Page 104 of Come Break My Heart Again

With impressive dexterity, Ryder vaults through the window as well. He leaves it open, the percussive tapping of rain against the metal side of the trailer the only sound in the room.

I pull off my wet jacket, then take a seat on the bed and reach for my backpack, simply for something to do that’s not staring at him or studying his bedroom.

“Whoa. Nerd alert.”

“Shut up,” I say. “You told me to bring homework.”

Ryder grabs a towel off the back of the door and rubs his damp hair. It’s starting to grow out a little. “And this is the one time you decide to listen to me?”

I roll my eyes as I pull out my sketch pad. “Whatever. This is due tomorrow, so …”

He approaches the bed. My entire body tenses in response, his proximity hijacking all of my senses so all I’m aware of is him.

“A house?” he asks, staring at the sketch.

“It’s a project for my Architecture class. We’re supposed to design our dream home.”

“This is your dream home?”

“I mean, I like it,” I reply. “It doesn’t actually exist, so it’s a pretty low commitment.”

I’m fighting the urge to close the notebook, noticing how closely Ryder is scrutinizing the drawing.

“You wouldn’t be able to use the screened porch most of the year,” he tells me. “It’s impractical.”

I smile. “Like owning a convertible?”

“Yeah.Exactlylike that.”

My cheeks start to hurt. Anticipation is expanding in my chest, making my pulse race with recklessness. I slip off my shoes and tuck my feet on the bed, lying on my side and relaxing onto the mattress.

It’s erotically intimate, lying in the same spot Ryder sleeps in every night, surrounded by his scent.

He stares down at me. “Elle …”

“I’m tired. Long cheer practice.”

“Too much pom-pom waving?”

I reach for the pillow behind my head and toss it toward him. Ryder catches it easily.

“We work harder than the football team, which you’d know if you ever came and watched.”

“I went once.”

“And I sure hope the field didn’t block your view of the parking lot.”

Ryder snorts, then tosses the pillow back to me.

We stare at each other, neither of us saying anything, as the amusement slowly fades from the moment. Until I’m reacting to the intensity of it, my chest tightening like it’s being squeezed by a massive fist.

He breaks eye contact first, clearing his throat and then glancing down at the floor. Everything about his pose is deceptively casual, his relaxed lean humming with invisible tension, like a live wire. If we were still out in the rain, it seems impossible he wouldn’t crackle and spark, same as exposed electricity.

I sit up, reaching toward my backpack. “So … I have this vague memory of September 25 being your birthday.”

There’s a pause, which I fill by pretending I have to search for the carefully nestled box.

“A vague memory, huh?” His tone is inscrutable. Impossible to read, especially when I’m not looking at him.

---