Page 57 of The Christmas You Crash

I know the words are meant to be reassuring, but they’re not. “He’s always distracted, Ryder.” I finally give in to the urge to look up at him, despite how much of a mess I am. “He’s been distracted since I was a girl. If I told him I never wanted to see or speak to him again, he’d probably feel nothing but relief.”

The way Ryder’s face screws up into one of disbelief and anger stops up some of the cracks in my heart. “That’s bullshit, Lexi. No one who lost you could feel relief.”

Oh, sweet man. How wrong he is. And I tell him so.

“You’re sweet, Ryder, but wrong. When my ex couldn’t get what he wanted out of me, I’m pretty sure he felt relieved to walk away. When I told my dad I wasn’t going to spend Christmas with him, I’m pretty sure he was relieved too. I think... I think maybe there’s just something wrong with me.” More secret fears spilling from my mouth and pooling at his feet.

He growls low in his throat. It’s a frustrated sound, and I close my eyes, not wanting to see his annoyance with me. Fingers grip my chin with care. “Alexis, look at me.”

I suck in a deep breath, holding it for a count of five before releasing it and blinking my eyes open to meet his.

“Why did you just shut down on me?”

My bottom lip rolls between my teeth. “I’m sorry. I know I’m being annoying. This is so inappropriate. I can’t believe I’m crying to you about this.”

His blue eyes soften. “Shut up.”

My head lurches back and I gape at him. “What?”

“I said, shut up. You’re not being annoying or inappropriate. A little ridiculous, maybe, but not because you’re upset. It’s ridiculous that you believe I’d be annoyed by it.” He rolls his eyes again, as if I’m being completely unreasonable and anyone could tell.

“I... I...” I can’t seem to get any words out. I’m sitting in his lap, stammering like an idiot.

“If anything, I’m honored. And maybe a little hopeful.”

Blinking at him owlishly, I tilt my head to the side. “What? What do you mean?”

“I’m honored that you’d trust me with your emotions and your fears.” He tenderly brushes a stray strand of hair out of my face and tucks it behind my ear. “And I’m hopeful this connection means you might give this thing between us a chance once the week is over.”

My resolve is crumbling around me with every word he speaks. Because Idowant that. But I’m still too scared to admit it. And what does he mean bygive this thing between us a chance? What if we want different things? I realize Ryder is different than most of the hot-shot athletes I’ve met, but could he really want arelationshipwith me? Not merely something casual, a long-term hookup with no strings attached, but something real?

Because I’ve done casual a few times, and it’s not my thing. Icando it, but it’s dangerous for me. I’m too prone to feeling rejected, so the few times I’ve tried to be cool and agreed to a friends-with-benefits kind of situation, I still found myself hurt at the end. Despite having agreed to the terms on the front end, my heart couldn’t get on the same page as my mind. When those guys walked away, and that was that, I still felt the sting of rejection. Because if I’d been more interesting or more beautiful, they would have wanted more, right?

God, why is it so hard to simply ask Ryder what he wants with me? To see if we’re on the same page?

Because you’re scared, dumbass.

After scanning his face for a few thunderous heartbeats, I suck in a deep breath, pull up my big-girl panties, and open myself up to the possibility of being hurt. But also to the possibility of being surprised. After all, aren’t they often one and the same?

“Ryder, when you say you want to give this a chance, what, exactly, does that mean to you?”

The way his expression softens eases some of my panic. He smiles—a tentative thing—and cups the side of my neck. His thumb brushes idly over my fluttering pulse. “I know, on paper, we just met. And I’m the first one to admit that I can be a little...intense. But I also think I may not be the only one feeling like we’ve known each other for years.” He pauses, watching my face carefully, waiting for me to spook.

I don’t. I don’t so much as move.

“Being with you this week—spending time with you—has been... Well, I haven’t felt so at ease with anyone in ages. I don’t feel like I have to hide anything from you, and I’m sure as hell not worried that you’re only laughing at my stupid jokes because you know I’m some hockey player.” He gifts me with a lopsided grin as I chuckle.

“No,” I agree. “If anything, it makes me less inclined to laugh.”

He chuckles and shakes his head. “See? And I love that about you.”

I must make some kind of face at the use of theL-word, because his eyes grow comically wide, and he shakes his head again, this time more vehemently. “No, no. Don’t freak out, Oscar, I’m not saying that I love you or anything.” He gives me a guileless smile. “Poor word choice. Sorry.”

Taking pity on him, I smirk. “You don’t love me? Rude.”

“See?” His blue eyes sparkle, crinkling in the corners. “This is what I’m talking about. Don’t you feel this? This easiness between us? I don’t want this to end. I know you talked about the snow-pass thing, and if that’s really all you can give me, then I’ll take it because having a tiny piece of you is better than none of you, but I don’t think a tiny piece is going to be enough. I want more. I want to take you on dates and hear about your classes and show you off to my friends. I want you to sit near the ice at every game, and I want to win games for you and make you proud to wear my jersey.”

Oh, my heart.

---