Page 42 of Reckless On Ice

It doesn't lighten the mood.

Instead, it seems to flip the switch from agitated to enraged in Ryder. His hands drop from his hair, and his face turns red. His brows scrunch and his jaw tightens as he stalks up to me and gets right in my face.

“I don't need your fucking sensitivity training or comportment lessons. I don't need to stay here, and I don't need to say shit to you,” he says slowly, each word ripped through his clenched jaw. “I’m done with this Golden Boy babysitting bullshit that’s done nothing for me, anyway. I’ll take my things and get the fuck out of here and you can have your space back just the way you like it, and we’ll forget any of this even happened.” He pushes me out of the room and slams the door in my face.

I let him, because I know this isn’t a fight I can win.

Instead, I lose what I want most.

Twenty-two

Knox

The condo is quiet without all of Ryder’s ubiquitous noises, which I’ve become used to when he’s home. Silence is stifling. The filter on Goldie’s tank is loud in the stillness, breaking through my thoughts and annoying me more than ever. I should have flushed her when I had the chance, but then I wouldn't have this small reminder of Ryder even now. I hate this so much. Pulling up my phone, I text Lilah before I do something rash, like text Ryder and threaten to send Goldie to the fish farm if he doesn't come back.

Knox: Want to grab a drink? I needsome company.

Lilah: Big bestie needs a hug?

Knox: Yes, and alcohol. Maybe you can scratch my head, too? I don't want to be alone right now.

Lilah: Alone? Isn’t Ryder there? The Hydras have a home game tomorrow. He’s in town, right?

Knox: …he left. I have a lot to explain. Want to come over?

Lilah: That sounds like code for bring drinks and snacks. Sweet or savory?

Knox: Both.

Lilah: Gotcha. Send me the address. I’ll be over in half an hour.

When Lilah arrives forty-five minutes later, she’s armed with a large canvas grocery bag stuffed with items. “Hey, sorry I’m late. Publix was way busier than I thought it would be, but this sounded serious, so it was worth the stop to get supplies.” She breezes past me to the couch. Settling herself, she unloads her bag on the coffee table. She pulls out Flamin’ Hot Cheetos, ranch dip, peanut butter Oreos, a jar of peanut butter, a carton of milk, a bottle of wine, a lime, and a bottle of tequila.

“Girl, who are you feeding, and why is this such a randomassortment of shit?” I ask in astonishment. I don't think I’ve had this much junk food in my home at once in years. I don’t eat entirely clean all the time, but I’m generally pretty healthy.

“You said you needed alcohol and didn’t want to be alone. When I feel like that, sometimes I need wine, other times I need tequila, so I brought both. If we do wine, we need Oreos and peanut butter. If we do the tequila, we need the hot Cheetos and ranch dip. Trust me. Grab napkins, cups, shot glasses, plates, and a knife for the lime.”

I get everything from the kitchen she’s requested, bringing my armload back into the living room where she’s ripping open the bags and containers, arranging things with what I give her.

“Okay, is this a wine or tequila emergency?” she asks, holding up the bottles once I’ve fallen back into the couch cushions.

“I’m gay,” I say abruptly. It feels good to finally say it out loud to her. I’m sure she’s had her suspicions with everything that’s happened, but actually saying it out loud is new territory for us.

“Tequila night it is,” she says, blinking quickly, before putting the wine bottle back in her tote bag and pulling the shot glasses closer. She fills them and hands one to me, holding hers up for me to clink. “Cheers to queers!” she says merrily.

I can’t help laughing before I take my shot and suck the lime she hands me. “You’re really casual about this,” I say, my heart nearly jumping through my ribs as the tequila burns down mythroat.

“Honey, I’ve known you were gay since the night you ordered pink cocktails and told me all about Ryder with hearts in your eyes, even though he was awful to you. If that wasn’t enough, going to drag brunch with you where you knew every word and lip-synced better than the queens did was a big fucking clue. You’re a secret RuPaul’s Drag Race fan, aren’t you?” she accuses with a raised eyebrow, pouring another round of shots.

“Guilty,” I say, shuddering as I hold up the next shot. “I told you I don't like tasting my alcohol, but you still brought tequila?”

“This is serious. You will take the alcohol I provide and spill your secrets. Now, drink, bitch.”

I make a face as I down the shot and place the glass far away on the coffee table so she won't refill it. Tequila and I don't get along so well. She holds out the bag of Flamin’ Hot Cheetos, and I put a handful on the plate she gives me, already containing a dollop of ranch dip.

“Wait, did something happen at Luscious after Pride Night? You and Ryder disappeared, but I was kind of busy, so I wasn’t paying too close attention. Oh my God, it did, look at you! Spill,” she commands with wide eyes, brandishing a Cheeto at me as I groan and try to hide my face in embarrassment.

“Ryder and I have a complicated history, you know that, and living together the last few months has been weird. At first, we were constantly fighting, and he was always trying to getunder my skin. Well, that turned into him trying to push my buttons and see what would make me snap. At the club, he was following me around, stopping guys from dancing with me, and I finally snapped. I pulled him close and suggestively danced on him, and said maybe he wanted me for himself if he wouldn't let anyone else have me, and he kissed me.”

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