Page 22 of Stick With Me
“Yeah.” He cringes, rubbing the back of his neck.
“Who knew you had so many stalker tendencies? Should I be worried?” I tease, not feeling an ounce of worry at all. I’m thankful to find humor in the situation because it’s easier to laugh than to face the feelings I’m not ready to evaluate.
“Only if you’re planning to escape.” His chuckle vibrates through my chest, where we’re still connected. Before I can react, he tickles my sides and tosses me into the water. As I surface, sputtering and laughing, he swims after me, all the while mimicking a villain’s sinister laugh.
We keep playing in the water until I end up in his arms again. My second attempt at dunking him fails, and I’m pulled tightly against his body. There’s something different between us this weekend, something simmering just beneath the surface. I haven’t felt it this strongly since that first summer I met him.
Okay, maybe I’ve felt it a few times over the years, but I’ve never acted on it.I always pushed it aside, but here, now, wrapped in his arms, it’s undeniable.
There’s a buzz.
An electricity.
I lean into it, just for a moment.
Pressing my body closer to his, I kiss his cheek, then bury my face in the space between his shoulder and neck. My heart hammers wildly. I take slow, steady breaths, trying to calm it, filling my lungs with salt spray and the familiar scent of Ryan.
He kisses my shoulder gently but doesn’t break the silence between us. Does he feel this pull, too?
“Let’s get you out of here. You’re shivering,” he says softly, his breath warm near my ear.
I am shivering, although I’m not sure it’s solely because of the cold water.
TEN
Media day is definitelymy favorite workday so far. Watching hockey players perform silly TikTok trends, answer funny questions, and make predictions was a fun break from the usual hockey-focused grind. I didn’t see much of Ryan, though. After wrapping up my duties, I headed back to the hotel while he went off to some mandatory cocktail party for the players. He invited me to join, but I’m avoiding Jace at all costs.
Which means tonight it’s just me, Netflix, and a pint of ice cream. A little distraction is exactly what I need.
After finishing the pint and binge-watching some trashy reality television, I finally give in to the urge I’ve been resisting for the past three hours. Since my breakup, I’ve steered clear of social media, except for my coverage of the All-Star events. But I haven’t heard from Ryan, and curiosity gets the better of me. I open the app and search for any sign of him at the party.
I go to his page; he rarely posts, so I’m not surprised there are no updates from tonight. Still, I can’t help but scroll through his feed, my thumb moving slowly over the screen. It’s obvious when the PR team his agent hired took over—the photos are polished, professional, and impersonal. Game day shots, sponsored ads, and re-posts from fans make up the majority of his content. The timeline of his life, as seen through his feed, feels like it belongs to someone else entirely in recent years.
The last personal photo he posted is from college. I’m sitting on his lap, both our heads thrown back in a fit of laughter. I don’t remember what we were laughing about, but the memory of that night comes back in pieces—the crowded party, the faint smell of beer and body spray, and the overly sweet perfume teenage me used to love. His breath tickled my skin as he whispered something that made me laugh so hard I cried. The memory feels hazy but warm, like an old song you didn’t realize you still knew all the words to.
Enough nostalgia. I switch over to the posts he’s tagged in.
My heart stutters when I see a photo posted twenty-eight minutes ago. It’s of Ryan and Dylan Beck, fellow Rumford alumni. That’s not what has my attention. It’s the brunette who is hanging on his arm, Rebecca Solera, the model he dated this past summer. So much for the warm and fluffy feelings.
She’s stunning, nearly as tall as Ryan, with legs that seem to go on forever, golden and tan. Her dark-brown hair is streaked with caramel highlights, perfectly curled. I bet it bounces with every step, like something straight out of a Pantene commercial. Nothing like my messy waves. Even in the dim light of the cocktail lounge, her high cheekbones catch the light, and her flawless makeup enhances her already striking features.
Yep, definitely no model roommates.
In the photo, Ryan and Dylan are deep in conversation, unaware of the camera. Rebecca is pressed up against Ryan’s side, her arms wrapped tightly around his waist.
Together, they look like the perfect couple. Why does that thought bother me so much? Why didn’t he tell me he was meeting up with her? Did he bring her as his date after I turned down the invitation? The knot in my stomach tightens.
What the hell was I thinking?I let myself get swept up in him these last few days, misreading everything. Just like I did back in college.
I don’t need another rejection—I’m still getting over the last one.
As I’m spiraling, I get a text notification at the top of my screen.
Ryan:
You still up? I’m on my way back now. I miss you.
I roll my eyes.Sure, looks like you miss me, buddy.
