Page 28 of Confessions of a Former Puck Bunny

“Anyway, I just feel like I owe you, and I was wondering if you happened to have some time right now to maybe have dinner. With me.” She dropped her hand from my arm and went to fiddling with her zipper again—but this time the one on her jacket. “I’ll even cook—it’s the least I can do to say thanks.”

“I’ll take the thanks and the food, but only on one condition…”

Her shoulders tensed.

“Only if you realize that you don’toweme anything. I’d much rather you hang out with me because you want to.”

“I want to,” she said. “Ialwayswant to. It’s just that I know I shouldn’t.”

Holy shit. Did she finally admit she likes spending time with me?The urge to pull her into my arms and kiss her returned stronger than ever, but I knew I was on a fragile edge, tip too far one way and I’d lose what progress we’d made.

Employing my self-control, I cupped her neck, and used my thumb to tip up her chin and bring her gaze to mine. “Dinner sounds good.”

Chapter Fifteen

Lindsay

I tried to stop myself from doing something foolish that’d make staying in check that much harder, I really did. But I’d been so sure that Ryder would hate me—I hated myself a little for how I’d dropped the bomb on him the other night at the party. No easing him into it, just trying to cause maximum damage before he could reject and hurt me because of who I’d been. Then there was the other thing…

Confession #10:I’m having the hardest time staying away from Ryder Maddox. I like who I am when I’m with him. I like actually having a…dare I say it—friend?

It’d been a long time since I had a true friend, one who knew the good and bad and didn’t seem to mind that I wasn’t perfect. Maybe that was on me. It was entirely possible I’ve projected how I felt on how someone looked at me or reacted and read them wrong. Either way, I wasn’t quite ready to embrace being solo for life with the exception of a cat or five.

I turned to Ryder right before I reached the door to my apartment. He looked even bigger tonight, the streetlight illuminating his profile. My heart skipped a beat when I remembered the way he’d placed his hand on my neck and tipped my face to his, gentle with an edge of possessiveness. The way he’d said he wouldn’t let Brett talk shit about me, like he’d end him if he did.

I swallowed and forced words past my dry throat. “I’m never sure what state my apartment will be in. My roommates and I don’t really talk.”

“Sometimes I think my roommates and I talk too much,” Ryder said, but the affection in his voice made it clear that he liked his roommates, big mouths or not. And since I’d hung around Dane, I knew there was a big mouth involved. Despite trying not to like any hockey players, the guy had a certain charm.

Ryder had an entirely different thing going on, more magnetism and steely determination, with a surprising mix of chivalry thrown in for good, irresistible measure.

Damn hockey players. They’d be much easier to hate if they’d stay in the boxes I’ve checked them into.

“Don’t worry, I’m not going to judge you based off messy apartment or roommates. But your food? Now, that’s another story.” He reached out and squeezed my shoulder, shooting me a teasing grin.

“Be careful, gringo, or I’ll make it so hot you won’t have feeling in your mouth for a week.”

“How could you be sure that I lost feeling in my mouth? Are you volunteering to—”

I slapped a palm over his lips before he said something that tempted me to do some in-depth exploring of that sexy mouth. This was exactly why inviting him over had been a bad idea.

“What? I was just going to say ice my tongue.” The words came out muffled, but the twinkle in his eye was way too clear.

The safe play would’ve been saying thank you for helping me study with a fruit basket. Or, like, a calculator and a notebook. Math nerds liked that kind of thing, right?

But when I spun to unlock the door, he chuckled, his breath stirring my hair, and all I could think about was spending more time with him. After a couple of lonely nights, I didn’t want to stare at the TV alone until I decided it wasn’t too pathetic an hour to go to bed.

Once inside, I gestured to the couch and told him to make himself comfortable. He looked at the couch—which was surprisingly clean—and back at me. “I’ll help in the kitchen.”

“Haven’t you heard that too many chefs spoil the broth?”

“I pride myself on proving people wrong,” he said. “But I’ll leave the chef-ing to you.”

Since he had that determined expression on his face, I shrugged and headed to the kitchen, dropping my backpack on the floor near the counter. I surveyed the contents of my cupboard, looking for ingredients to make something fast and yummy, and cursing myself again for going the spontaneous route.

I grabbed the jar of jalapeños and a can of shredded chicken, checked that I had sour cream—peeling back the lid to make sure it wasn’t expired or moldy—then grabbed the block of mozzarella. “Wanna shred the cheese?”

“I’ve never wanted anything more,” Ryder said, his deep voice somehow turning it into the most wicked-sounding sentence ever.

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