with more thoughts, replaying things over.
I'm going insane searching for reasons, fighting back the feelings of guilty pleasure that want to take charge.
Especially since I keep circling back to one sure thing…
When I left Rylan's and drove to the hospital, I had to pass Willowbrook Academy.
And his truck was absolutely parked in the parking lot.