Page 28 of Perfect Boy

I fully expect her to scowl at me and rattle some snarky remark off to tell me no. But instead, she takes a sip from her drink and gives me the smallest smile.

“Daisy sounds nice,” she mutters, the corner of her lips turning up.

Maybe I’m getting somewhere after all.

“What’s your plan after Brooks?” She tucks a strand of hair behind her ear. “Are you hoping to go pro?”

I stiffen slightly. I never want to come across like I’m bragging. And telling people that I have a secured spot in the NHL always seems cocky to say. But she asked, so I’m going to tell her.

“As long as I don’t get injured, I have a spot with the New York Rangers after I graduate.” I nod once. “What about you? What’s your plan after college? Will you keep dancing?”

She sighs. “I don’t want to keep dancing, but I want to stay in the dance world.” Her eyes light up. “I’d love to work as a choreographer for Broadway shows. That’s the real dream. To live in New York City and take it on.” She looks like she’s daydreaming about the day this all happens, smiling subtly before she snaps back to reality.

“But we’re talking about you tonight, not me. So, I want to know, when you came up to me in class that day, was that nervous thing an act?” She tilts her head to the side. “You don’t really seem like the type of guy who gets nervous.” Her eyes widen, like she’s realizing something. “Also, why haven’t you been in class since that day? Do you hate rejection so much that you dropped the class?” She looks amused.

“First off, no. I didn’t drop because you rejected my ass. Though I’ll admit, that sucked. But no. Because of hockey practice, I switched to the online course.”

“That’s an option?” She gawks openly at me before rolling her eyes. “Wait, let me guess…puck boys only?”

“Sorry.” I cringe.

“Whatevs.” She huffs. “Okay, back to my other question. Were you actually nervous, or was it some weird thing you do to try to get girls?”

“No. I’m not a nervous guy,” I drawl. “But you, Ryann Denver, make me really fucking nervous. So, no, it wasn’t an act.” I smirk. “When you acted like you didn’t know who I was, were you bluffing?”

She leans forward slightly, giving me a playful grin.

“I’ll never tell,” she whispers before pretending to zip her mouth with her fingers.

Well played, Tiny Dancer. Well played.

I pull up in front of Ryann’s house and put the truck in park.

Dropping her off and not kissing her is torture. Now that I’ve been with her, it’s hard to fight the urge to want to pull her against me. But I know that would freak her out, and I don’t want to scare her away. Not yet.

When I was fourteen, my parents rescued a horse that had been not only abused, but extremely malnourished too. We named him Storm. Because he was wild and so unpredictable. But Jameson was dead set on training him and making him his own horse. Storm didn’t trust any of us. And if we went into the stable, he’d lose his shit and charge on instinct. It took time and a lot of patience, but he learned to trust all of us. And I’ll never forget the day when we all went on a trail ride and Jameson rode Storm.

It was when it all changed. It was when Storm saw us as family and not just another person who would hurt him.

One day, Ryann will look at me that same way. So, if I need to be patient, that’s what I’ll do.

She deserves that.

“Thank you for dinner,” she whispers, glancing over at me with one hand on the door.

“You’re welcome. Anytime”—I smile—“friend.”

She pushes the door open, but then stops. “I’m sorry I’m so bitchy. I’m, uh…not really used to many people in my life being good.” Her eyes meet mine again. “I get the feeling you’re good though. And…I just hope I’m not wrong.” She swallows. “I don’t trust anyone. But, well, I feel like I can trust you. A little tiny bit.”

“I promise, I am exactly who I say I am,” I say, keeping my voice low. “I’m sorry you missed your sister’s birthday.”

Like a zombie, she simply nods mindlessly. Like she’s traveled somewhere far away even if she’s still right here. “Me too. See you in a few days for practice?”

I nod. “Yes, ma’am. Have a good night.”

Slowly, she gets out of my truck and closes the door. As I watch her walk to her house, waving to me once more before going inside, I wish so badly I could get her to trust me. To open up to me and let me help her.

But just like Storm, Ryann is wild. And wild needs to do things on their own time.

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