Page 68 of Rinkmates

Wait. What if I find him with another girl in there?

No, he wouldn’t. Not at a party where everyone could see them.

But then, why does it bother me?

He’s not mine, not really. Our contract forbids him from flaunting anyone else in public, but it’s not about the contract—it’s the idea of him being with someone else that twists my gut. Damn it, I need to shake these thoughts. He’s not mine to worry about. There’s no room for a real boyfriend in my life anyway, especially since he’d never wants to be a part of my life once he knows everything about me.

With a deep sigh, I push the door open and relief washes over me when I find him alone, pacing the room.

“Hey,” I say, trying to sound casual.

His gaze flicks over my dress, and something tightens in his jaw. “Hey. How was your rehearsal?”

“Excellent. Care to explain why your friends are giving me the cold shoulder?”

Riley stops pacing, a knowing smile playing on his lips. “Because I asked them to.”

“You told them to act like total assholes?”

He strides toward me, stopping just a few feet away. “I didn’t want them to get the wrong idea.”

“What idea would that be, exactly?”

“That you’re available. Because you’re not. You’re mine.”

His possessive tone makes my heart skip a beat, and I can’t deny a tiny thrill at his words.Mine. I’m a feminist through and through, but this little word wakes up something primal in me and I don’t like it. “I don’t belong to anyone, Ri. You can’t just—”

“I know. I’m sorry.” Riley steps even closer, his whiskey-colored eyes pleading.

I swallow. His eyes tell me he’s had a few beers. “Sorry for what?” I shoot back. “For treating me like an object?”

Riley’s gaze flickers, before his voice drops low. “For putting you in an awkward spot with my friends. I didn’t mean to complicate things.”

“That’s all you’ve been doing since day one, Ri.”

He sighs, running a hand through his jet-black hair in frustration, and his biceps bulge as he does it. He’s wearing aT-shirt, and all of his tattoos are on full display. Damn it. He looks so hot. I swallow again. “I just wanted them to understand that you’re off limits. That this”—he gestured vaguely between us—“isn’t a joke for me, and the guys can be idiots, so I wanted to keep you safe.”

“I think they’ll figure out we’re together without you marking me like a dog on the grass.”

He took a step back, leaning against his closet. He’s still way too close for my liking.

“Because we made a deal, Liora. And this is exactly how I’d act if you were my girlfriend. I’m well aware of my friends and their tendency to become idiots around beautiful women. So I make sure I protect what’s mine. Even if it’s all pretend.”

He said I’m beautiful. Yes, that’s all I heard. “So…your solution is to isolate me? What kind of fun would being your girlfriend even be?”

“I never claimed to be a fun boyfriend. I’m a walking red flag, baby. It’s clear I’m not boyfriend material at all.” He steps toward me. “I’m jealous.” Another step forward. “I’m possessive.” Another step. “And I couldn’t care less what others think, except when Coach calls about my career.” He stops right in front of me, and I don’t care he’s in my space. “I’m trying to keep us on track. That’s all.”

“Right,” I say. “Because we have too much to lose.”

He nods, his expression pained. “Exactly.”

Riley doesn’t respond, and the silence stretches between us, heavy with a ton of unspoken words. I want to believe him—to believe that this was all just part of the act—but something tells me there is more to his actions than meets the eye, but if he’s not ready to go there—I’m not either.

He lets out a heavy sigh, as if grappling with words he wants to say but chooses not to. Instead, he casually folds his tattooed arms behind his head, stretching. His white shirt clings to his ridiculously sculpted chest muscles. My eyes involuntarily lower, tracing the faint line of hair disappearing beneath his waistband.

A strange flicker of heat shoots through me, traveling from my chest to the spot between my legs. My body tenses, my fingertips tingle with a sudden urge that catches me off guard. Oh come on. So what if the guy has a physique worth noticing? It doesn’t mean I want to throw myself at him like some overeager fan. Suddenly, I remember what he looked like naked in thebathroom, and it’s overwhelming. I want to throw myself at him. No honestly, I want to climb that man.

Clearing my throat, I say, “What are you doing in here anyway? All by yourself.”

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