Page 5 of Out of Bounds

"You’re something else, art girl."

"Thank you, ball dribbler."

Cleo ushered us into a standing position. "One more and you’re free to go!"

I pulled down my romper a bit as I struggled to maintain a better pose. With this particular romper, panties were a no-go. Which was fine when I thought I was just supposed to look nice.

And now?Notfine when I had to get comfy with a jockhead.

It didn’t even matter what I wore anyway. My chance was gone to meet Henry Miller. And that was that. Determined not to let my hurt show, I smoothed down the fabric. My skin prickled as Ryan took his place next to me, a whole head taller. He took up space like nobody else.

"Closer," Cleo commanded.

"Are you going to play nice?" Ryan muttered. "I can’t afford bite marks."

My fingers curled into my palm at the remark. It was a simple intrusive thought, nothing more. Nothing. But having my lips that close to Ryan…the image shot through my brain like I’d actuallywantthat. What, from some ball-throwing bozo?

I rolled my eyes. "You wish."

The next thing I knew, Cleo said something I didn’t catch, and his hand was on my waist.

No skin showed—it wasn’t inappropriate by any means. It shouldn’t have sent shocks through my nervous system. I tried to hold back the unwelcome reaction. I had to stay relaxed while his fingertips grazed my hips.

No panty straps to feel.

Can he tell?

I had no idea. All I knew was a blush permanently stained my cheeks, and those dark honey eyes took a second to look down at me. He could tell.

A traitorous little voice, buried deep in my brain, practically purred at the thought.

I was pretty sure I stopped breathing because the second his hand released me, the electricity keeping my toes curled vanished into thin air. I came to my senses and hurried to the table.

That was unneeded, completely unwanted, and my blood didn’t sing with his touch. No poetry was written. Absolutely not.

"What a blast," I tossed over my shoulder and purposely slowed my walk.

Cleo tried to thank me but I waved without turning back, heading towards the hallway. I needed good, old-fashioned space between me and the clueless, empty-headed, commercially manufactured bobblehead. And the plastic one on the table too.

The moment I passed the divider, my shoulders relaxed. The stiffness disappeared.

I’m fine. I’m good.And I knew one thing and one thing only.

Fuck that contest.

I was ordering everything off the menu.

3

Ryan

Missing — Local Art Student

It’d been one week since the half-dinner with Kassandra Ragar and I couldn’t be trusted with my phone anymore.

Kassandra Ragar.

I found her full name and what little of her socials I could dig up the day we met. That meant opening apps on my phone for the first time ever. Now that Cleo was head intern, she handled all our accounts for carefully curated crap. It turned out to be a thing I’d taken for granted. Those apps had too many bright blue buttons and reminders to update stuff that hadn’t seen the light of day since I’d been handed the phone. It was a headache. The whole damn thing was a headache.

---