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I know I feel something for him.
Not. Good.
Even if we were to make this thing official and call it a relationship and attach all the necessary bells and whistles to it, what’d even be the point? We have this year left. After that? He’s heading off to the NHL. I still have one more year to go here before I’m hopefully off to med school. And I have no idea where, as of right now. It’s two separate lives already.
I don’t think he’s even thought it through beyond the present. He’ll have eyes on him once he graduates. There’ll be people and opportunities he’s probably never even dreamed of before, and I’m not going to become somebody who’ll hold him back. I’m not going to ruin this for him. Because Ryker? Ryker would try to put me first again. Especially after I do my thing and become clingy and jealous and insecure. Yeah. I know myself. It’s why I’ve avoided relationships my whole life. Who wants to be with somebody who’s always expecting them to leave? Somebody whose first instinct is always to get the fuck out before the other person does? Nobody, that’s who.
We were doomed from the start.
If I were smart, I’d end this now. Brownie points to me for acknowledging it.
This thing with Ryker? It’s a bit of experimenting. It’s a bit of fun. And that’s all it can be.
Try. It echoes in the back of my head, like a whisper of a memory from that day I had a very uncharacteristic moment of bravery.
But no. That was just an illusion. Once again, I am very much freaked out about the possibility of something real. It’s my home territory. I feel comfortable here.
Coward.
I roll myself off him and off the bed. I grab my underwear and pull it on.
“We should probably eat something,” I say.
He pushes himself up on his elbows. I can feel his eyes on my back when I make my way to the kitchen nook.
“You didn’t answer my question,” he says.
No. No, I did not.
“Breakfast?” I open one of the cabinets and find the jar of granola. I lift it toward him with raised brows. He sighs and gets up.
In another minute, we’re both sitting by the counter, making our way through bowls of granola, pieces of fruit, and yogurt.
He pushes his bowl away once he’s done and waits. I try to get up when I’m finished, but he grabs my wrist and holds me in place, so eventually I sink back down on my seat.
“What are we, Lake?” he asks, enunciating every word like he’s afraid I’ll find a way to misunderstand what he’s asking.
His fingers are still around my wrist.
I swallow, and when I look up to meet his gaze, I force some lightness into my tone.
“We are having fun.” I get up, lean forward, and press a quick kiss to the tip of his nose.
“Fun,” he repeats, and lets go of me.
“Unless you’re not?” I ask. “In which case, I really have to step up my game.”
“Lake…”
“What do you have planned for today?” I ask way too loudly while I get up and start cleaning up the remnants of the early breakfast.
“Lake,” he says, more insistently this time.
I close my eyes for a moment before I turn around and face him.
“Ryker.”
“You know what I’m asking,” he says.
