Page 79 of Out of Bounds

"Good."

I took another look at the line of dresses and tried not to cringe. For a long time, I’d been so focused on making my own money, paying my own bills, worrying about my own stuff, that anything else was uncharted territory, a completely foreign concept.

What if something happened, and the bill came tome?

I ran my hand over the first tax write-off. It was incredible. The dress slipped through my fingers like water from a bath. But there were at least twenty straps, four on the front, plenty on the back, and a few more that I needed to decipher.

I slipped into the dressing room. "Human calendar, what're we looking at?"

"The big upcoming event is the alumni night," Ryan answered automatically. "Today, there’s a study session atGianna's. I know tomorrow we have something about a museum that Cleo wants us to attend—"

"That sounds fun."

"—the theme is ‘historical man-made horrors—’"

"Okay. Less fun."

"—football game Saturday—"

"Barbecue afterward?"

"No, we'll be icing. It's a JBU game. That'll be an actual challenge."

I rolled my eyes. "There's that humble spirit."

In the quiet moment that followed, I peeked behind the curtain to see a smug grin on Ryan’s face. When he glanced up, the boyish grin stretched even further.

I shook my head. "You’re supposed to argue against that."

"Am I?"

I let the curtain fall back into place. "You’re supposed to say something like ‘every team tries their best.’"

"They do. We’re better."

Running my fingers through the fabric again, I tried not to smile. He didn’t even say things like that to get a rise out of people, like Zariah’s brother or Adam. No, the ball dribbler genuinely believed it. And it wasn’t like I could prove him wrong. I’d seen him in action.

Ryan wasn’t arrogant. Hewasbetter.

I looped my fingers on the underside of my shirt and gazed into the mirror, ready to pull it up. With my shirt halfway up my stomach, I took another long eyeful at the curtain behind me.

What was the problem? It wasn’t like Ryan had a front-row seatinthe dressing room.

Ryan was…Ryan. Silent as a box of Christmas decorations in April. I could see him through the curtain. Big muscles. Big thighs. Big hands. Just…big.

With a tug, my shirt slipped off, and I unbuttoned my jeans, all while I watched the mirror, keeping my eyes firmly on the curtain.

Is he looking back at me?

Yes, he is.

"This is like a damn straitjacket," I murmured, trying to work out all of the little straps and ties on the dress.

"The dress?"

"Yeah, the dress." I loosened up another knot and frowned. "That’s not right…how am I supposed to—?"

"If you need scissors, let me know."

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