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The nerve.
I frowned an
d muttered back, “Really? And here I thought that was its carrying handle.”
Instead of turning as huffy as I had, he laughed. And, sweet mercy, that laugh went straight through me, tingling up the back of my spine and running along my nervous system to come out the ends of my fingers and toes. Its tone, its mere melodic quality, had me lifting my head so I could see its owner’s face.
As soon as I saw him, I jerked back and landed on my butt. Yeah, again.
His beauty was unreal. I had to blink repeatedly to make sure my fall hadn’t jostled my eyesight. But every time my lashes flickered open, I saw the boy clearly, in faultless, spectacular detail.
Perfection.
Still grinning over my sarcastic crack, he pushed to his feet and held out his hand to help me up. I glanced at his fingers, gaped as if I had no idea what they were, then shifted my gaze up to his face again because, well really, I couldn’t stop gawking at those stunning features.
He had the greenest eyes I’d ever seen, a pale, sparkly, jewel-kind of green, like the birthstone for August. Peridot. Yeah, he had peridot green eyes. And his smile was absolute flawlessness—flawless full lips, flawless teeth, flawless laugh line wrinkling the corner of his flawless mouth, which was framed in wider cheekbones with a slimmer jaw. He had the longest lashes known to humankind and fixed his silky-straight, sandy-colored hair in a fashionable manner with the shaggy bangs pushed to the side just far enough to see out from under them. His eyebrows were a shade darker, which only seemed to highlight his peridot eyes with a vivid intensity instead of detracting from his overall looks. He had to be flawless inside and out.
He was all things handsome and unattainable.
And way out of my nerdy league.
“Need some help up?” he asked, reminding me he was still waiting for me to take his hand.
I glanced at his fingers again, finally inspecting them in detail. A scratch ran across his knuckles from his pinkie to his middle finger. The thumbnail had a bruise under it, as if he might’ve hit it with a hammer. They were one hundred percent boy hands. Nothing girly or feminine about them.
Repressing a shiver of interest, I cleared my throat. “Thank you,” I said and gingerly took his fingers.
At the contact of skin against skin, a sharp, prickling sensation sprouted out the center of my palm, spreading through my wrist and arm, tickling my elbow and every sensitive nerve ending I possessed.
I gave an inward sigh.
He began to help me upright, so I pushed with my legs to assist, except we both put a little too much oomph into our efforts because momentum kept me going until he tugged me against him. Literally.
Bumping noses, we each sputtered a harried, “Sorry, sorry.”
I scurried backward just as he reached out to steady me, grasping the side of my shoulder. Utterly embarrassed, my face flamed red so fast, I was surprised the blush didn’t explode out the top of my scalp through the roots of my dark hair and turn me into a carrot top. Or maybe it had. I didn’t exactly have a mirror handy to see if I’d flushed myself from a brunette into a redhead.
“Are you okay?” he asked in harmony with my third apology. Then he laughed that delightfully musical laugh of his, drawing my attention back to his face. As our gazes caught and held, his smile dropped, as did the chuckle in his throat.
“Hi,” he said, his voice breathless as if staring at me affected him the same exact bulldozing way it affected me.
“Hi,” I wheezed back and looked away before I melted into a puddle of adoration at his feet.
Determined to act as if nothing earth shattering had just happened, I discreetly wiped the floor grime off my backside and then clicked off a blind shot so it’d look like I was concentrating on my job. Later, I learned I’d taken a picture of the free throw line and three pair of Hillsburg players’ shoes.
“I’m Ryder.”
Startled because he hadn’t shrugged me off for a loser and left, I jolted and glanced up to take in his purple and white Southeast uniform. He was number forty-two. I had no idea why that detail stuck in my head but it seemed easier to focus on his jersey than to look back into his too-beautiful-for-his-Southeast-jersey green eyes.
He flashed his pearly whites with a knowing grin as if he realized exactly how awestruck I felt. “And you are…” he prompted.
My mouth opened. Then closed. Then opened again. Not a word came out. My vocal chords had failed me. The most handsome boy I’d ever seen wanted to know my name.
As my brain wrapped around that fact, my thoughts fizzled and spurted out.
Run.
That was the only word to flash in bright neon lights through my head. I needed to get out of there before he realized I was a nobody.
