Bound (15 page)

“I just . . . I don’t know. I was thinking about asking Ryke to come over tonight and play games with us, but that’s stupid, right? He’s an NHL player. He doesn’t want to eat cookies and play Scrabble. He’s probably got plans to bang a groupie or something.”

“It never hurts to ask,” Mom said.

The feel of Ryke’s body pressing against mine the other day hadn’t left me. The way he’d looked at me, his eyes filled with longing. Despite my apology, I wanted to be that close to him again. But I couldn’t. That was why game night felt safe. We’d be sitting at the kitchen table with Mom and Dale. I’d never heard of Scrabble leading to a night of wild passion.

“I might,” I mumbled. “I need to go take a shower.”

I went into the bathroom and turned the water up hot on the shower, letting the bathroom fill with steam as I slipped my clothes off and considered. When had I turned into such a puddle of indecision? I grabbed my phone and typed out a message to Ryke.

Hey,
if you’re not busy, wanna come over for board games and baked goods?

I was nervous as I sat the phone on the counter and stepped into the shower. The phone rang as soon as I got in and I jumped out, dripping as I whipped it up. I recognized the number on the screen as Quinn’s, so I rolled my eyes and pressed ignore.
A sick sensation rolled through me and I forced it away.

The steaming water helped. I let it wash away the hard feelings Quinn always brought back. This week I’d felt more normal than I had in a long time. I’d hated missing the grief support meeting Tuesday night, though, because it had become important to me. We were all different people with different lives. Every week, some of us were up, others were down and some of us were just flat. But I’d noticed something about us collectively. We were all trying to move forward and live. Find that new normal.

My skin was hot by the time I stepped out of the shower and wrapped a towel around my long, wet hair. I reached for the phone and my stomach dove anxiously when I saw a waiting message.

Sounds great. What time?

I smiled and sighed at the same time. So he had cancelled the dinner. I’d been wondering in the back of my mind. And he was coming here, to my mom’s house. As I texted back, I did a run through of the photo collection in our hallway. Me naked in a kiddie pool as a toddler, posing in a neon gymnastics leotard and grinning with a mouthful of sparkling metal braces . . . yeah, the hallway would just be a bunch of nails on the wall if I took down every embarrassing photo.

I t
ook a deep breath and rubbed away a circle of fog from the mirror to look at myself. Ryke was coming to my house tonight. Definitely an occasion for my non-holey sweatpants.

***

Ryke grinned at me from the front porch, and warmth radiated from my cheeks down to my thighs. God, he looked good. So tall and powerful, with perfect dark stubble I wanted to run my fingers over. I could see the outline of muscles through his gray t-shirt.

“Uh . . . do you want to come in?” I asked, exhaling deeply.

His grin widened. “That’d be good.”

I stepped aside, shaking my head. I was so out of practice, and I’d never had the likes of Jason Ryker on my doorstep, even in my prime.

“How’s it going?” he asked, stepping inside.

“Good. Did you make it to that high school hockey game this morning?”

“Sure did, boss. You left a post-it on the fridge and texted me.”

I scrunched my nose and laughed. “Too much? Should I stick to a daily email?”

“No, I like your post-its. I know your system now, and three exclamation points means, ‘Get your ass in gear, Ryker’.”

His eyes were warm, and I sensed he might want to come closer to me but was holding back. He crossed his arms across his chest.

“So . . . Scrabble,” I said, suddenly nervous. “Have you ever played?”

“Uh, not much. I think I played with my mom a few times when I was younger.”

I arched my brows at him. “We take our Scrabble very seriously in this house. At least, I do.”

“Noted. You’re sure to beat me, I’m just a dumb jock.”

I gave him a dirty look. “Shut up, Ryke. You’re very smart.”

“Are you just trying to get me into bed?” His teas
ing tone made my cheeks warm. If only. My body was beyond eager, but my mind was calling the shots, so no dice.

“Come meet Dale,” I said, gesturing toward the kitchen. “And try my oatmeal cookies.”

My nervousness evaporated when we all took seats around the kitchen table to start the game. With Mom and Dale in the room, I just couldn’t think my usual sexy thoughts about Ryke. I focused on the game instead, determined to beat Dale this time.

Ryke played like Mom: pretty okay. The game was between me and Dale, which was why I smiled when Ryke stared at the letters on his rack, clearly deep in thought. A smile played on his lips.

“What?” I asked.

“Ah . . .” He met my eyes briefly.

“Do you need help?” I asked.

“No. It’s just . . . I really hate coming in last place.”

“Better make a good word then, the game’s almost over and you’re behind.”

“I know,” he said, rubbing a hand over his face. “And I . . . I’ve got a word, but . . . I don’t know if it’s okay.”

“Play it and see if anyone challenges,” I said. He sighed and shook his head, glancing at my mom.

“Uh . . . this is the only way I can get the triple word score,” he said, an apology in his tone as he reached for his letters and sat them down. I laughed when I read the word
clit
.

“What does that mean?” Mom asked, giving him an innocent look. Ryke’s cheeks darkened and I doubled over with laughter. I’d never seen him look sheepish.

“She’s kidding,” I said, and then we all erupted into laughter. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d found something so funny.

“I’m sorry,” Mom said, wiping a tear from the corner of her eye. “That was mean.”

She played her final letters and I pumped a fist in the air when the final was tallied and I’d won by 12 points. Ryke’s playful grin upon placing third made me warm all over. Was it possible to look sexy playing a board game? He did. I was still thinking about the way he ran a hand through his hair when he was thinking and crossed his arms between turns, unknowingly drawing my focus to his biceps. Hopefully I didn’t look as flushed as I felt.

He’d been heating me up throughout the game, and when our hands brushed while putting Scrabble let
ters back in the bag, my skin tingled with awareness. I was the definition of undersexed, like a starving dieter staring at a box of doughnuts. Thank God Mom and Dale were here.

“I’ll call John and tell him we’re on the way to meet them for drinks, Lynn,” Dale said
as we packed the game back into its box. I turned to Mom sharply. She and Dale never, ever left the house on game nights. Dale often ended up staying the night after we’d all binged on sweets and watched a movie.

“Okay,” she said, not meeting my eyes. Within five minutes, she was grabbing her purse and they were sailing out the back door, calling out their goodbyes. Their overt attempt to leave us in the house alone aggravated me.

“You want me to go?” Ryke asked. Did he know I was uncomfortable? I hoped not, because it wasn’t his fault. Not directly, anyway.

“No, we can watch some TV if you want to,” I said.

“Yeah. Those reality shows you’re always talking about?”

“Probably,” I said, smiling. “Or something else, if you want.”

“Anything’s good with me.” He sat down in the middle of the couch and I resisted the urge to groan. He was supposed to pick an end. Either end, it didn’t matter which. Then I would’ve sat at the other end. Would sitting in the recliner make me seem cold?

Despite my spike in warmth from staring at Ryke,
I
was
cold, inside. And I worried that sitting next to him would melt the ice that had formed in my heart. I fiddled with the remote, scanning through my list of recorded shows.

“Quit thinking so much and come sit by me,” Ryke said. My finger paused over the button I’d been pushing. I looked over and his hint of a smile made me obey him unconsciously.

“Here’s a zombie show,” I said. “Guys love zombies, right? Or I have a cooking one if you’d rather.”

Even my nervous chatter didn’t stop my heart from pounding like a jackhammer when Ryke took my hand and eased me onto the couch next to him.

“Hey,” he said in a soothing tone. “Relax. It’s okay.”

I despised my vow of celibacy
as my gaze wandered from his wide chest up to his mesmerizing brownish gold eyes. “The old me would’ve been straddling you right now,” I said, my voice nearly a whisper.

“I’m only interested in what the new you wants,” he said softly. Damn. Sexy and sweet. It was pure torture.

“This is good,” I said, looking down at our interlocked fingers. He smiled.

“Good. Then let’s watch this zombie show.”

I breathed out and pressed the button to start it. Ryke released my hand, stretched out an arm and arched an eyebrow, inviting me to relax against his chest. I couldn’t refuse; he looked too tempting and delicious.

As we watched the decomposed undead on the show feast on one beating heart after another, my pulse returned to a normal pace. This was actually ni
ce. Instead of the arm of the couch, I had a hot man to cuddle with. I tried to stay still, not wanting to make a move that would cause him to take his arm out from around me.

When the movie ended, I sat up and pressed my hand to the spot my head had been resting on
his chest.

“You’re so hard,” I said
with wonder, pressing my fingertips into his taut muscles.

“Ah . . .” He laughed lightly. “Do you mean there, or
there
?”

My cheeks flushed as I laughed with him. “I didn’t mean it like that. But now I’m wondering.”

“Yeah,” he said, wrapping his arm back around my shoulders. “You feel really good, and smell really good, and I . . . can’t help it. But this is all you’re getting from me tonight, even if you beg. I’m lashed to the mast.”

“Oooh, literary foreplay,” I said, gripping his thigh. “Now you’re making me hot.”

“It’s not foreplay,” he said. “This is it for you, Kate. Test me out if you want. You’ll get nothing but me holding your hand or putting my arm around you.”

I glanced up at him, raising an eyebrow. “I’m sure you’ll at least
kiss me,” I said softly. “Like the other day in the locker room . . . God, that was . . .”

His breathing was audible as he looked at me. “
Yeah, I know. But not tonight.”

I scooted back from him and considered. “What if I asked you to take my shirt off right now? And my bra? If I wanted you to lick my nipples and see how hard they are?”

“Jesus, Kate, stop.” He ran a hand through his hair.

“Okay,” I said,
leaning back against the arm of the couch.

He blew out a breath. “No, don’t stop. I fucking love it, even if I can’t do anything about it. Ask me for more, and I promise I’ll say no.”

My heart pounded and I felt dampness in my panties from this dangerous game. But words never got anyone pregnant, and I was enjoying it. And more so, enjoying that Ryke was.

“Will you take off your s
hirt and let me touch you? I love the feel of your arms and your back.”

Even in the dim room lit only by the flickering TV lights, his
stare was intense. He wrapped his fingers back through mine and I knew he wanted me to continue.

“
And I love the way your hands feel on me,” I said softly. “Even if it’s just on my back or my waist, like at the dinner we went to. I like being close to you like that.”

His mouth turned down just a touch and he stopped stroking his thumb across my wrist. “What did I do wrong that night?
I thought you wanted me to kiss you. And then the other day in the locker room—”

“I did
want you to,” I said, dropping his gaze with embarrassment. “I did want you to, but it had been a long time for me, and I was nervous. And then the other day I kind of went crazy in the other direction.”

He quirked his brows at me and I knew that explanation wouldn’t be enough. “A long time? What’s that mean?”

I sighed, frustrated with having to be so honest about something so humiliating. “That night after the dinner was the first time anyone’s kissed me since Quinn. So it had been almost a year. I haven’t had any contact with a man since I found out I was pregnant.”

“Makes sense you’d be nervous then,” he said.

I’d already told him so much, why not give him the whole truth? I’d pretty much spelled it out that night at the support group anyway. “I don’t want to have sex anymore. It just about ruined me the last time, and it’s just not worth the risk.”

“As in, never again?” His eyes widened and I knew I must sound like a head case.

“I don’t know. I feel desire for it sometimes, but if I wait, it passes eventually. If you knew what it was like . . . it’s not even so much that Quinn ditched me, I’m over that. But losing my baby . . . just the thought of being pregnant again makes me . . . I don’t know, I just couldn’t take it.”