Chapter Fifteen
Camille
I t’s ten o’clock, and I’m sitting on my bed, anxiously waiting for Ryker to answer my latest text message. After the game, everyone went back to their rooms, since it was nine o’clock at night and everyone was exhausted. Once I got to mine, I showered and got ready for bed, opting for joggers and a tank top, foregoing a bra.
He’s seen me like this before when he did my tattoo, and quite frankly, I don’t care all that much. My boobs aren’t big enough for them to be super noticeable, except the piercings that occasionally make themselves known.
That was a decision I made when I was eighteen after years of begging my parents to play softball. They of course said no, so I rebelled and did something fun for myself.
My phone vibrates, pulling me from my memories. My heart races in my chest when I see Ryker’s name and I pull up our text thread.
Nerves rattle my chest when I realize we’re actually doing this. I don’t have much of a choice and Mackenzie told me earlier that Cuddy would be coming over. She said I was welcome to stay, but her tone lacked sincerity.
I inhale a quiet, deep breath, then stand from the bed to grab my bag filled with everything I would need for tomorrow.
“Well, have fun tonight. My cousin is out front,” I lie to Mackenzie awkwardly.
“I appreciate you for this.” She smiles brightly, genuine gratitude on her face.
“No problem. Have fun.” I smile back, exiting the room.
I glance down the hall quickly and make sure no one’s in sight. Then I tiptoe down the hall to Ryker’s room.
I knock once, and before my knuckles have even left the wood, he gently pulls me inside the room and slams the door shut behind us, then locks it.
I would focus on his proximity, but my eyes instantly land on the table behind him.
“What’s all this?” I ask, motioning toward the variety of snacks ranging from candies and chocolate to potato chips and popcorns.
Ryker shrugs. “I got us a few snacks, but I didn’t know what you’d like, so I got everything essentially. I figured we could watch a movie.”
“Popcorn with hot sauce is my favorite snack,” I tell him.
“Good to know. Wait, you’re not allergic to anything, are you? Shit, I should’ve asked first,” he grumbles, looking disappointed.
I can’t fight the smile that tugs on my lips. “No, I’m not. This is perfect. Thank you. And a movie sounds great. ”
“You can take whatever bed you want. I’ll set up Netflix while you pick what snacks you want. Do you need a drink?”
He’s still my grumpy guy, but there’s something odd about how nice he’s being. I know we said yes to being friends, so maybe he’s taking that to heart and trying.
“No, I have my water,” I say, holding up my emotional support water bottle that goes with me everywhere. It’s huge and a lavender shade, obviously.
Ryker nods and starts setting up his Netflix account on the TV, while I lay my stuff down on the floor and drop onto the bed that is closest to the wall. Then I move to the table and browse through the snacks and decide on popcorn and sour cherry blasters.
The hum of the Netflix intro fills the room as Ryker plops down on the bed beside mine, putting space between us that I’m partly thankful for, while another part of me is not.
“Which snack do you want?” I ask him, lifting my eyes to his. I notice his are cast downward and on my chest.
He quickly averts them and shakes his head. “I already have Pop-Tarts,” he says, holding up a box of cookie dough-flavored ones.
“What am I supposed to do with all of these snacks?” I giggle while looking at how much is on the table.
“You can take them home. They’re all for you,” he says casually.
Flurries of warmth sprinkle across my chest at the image of Ryker going to the corner store next to our hotel and buying everything just for me .
“What do you want to watch?” he asks, pulling me back to reality.
“Nothing scary,” I immediately say because whenever I watch scary movies, I’m more likely to have a nightmare. So I do my best to avoid them.
Ryker eyes me for a beat, then exits the app to pull up a different app instead. I don’t say anything and watch with intrigue to see what he’ll do next.
He settles on the animated movie section and says, “Pick one.”
I smile shyly and shake my head at him. “We don’t have to watch a kids movie just because I’m a big baby.”
“Just pick,” he grunts.
I then remember what he told me about watching animated movies with his mom. “Do you miss your mom?” I ask softly, knowing I’m prying and he usually hates it.
“I always miss her when I’m on the road,” he reveals, giving me a tiny sliver of himself that firmly plants itself in my heart. A grumpy, hot baseball player misses his mom? I’m fucked with this never-ending crush.
“That’s really sweet. You can pick. I’m good with any movie,” I tell him, popping a couple of cherry blasters into my mouth.
Ryker settles on Tangled , and we both munch on our snacks as the movie begins. It’s quiet for a bit because I get the feeling Ryker is not the type to talk through a movie, whereas I usually am. Whether that be reactions to things going on or asking questions out loud that no one could answer unless they’ve seen it before.
But as the movie goes on, I find myself unable not to make comments. I giggle and hum along to the songs, which pulls a grunt out of Ryker every time.
“Wow,” I breathe, watching the lamp scene in fascination. It’s beautiful and reminds me of home. The whole castle itself does. The resemblance is endearing yet a reminder of what I ran away from.
“Pretty, huh?” Ryker drawls. “Makes me wonder if actual princesses existed and stuff, would it look like this? Or would they live in a mansion?”
His rambling isn’t what instantly changes my mood, even though it is odd for him to question the legitimacy of royals.
Does he know something?
A shiver runs down my spine at the idea. How different would he treat me? Would he tell everyone and expose my secret identity here? If everyone knew who I was, would men try to get to me like they did when I was back home?
“I don’t know,” I mutter, climbing under the covers and turning on my side and away from him.
Way to be discreet, Camille, I internally chastise myself.
“What’s wrong, princess?” he asks, sounding concerned, but I choose to ignore it.
“Nothing, just tired. It’s been a long day.” I stage a yawn, having done it many times to get out of conversations at events back home. “Night, Ryker the biker.”
Ryker doesn’t respond as he continues to watch the movie, and I eventually drift off to a peaceful sleep. That is until I wake up with my throat on fire from the guttural scream that echoes out of it.