“Ava.” His voice is sharp, demanding, delicious. Unbidden, I lick my lips, enjoying his bossy tone too much. He holds open the door. “Come on. I’ll take you home.”
“Okay.” My voice is a whisper on the wind. Too breathless. Too wanting.
Maybe Ryder knows how risky this move is as much as me. His eyes have darkened, and he swallows loud enough I catch it.
It’s only a ride home with a guy I used to know. Nothing more.
* * *
“You can’t be serious.” I’m going to blow a gasket. “Ryder, I will never forgive you if you say that again.”
He laughs. “I’m sorry, but it’s the truth.”
I spin in the passenger seat, eyes narrowed, and try to level with his lunacy. “There is no comparison. The tone, the setting, and thefeelof the two are completely different.”
“What are you talking about?” He looks at me like I’ve betrayed him. “First, they’re both set in Paris, so try again on the setting. Second, they’re both iconic classics based on novels. Third, they both address the intricacies of the human mind and emotion. How far can one be manipulated in one, the other is fanaticism and religious overstep.”
“Les Misérablesis entirely more complex. It spans a range of twenty years and shows a true transformation of the heart. Not to mention, the resilience of the human spirit.”
“I’m not disagreeing,” he says, turning down the confrontation between Jean Valjean and Inspector Javert in the original Broadway soundtrack. “I’m sayingPhantom of the Operaalso addresses a complexity of obsession, the line between insanity and unselfish love.”
“What!” I sigh and lean back in my seat. “He manipulates her for years, then murders—”
“And Jean Valjean is a fugitive who lies to his adopted daughter about his past for a decade.”
“Oh-ho, tread carefully sir. Tread carefully.”
Ryder laughs. The second time since we started driving. I’ve missed him.
We used to do this all the time. Analyze musicals. At first, Ryder was self-conscious, admitting he didn’t understand the feelings associated with the stories, but over the years, he dug out unique perspectives I never would’ve considered on numerous plays.
But the moment ends too soon.
He pulls into my driveway and lets out a long sigh. I think silence will stumble our heated debate, maybe toss us back to our warring sides of who can play the best acquaintance again, but Ryder grips his steering wheel and looks off at the glow of my front porch light.
“No one on the team knows I like musicals.”
I tilt my head. “How is that possible? Your misguided obsession for the wrong musicals is a personality flaw that can’t be missed.”
His gaze flicks to mine. “I’ve never told them. Never opened enough, I guess.”
“I thought you were close to your teammates. You’re in a lot of pictures in Griffin’s house.”
“We are close.” He hesitates. “Well, they get close to me, but I keep them on the surface.”
This moment seems different. A vulnerable Ryder is my top favorite thing. Pieces of that icy shell are scraping off the surface, and I am here for it.
“You have those oyster shells up.”
He nods, not denying it, not needing to explain more. I know this man feels a great deal, but has always struggled letting others see the sharper edges.
He should. Those edges come with a bite, but it’s worth it.
“They, um, they don’t know a lot of things about me.” He holds my stare, as if desperate for me to read between the lines of his statement.
I think I get it. He’s never shared how his mind works with the Kings. A real shame. To me, it is a unique piece of him that made him stand out in a crowd.
“Want to know my opinion?” I ask softly, taking a bold move and resting my hand on his thigh. Ryder’s eyes track my movement and stare at the forbidden touch over the line I wish we never drew. “I think you should let them see beyond the shells, Ryder. They’re going to like what they find.”
