My jaw drops. “I am not.”
I’m almost angry at them for suggesting it. It catches me completely off guard, because here we were having a lighthearted sex chat, and they had to turn it into a discussion about stupid feelings.
Ryder and I don’t “do” feelings.
So why do you feel all of them?
Sometimes I really hate that voice in my head.
Fine. Maybe I feel some things. Urgency. Fascination. Hunger. Confusion. Desperate, raw need. Pure, bone-deep contentment.
Oh no. Those last two sound a lot like…
Nope.
I push it out of my mind and shut down the conversation when my friends tease me about it again over dinner. Later, while I’m washing the dishes and Mya wipes down the table, my phone buzzes near her hand. She peeks at the screen and says, “It’s your true love.”
“Oh, stop it,” I grumble.
I dry my hands on a rag and go over to read the text.
RYDER:
Can I come over tonight? Need a change of scenery.
And a couple of hours later, we’re in my bed driving each other crazy. His strong hands roam my body, warm lips trailing over my skin. My palms skim the defined muscles of his chest as I crawl lower and take him in my mouth. I suck him slow and deep, while he makes husky noises of approval, stroking my hair.
“You look so pretty right now,” he mumbles, peering down at me.
I smile around his thick shaft before releasing him. Then I wrap my fist around him and lazily move it up and down, loving the way his gaze thickens, goes hazy.
“Why don’t you come up here and sit on my dick.” His features crease with agitation, hips lifting as he tries thrusting faster into my hand.
“You need it that bad, huh?”
“So bad.” He’s not even joking. His long muscular body quivers on the bed.
I have mercy on him and climb up to straddle him, except now I’m the one mindless with desire. He fills me so completely. A sense of belonging, of pure rightness washes over me, making me sag onto his strong chest. I grind against him, the need building until black dots dance in my vision and my clit is swollen and hot. He grips my hips as I ride him.
“Fuck, Gigi. Keep going, baby.”
I’m lying on top of him now, rocking wildly.
“I love this so much,” I whisper, my hips totally beyond my control. They’re moving on their own.
“That’s it,” Ryder encourages roughly. “Show me how much you want it. Take what you need.”
So I do. I ride him, while he palms my breasts and squeezes, rubbing my nipples with his thumbs. I moan his name as a tight knot of pleasure gathers in my core.
Approval fills his eyes. “Yes. Keep saying my name. I want everyone in this building to know who’s making you feel this way.”
That’s all it takes for the knot to detonate. I collapse on his chest and ride out the orgasm, and I’m still gasping when he flips us over, pulling me onto my knees. One muscular arm locks around my chest, keeping me flush to him.
He thrusts upward, nuzzling my neck before he breathes a warning close to my ear.
“I’m coming.”
I moan in response and he lets himself go. With a strangled sound, he shakes with release, lodged deep inside me. His grip tightens, my breasts crushed beneath his forearm.
Then he brushes his lips over the side of my throat and whispers, “You’re a goddamn dream.”
While I desperately try to convince myself that I’m not in love with him.
CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX
RYDER
National Cotton Candy Day
COLSON AND I ARE FRIENDS NOW. THE KIND OF FRIENDS WHO CHILL outside of the rink and hang out at each other’s houses. Sometimes he even crashes here if the guys are partying too hard and he’s too drunk to walk home. Will’s always here too, but that at least makes sense. He and Beckett are joined at the hip. The good thing about Will is, he doesn’t incite any feelings of guilt, so it’s a lot easier to have him around.
Colson, on the other hand… I’ve always been skilled at burying my emotions, but it’s becoming a challenge to ignore the guilt. I’m starting to really like the guy. But Gigi doesn’t want him to know about us yet, so I need to follow her lead on this. He’s her ex, not mine.
They’re both over right now, Will sprawled on the couch next to Beckett, while Colson sits next to me.
Shane is in the armchair texting a chick who for once isn’t a cheerleader. He met her in Hastings and brought her over the other day. I think she said she was a prelaw student. They went to a party last night, where apparently her ex showed up drunk and sloppy and got in Shane’s face. Now she’s apologizing profusely to Shane via text.
“There’s always that one obnoxiously wasted guy,” Will says, rolling his eyes. “What’s up with that?”
“It’s the age-old rule of the party,” Beckett explains. “Every party has a role that must be fulfilled. Sloppy Guy is one of them.”
“Dude, that is so true.” Case chuckles, then leans forward to grab his beer. He pauses for a moment, then laughs again. “Okay, here’s one. You show up at a party and you’re only allowed to hang out with one of these people. For the entire night, no breaks. Who do you pick—Crying Mascara-Streak Bathroom Girl or Annoying Acoustic Guitar Guy?”
Beckett groans. “That’s pure torture either way, mate.”
Shane sets down his phone and thinks it over. Then he fires a series of questions at Colson. “Do I get to fuck the bathroom girl?”
“No.”
“Can I make song requests?”
“No.”
“What’s she crying about?”
“Sobbing too incoherently for you to figure it out.”
“Can I do drugs?”
“No.”
“Drink?”
“One beer.”
Shane shrugs. “Acoustic Guitar Guy.”
Will, who’s in charge of the remote, stumbles upon that reality show channel Gigi is obsessed with. His eyes light up.
“Yo. Plate Pleasers. I love this show.”
“Are you kidding?” Colson says. “This show is fucking nuts. Nothing good can come out of giving children this much power.”
“That’s what I always say,” Beckett chimes in. “There’s only one way this ends.”
Shane eyes them both. “Please, finish that thought. What kind of apocalyptic future are you envisioning because a reality show allows children to judge food dishes?”
Colson looks at Beckett. “He doesn’t get it.”
Beckett nods.
“All right. I gotta go to class.” I slap Colson’s shoulder as I get up, then nod at the other guys. “See you later.”
My Entrepreneurial Studies class is the only late one this semester. It annoyed me at first that I had to drive all the way back to campus for five o’clock classes three days a week, but the last few times, I met up with Gigi after class let out, and now it’s become a routine. Sometimes we grab a late dinner. Tonight, she says she wants a hot tub and steam. She tweaked her shoulder during her game on Saturday, and I guess it’s still bothering her.
After my lecture, I drive to the performance center, walking up just as Austin Pope is leaving. The kid’s been putting in extra training now that the World Juniors is coming up.