“I’m a bastard, okay? And you’re right — I don’t know you. But I do know Lincoln. He’s a player.”
“Oh, and you’re such a monk,Mr. I-Don’t-Do-Girlfriends?”
“Never claimed to be. But Linc…” He blows out a breath. “For him, it isn’t just about getting laid. It’s almost a sport. He goes through girls like paper dixie cups at a water cooler — use once, drain of contents, toss in the trash.”
“How charming.”
“Not trying to be charming. Trying to be honest.”
“Listen…” I chew the inside of my cheek. “I know you’re trying to make amends. Frankly, it’s unnecessary. I don’t need an apology from you.”
“But—”
“It’s three in the morning. I’ve been on my feet for nine straight hours. I’mexhausted. I just want to climb in bed and forget this night ever happened.” I try for a flippant tone. “In fact, consider it already forgotten. Goodnight, Ryder.”
I turn to stalk away, but he stops me so fast I don’t even make it two steps. I glance down at his hand on my arm like it’s made of black toxic mold, trying to keep a lid on the sudden wave of panic crashing through me. He’s not holding me with any sort of force, but it still triggers a fight-or-flight reaction I can barely tamp down.
“Let go of me.”
“In a minute, I just want to talk to you—”
“Now.”
He must hear something akin to desperation in my voice, because he drops his grip immediately. I see thoughts working in his eyes. Questions bubbling back up to the surface about my past, about why my pulse is racing at twice its normal speed simply because a man laid his hands on me without permission.
“Hey. I didn’t mean to freak you out—”
“It’s fine.” I cut him off, trying to calm my skittish heartbeat. “Really.”
His eyes are intense. A storm is brewing behind them, and I’m not sure there’s anywhere I’ll be safe to take cover when it’s finally unleashed.
“Ryder…” I trail off, not knowing what to say. I feel totally exposed. First the song, now this… He can probably see straight through me. All my secrets. All my pain. It makes me want to run, afraid he’ll use it against me as ammunition in a war I can’t win.
“I’m sorry for for being such an ass today,” he murmurs in a soft tone I’ve never heard from him before, stripped of all faux charm and false confidence. He rubs at his stubble, a nervous gesture that might be endearing if I weren’t still so on edge. “The Lincoln thing was out of line. I just… didn’t want to see you get hurt, all right? You deserve better than that.”
I stare at him, feeling a bit of my anger fade. All of this was actually his twisted way of… beingprotective?
I want to laugh. I want to cry. The concept is so foreign to me, I barely know how to process it. I’ve never really had anyone fight my battles for me before. I’ve never even had anyone willing to try.
“It’s all right,” I say after a long beat of tension. “Apology accepted.”
Relief washes over his face. He keeps a careful distance from me, perhaps realizing there’s more to my skittish nature than simple shyness. But when he speaks, I feel his words like a hand wrapped around my heart.
“You said I don’t want to know your name. You’re wrong. I’ve wanted to know it since the first night we met, right here in this spot. Before that, even. The moment I first saw you in the crowd during my set. There was just something about you…”
My mouth feels suddenly parched. I lick my lips, breathing a bit too hard, and watch his eyes follow the movement of my tongue with intent focus.
“I had to know you,” he says simply. “And I didn’t want to do it secondhand, through my bandmate. I wanted to hear your name from your lips, your eyes on mine when you said it.”
“I…” My voice is so breathy, it’s almost unrecognizable. I hold his gaze, trying to keep myself in check so he doesn’t see how his words are pulling me apart inside, piece by piece.
There’s really only one thing left to say.
“I’m Felicity.”