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This is what’s known as the Ryder McAdams effect.
The man doesn’t even have to turn on the charm to have the fairer sex falling at his feet. His handsome face and athletic build do the job for him. Girls have always been putty in his hands.
A little zip of awareness scuddles down my spine as his gaze fastens on me. And just like before, the crowd parts as people clap him on the shoulder and tell him what a good game he had.
Once he’s a foot or so away, he extends a bottle to me. Only now do I realize how parched my throat is. I bring the glass container to my lips and take a small sip. The icy cold liquid feels surprisingly good going down.
Ryder continues to stare before lifting his own and taking a long swallow. My gaze drops to his throat and the way his muscles constrict.
Something like that shouldn’t be so sexy.
But I’ll be damned if it’s not.
I force my gaze away before he notices my reaction.
“Let’s head to the table,” he says, his deep voice startling me from my thoughts.
When his arm slips around my waist, I turn and collide with his chest. I tip my face up only to find him staring down at me. He’s close enough for his breath to drift over my lips. That’s all it takes for his nearness to scatter my thoughts, making it impossible to think straight.
“Okay.” My answer comes out sounding ridiculously breathy.
What the hell is wrong with me?
Just like when we left the arena and walked into the bar, he draws me close and maneuvers us through the press of bodies until we arrive at a long table in the back. My guess is that two or even three of them have been shoved together to make room for about twenty people. A good number of Ryder’s teammates are already settled on chairs. Girls are either perched on their laps or are buzzing around like drunken bees trying to find a guy.
Since every seat is occupied, Ryder pulls up alongside a sophomore player and jerks his thumb over his shoulder. “Up.”
The younger guy’s eyes widen before he scrambles out of the chair without a word of protest. When I glance at Ryder, he smirks before dropping down. It's almost a relief when his hand falls away from my body. Being touched by him does funny things to my insides. Like there’s a high-wire trapeze act taking place within the confines of my belly.
I don’t like it.
I’m a person who likes to be in control, and Ryder’s touch makes me feel the exact opposite.
When I continue to stand awkwardly beside him, he taps his thigh with the flat of his hand.
My brows slam together as I shake my head.
Is he crazy?
I’m not going to sit on his lap like some kind of puck bunny. That would give off the wrong impression. Especially to my brother, who’s sitting at the opposite end of the table. He looks to be in deep conversation with another teammate. A few girls circle, stroking their hands over his arms and shoulders.
Gross.
Not exactly the kind of image a sister wants singed into her brain for all eternity.
When I don’t budge, Ryder leans closer. “Do you see any alternatives?”
I chew my lip and glance around. He’s right. Although, he cleared a seat for himself, so…
“Can’t you move one of these guys?”
His gaze never falters from mine. “Nope.” He taps his thigh for a second time. “This is your seat for the night. Take it or leave it.”
My mouth turns cottony at the thought of being perched on his lap while he holds court. To buy a little time, I lift the bottle to my lips and take another pull. The alcohol does nothing to settle the nerves tingling at the bottom of my gut. I fidget for another moment or two before sucking in a deep breath and forcing myself to step closer. Satisfaction flickers in his eyes as his hands wrap around the curve of my hips, helping me settle tentatively on his lap. Just as a puff of air escapes from me, he drags my body closer until I can feel the steeliness of his chest pressed against my stiff spine.
“Isn’t this more comfortable than a hard chair?” he whispers against my ear.
“No.”
