Chapter Eight
Ryan
"You were incredible out there," Bella says, squeezing my fingers as we navigate around a puddle. "That assist in the second period—I actually understood what you were doing strategically."
"Yeah? What did you see?"
"You anticipated that the defender would commit to blocking the obvious pass, so you waited until he was out of position and then fed it to Jake for the easy goal.
" She looks up at me with genuine admiration.
"It was like watching economic theory in action—creating value through strategic resource allocation. "
I laugh, because only Bella Lawson would watch hockey and see parallels to market economics. "You're never going to stop analyzing everything through an academic lens, are you?"
"Would you want me to?"
The question is simple, but the answer feels important.
Three months ago, I might have said yes—that I wanted someone who could turn off the intellectual analysis and just enjoy the moment.
But now, watching Bella's face light up as she explains how my on-ice decision-making mirrors complex economic principles, I realize that her brilliant, analytical mind is one of the things I love most about her.
"Never," I tell her. "I love the way you think about everything."
Her smile is soft and surprised, like she's still getting used to being appreciated for her intelligence instead of in spite of it.
Dinner at Tavola is perfect—intimate lighting, excellent wine, and the kind of conversation that flows effortlessly between hockey strategy, her latest research project, and increasingly personal topics that feel like we're peeling back layers of pretense with each shared story.
"I have a confession," Bella says over dessert, twirling her fork through tiramisu.
"Should I be worried?"
"Maybe." She meets my eyes directly. "I've been thinking about what you said. About this being real instead of just an arrangement."
My pulse spikes. "And?"
"And I think I've been lying to myself about what I wanted. I told myself I was using our fake relationship to get Tanner's attention, but..." She pauses, seeming to gather courage. "I think I was really just looking for an excuse to spend time with you."
The admission hits me like a perfect pass—unexpected, perfectly timed, exactly what I needed to hear.
"Bella—"
"I'm not finished." She sets down her fork and leans forward slightly.
"I think I started falling for you during our second tutoring session, when you brought me those macarons and we talked about surprise being the best part of getting to know someone.
Everything since then—the party, the hockey game, even Tanner asking me out—it's all just been me trying to figure out how to admit that I want this to be real. "
The restaurant suddenly feels too small, too public for the conversation we're having. I reach across the table and take her hand, needing the physical connection.
"Are you saying what I think you're saying?"
"I'm saying I love you too, Ryan. Not fake love, not arrangement love. Real, complicated, terrifying love that makes me want to throw out all my carefully made plans."
The words settle into my chest like the winning goal of the championship game. Bella Lawson loves me. Actually loves me, not the performance version of me, not the convenient fake boyfriend version, but me.
"Can we get out of here?" I ask, signaling for the check. "Because I really need to kiss you right now, and I'd prefer not to scandalize the other diners."
Bella's laugh is breathless and full of promise. "Your place or mine?"
"Yours is closer."
The ten-minute walk to her apartment feels like the longest of my life.
We don't talk much, but there's an electric tension humming between us that makes every accidental brush of our hands feel significant.
When we stop at crosswalks, I can feel Bella looking at me with an intensity that makes my skin feel too tight.
By the time we reach her building, the anticipation is almost unbearable.
"Ryan," Bella says as we climb the stairs to her apartment, and there's something in her voice that makes me pause.
"Yeah?"
"I need you to know that I've never... this is new for me. Feeling this way about someone."
I stop walking and turn to face her fully. "What are you saying?"
"I'm saying that I've dated before, but I've never been in love before. Not like this." Her cheeks are flushed, and she's looking at me like I'm something precious and slightly dangerous. "I'm saying that whatever happens tonight, it matters to me in a way that nothing else ever has."
The vulnerability in her admission makes my chest ache with tenderness. "It matters to me too. More than anything."
"I know. That's why I'm ready."
She unlocks her apartment door, and we step inside together. The familiar space looks different tonight—softer, more intimate, charged with possibility. Bella sets her purse down and turns to face me, and I can see the exact moment when she decides to stop overthinking and just feel.
"Come here," she says quietly.
I close the distance between us in two steps, my hands finding her face as I lean down to kiss her.
This kiss is different from all the others—deeper, more urgent, full of everything we've been holding back.
Bella melts into me, her hands fisting in my shirt, and I can taste the wine on her lips mixed with something that's purely her.
"I love you," I murmur against her mouth, and she responds by pressing closer, like she wants to eliminate any space between us.
"Show me," she whispers back.
I pull back to look at her, making sure I'm reading her correctly. "Bella—"
"I'm sure, Ryan. I'm sure about you, about this, about us." Her eyes are dark and certain. "I want you. All of you."
The honesty in her voice breaks something loose in my chest. I kiss her again, slower this time, savoring the taste of her, the way she responds to every touch. Her hands slide up to tangle in my hair, and when she makes a small sound of pleasure against my lips, I feel like I might lose my mind.
"Bedroom," she breathes, and I don't need to be asked twice.
I lift her up, and she wraps her legs around my waist as I carry her down the short hallway to her room. We're kissing the entire way, desperate and needy, like we've been starving for this connection.
In her bedroom, I set her down gently and take a moment to just look at her. Bella's hair is messed from my hands, her lips are swollen from kissing, and she's looking at me with such trust and desire that I feel like the luckiest man alive.
"You're beautiful," I tell her, meaning it more than I've ever meant anything.
"So are you."
We undress each other slowly, taking time to explore and appreciate. Every touch feels electric, every kiss feels like a promise. When Bella's fingers trace the muscles of my chest, when I run my hands along the curve of her waist, it's like we're learning a new language together.
Bella stands there in nothing but a matching set—white panties with tiny pink flowers and a bra to match.
She’s radiant. Her small waist gives way to full hips and soft, inviting thighs.
I don’t say a word. I don’t have to. I’m standing across from her in just my boxer briefs, the air between us thick with want.
My gaze asks the question my mouth doesn’t dare speak. She answers with action.
Slowly, sensually, she slips her bra strap off one shoulder, then the other, teasing me with every movement. When the cups fall away, her full breasts spill free—nipples tight and pink, aching to be touched. My eyes devour her. Every inch. Every curve.
Then come the panties. She drags them down her thighs inch by agonizing inch until they fall to the floor, revealing a soft, wild patch of dark curls that only makes my cock throb harder. I’m straining against the fabric now, painfully hard, desperate.
I can’t wait anymore. I shove my briefs down and my cock springs free, heavy, erect, and flushed with need. Her eyes drop to it, and she licks her lips slowly—deliberately—as if she knows exactly what she’s doing to me.
“You’re driving me insane,” I growl, stepping toward her, closing the last bit of space until we’re finally skin to skin.
My cock presses against her belly, hot and ready.
She tilts her chin up and parts her lips.
It’s instinct. Pure chemistry. Our mouths crash together and our tongues tangle like they’ve been starving for this moment.
“I’ve been waiting for this,” I murmur against her mouth.
Her voice is husky. “Me too… more than you know.”
“Oh, I think I know now.”
My hands find her ass—full, perfect—and I squeeze, loving the way she moans softly into my mouth.
One hand stays on her ass cheek while the other trails lower, fingers brushing through that soft patch until I find her folds.
She’s already soaked. I find her clit, swollen and slick, and she gasps, arching her neck as she whispers my name.
Our mouths stay fused while I slide one finger along her slit, then curl it inside her, keeping pressure on her clit with my thumb. Her breath stutters. Her hips move with mine. I guide her back toward the bed with my body, and she sinks down gracefully, already spreading her thighs.
“I need to feel you,” I say, voice rough with restraint.
“Now,” she breathes. “Take me now.”
I don’t hesitate. I slide into her in one slow, steady thrust. Her head falls back and she groans, low and desperate.
Her body grips me, clenches around me like it never wants to let go.
I brace myself with my arms on either side of her hips and begin to move, deep, slow strokes that make her moan with every push.
She’s tight, hot, perfect. With every thrust, I feel her pulsing around me, drawing me deeper. Our rhythm builds—faster, harder. The mattress rocks beneath us, the sound of skin on skin filling the room.
“I want to come,” she gasps, her voice breaking.
“Not yet,” I whisper. “Stay with me.”