Page 26 of Hating On Riot

These jocks and their rampant hormones.

Riot blinks again, then opens his palms in the space between us. They are roughened up with callouses. He shakes his head and blows out a breath. A few seconds tick by before he speaks. When he does, his voice is soft and defeated. My chest aches with each word.

“I don’t want us to be at each other’s throats, Arie. I’m tired of fighting whatever fucked us up back in high school. High school was ages ago. We’re adults now. Let’s have a do-over, starting with retiring this game by me purposely giving in.”

I open my mouth.

He snatches my jaw between his fingers and pleads with his eyes, “Let me concede.” He shakes his head. “Rather than you seeing it as me losing, a bait-and-switch, or reverse psychology, can I just concede, and you accept?” His words drop to a throaty timbre that sends shivers up and down my spine.

I bite my bottom lip. “I’m not sure I should.”

“Losing so I can grant you a wish bothers you?” He lets go of my jaw with hurt on his face, and I hate that I’m the one who put it there. But why does he care now, when he never did in the four years we’ve attended university? And now, he wants to grant me a wish?

“It’s you who’s missing the point completely.” My voice rises, and I hate it. “The winner makes a wish, and the loser grants it. That’s the game. You’ve never lost on purpose, so why now?” I force the anger out of my voice.

The last time I saw my sister, I was angry with her and said things I shouldn’t have and can’t take back. Now she’s gone, and I’ll never get the chance.

He lets out a heavy sigh. “You’re right.” He releases my jaw. “Would you like to continue the game? I promise not to lose on purpose.” He hangs his head in defeat.

I stare at the top of his head for what feels like an eternity. The ache in my chest deepens. Tears sting the corners of my eyes. I’ll never get a do-over with Laney, but I can with Riot. I blink back tears and swallow past the lump of regret in my throat.

When I speak, my voice is scratchy with emotion. “What you asked for is my ask too. I wish for a do-over.”

His head snaps up. “Really?” Hope lights up his face, and seeing it pulls on my heartstrings.

“Yes,” I say.

The defeat is gone, replaced by his dimpled smile.

“Thank you, Arie.” He leans in and presses his face into the crook of my neck.

His breath is warm. His hair is slightly damp from his shower. I turn my head. The strands tickle my nose. I inhale—vanilla and ripe berries. I take a deeper breath and hum low in my throat. He cups my waist. Calloused skin against smooth flesh. A big, heavy hand on my sensitive skin. Goosebumps rise. My body stills. I hold my breath, anticipating his next move.

Softly, he says in my ear, “Breathe.”

I slowly release the breath I didn’t realize I was holding.

“Inhale.”

I do as he says, and my lungs fill. Blood rushes to my brain, and I almost slump against him. Instead, I bunch the covers in my hands, afraid I’ll grab his shoulders and pull him to me. What would it feel like to have his hard, muscular body pressed against mine? He wasn’t this ripped when we were teenagers. I didn’t have the curves I have now either. Will he like them?

“I do, Arie,” he says, caressing my side and lingering near the underside of my breast. I’m not wearing a bra.

“How—”

“How do I know you want me?” His breath is hot against the sensitive spot behind my ear. His murmur is low and throaty.

Hot awareness slams into me. I clamp my legs together. A large hand slips between them and spreads them open.

“Tells.”

“Like what?” I ask, out of breath.

“The way your breathing hitches. The jump of your pulse here.” He kisses his way from behind my ear, along my jawline, and lingers at my pulse point.

The room spins. I can’t take a big enough breath. He presses his mouth on my pulse point, and I nearly come off the bed with how soft his lips are and how sinful his tongue is when he swirls it over my pulse.

“Your heart beats so fast for me.” He groans, then bites just below my pulse.