“I can’t think when I’m too close to you, and I need to say a few things.”
“Fine.” But my restless knee bounces as I clock the distance between us. About four feet. I could leap and tackle him if he tries to run.
He pulls in a breath for courage. He’d better not be breaking up with me.Tryingto break up with me. He can’t break up with me—we’re married forever. He just fucking tried to, though. I frown. What do I do with that? I can think of a few things, but none of them are ones he’d like.
“Fuck it. I’m just gonna say it. I have feelings for you.”
Ryan’s staring. Waiting. I want to tell him I have feelings, too, but it’s more than that, and it’s something I don’t know how to label. I know I can’t live without him. That being away from him for too long makes me fucking miserable. All I needis a text from him and bam! Instantly, my day’s better. But is that love or an addiction? Is obsession love? My brother is pretty damn obsessed with McKinnon, and I know he loves him, so that’s gotta count for something. And I know with certainty that if anyone hurts Ryan, I will kill them. All of that adds up to something strong. Unbreakable. Permanent.
“And I have feelings for you,” I say, even though it’s not enough, even though saying it makes me want to tear my own skin off.
He freezes. “I didn’t expect you to admit that.”
Admit—interesting word choice. So he suspected it, too, like Luke and Ace. God, even Patrick assumes I’m head over heels when he sees me looking at my Ryan text messages. Am I head over heels?
Fuck. Yes. I’ve gotta be. What else do you call this petrifying dread? I didn’t think that could possibly be love. Everyone talks about love like it’s rainbows and garden flowers. They conveniently forget to mention the existential dread, how when they’re away from you, half of you is missing, and if they threaten to leave you, you might actually die.
I hate it already.
I rub my hands up and down my thighs, so I can focus on something other than my racing heart. In fight, flight, or freeze, I’m usually fight, but right now I want to run. “It doesn’t change anything.”
“Why not?”
“It’s better this way.”
“Better for who?”
“Both of us. I can’t, Ryan. I know what you want from me. I’m not capable of giving it. I need things to be controlled.”
He takes a step closer. “What do you need from me?”
“What do you mean?” I spread my legs, liking that he’s come closer, intent on trapping him. It’s his own fault for coming this close.
“Right. Someone giving you what you need is probably a foreign concept to you. To be honest, it kinda is for me too, but we can make this work for both of us.” He runs his fingers up my jaw, over my cheek, through my hair. “Your presence makes me feel safe—what doyouneed to feel safe?”
“Just you.”
He smiles. I like that. But then he gets a mischievous glint in his eyes, and I like that a lot less. “Really? So, you’ve changed your mind, and you’re totally fine with me playing murder hockey?”
“No putting yourself in danger—ever. Or I will lock you the fuck up, understood?”
He laughs, even though I mean every word. “Understood. I’ll march myself down to your super scary dungeon, okay?”
Huh, somehow that does make me feel better. As if we really do understand each other.
“You’re perfect for me,” I murmur, yanking on the waistband of his jeans until his knees sink into the couch, straddling me. Can it really be this easy? Even if it’s not, I don’t have much of a choice. My inner predator decided he was mine. It was over for us after that—I was willing to do anything to have him, and now I’ll do anything to keep him.
Ryan shrugs out of his jacket, tossing it on the floor, leaving him in just a white T-shirt, but all his tattoos cover his arms anyway.
“And you’re perfect for me,” he purrs. “Let’s be honest with each other, okay? I know we’ll suck at it a lot, but we’ll never stop trying to figure it out.”
Our lips meet, and we inhale into a kiss. And then I stand up with him still in my arms. He wraps his legs around me. “Whoa,don’t know if I’ll ever get used to you being able to do that. Do you take steroids?”
I chuckle. “Genetics.”
And then I take him to the bedroom where I plan to show him everything those genetics can do.
23
