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Even so, I was careful not to push. Ryan could tell me whatever he wanted to, when and if he was ready.
And that was all I really needed.
At one point during the game he placed his hands on my hips, supposedly to balance me as I leaned over to make a shot. His touch was strong and confident, yet at the same time, gentle too. As if he handled things like explosives, and needed to treat me with the same delicate attention.
His touch sent shivers down both my legs.
We ended the night at his motorcycle, all big and black and chrome. I could still feel the heat radiating off the big silvery exhaust pipes as we sat on the seat, face to face.
“So…” I said finally. “You and me…”
I was practically straddling him, my hands flat on his thighs. His legs were flexed. Beneath the fabric of his jeans, I could feel the strength and power there.
“Ryan, I’m not looking for an instant connection,” I said. “Or even a connection at all. Maybe we just don’t like each other,” I shrugged. “Maybe I put too much salt in your coffee, and it’s a rift so terrible that it can never be repaired.”
I saw the crack in his stoic expression. The smirk that betrayed his epic seriousness. It was sardonic and smarmy, yes… but it was there.
“Still, it wouldn’t be fair to the guys if we didn’t give it a level shot.”
“A shot, huh?”
“Yes.”
I expected him to lean in… to plant his lips on mine, just like in the movies. The classic motorcycle seat first kiss I’d seen a dozen times, in a dozen or more cheesy romantic comedies.
Instead he only extended his hand.
“So… truce?”
I stared down at his hand curiously. This part had never been in the movies.
“A truce would assume we were at war to begin with,” I said. “Wouldn’t it?”
“Fine,” he countered. “A ceasefire then.”
The hand was still there. I stared at it a moment longer before taking it. He shook it firmly, like I was another guy.
“Okay. Ceasefire.”
He smiled and a warmth flowed through me, followed by a sense of optimism and accomplishment. Maybe things could be okay between us. Sort of.
You still don’t know where you stand, do you?
I ground my teeth together in frustration. No. No, I didn’t.
Shit.
Ryan strapped on his helmet and kicked-started the bike all in one motion. It roared like a lion, rumbling noisily beneath us until he lifted me up and set me back on my feet.
God he was so, so strong.
I stood with my hand out, waiting for the other helmet. Instead he placed his hands on the handlebars.
“Gotta run,” he said.
“Run?” My brows crossed with confusion. “Run?”
“I’m working again tonight. Have to be on base in twenty.”
