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“Oh,” I murmur, starting to think that I underestimated Ryder’s attention for details all these years.Shit.
“How often, Tillie?”
“I haven’t worn it in years, Ryder.”
“That’s not what I’m asking,” he corrects me, and I sigh. I was hoping he would let it drop, but that’s becoming clear that it’s not going to happen.
“Quite a bit,” I answer vaguely.
“How often is quite a bit?”
“Is this important? If you want the jersey back, take it. I don’t wear it anymore.”
“Why?”
“Why?” I repeat.
“Yeah, Buttons. Why? Why did you stop wearing it.”
“Silly dreams die,” I mutter.
“What was your dream?”
“Will you quit, Ryder? You don’t get to ask me these questions.”
He gets up and walks to me. The oxygen seems to leave the room. I back up slowly, but he just keeps coming. He picks me up, then sits on the bed with me in his lap. “I need these answers, Tillie. Give them to me.”
“Ryder—”
“Give them to me,” he repeats.
“You’re an asshole.”
“I know, but I need this.”
“I stopped when I saw you with… with her.”
“Fuck,” he hisses.
“And before that, Buttons. How often did you wear it?”
“Almost every night,” I confess, hating that I’m so pitiful.
“Right,” he says and there’s a muscle twitching along his jawline. I resist the urge to rub it with the pad of my thumb.
“I’m sorry I made you mad.”
“You didn’t,” he denies.
“But you said—”
“I’m mad at myself, Buttons. I was a fucking fool.”
“Ryder.”
“Give me your lips, Tillie.”
I could argue, but I’m not going to. I stretch to press my lips against his. Instantly, his tongue runs along the seam of mine. I open for him, and his tongue comes inside, deepening the kiss. He swallows my moan as his tongue sets about claiming my mouth—and that’s exactly what he does.
