Page 17 of No Rhyme or Roughing
After a few more, Sydney shut her laptop. Silence followed as I tried to process the idea she hadn’t spoken out loud.
“You think I should…” My brow furrowed.
She nodded for me to continue.
“Dance. On the ice.”
“Bingo.” She poked my side. “How epic would that be? You just need to post videos on social and get a following. That’s how we get people into the building.”
“But I don’t dance.” I pictured myself pitching this idea to the team and almost laughed. I could see their faces—and the straitjacket they’d buy for me.
“Anyone can dance, Ryder. Plus, you happen to have a very bored choreographer, and she won’t even charge you.”
Me? Dance?
“Please don’t say no.” She held her hands up as if in prayer. “At least not yet.” She leaned closer. “Three of these players were my early clients. I helped them come up with routines that salvaged their baseball careers afterthey didn’t make it to the majors.” Her voice dropped. “I dare you to consider it.”
As a dumb teenager, I’d never turned down a dare, and she knew it. What she didn’t realize was that it had been a long time since that boy was a part of me.
Yet, her face was so earnest, so eager, there was nothing I could say except, “I need to see more of these videos.”
With a squeal, she set up another series of videos. We watched this team of baseball dancers again and again. They didn’t seem embarrassed or self-conscious. They looked like they were having the time of their lives.
But they weren’t me. My confidence only existed with strangers, people who didn’t know me and never would.
Viral videos? Fans coming to watch dancing hockey players?
It was ridiculous.
After a while, Sydney rested farther back into her pillows, and weariness overcame me. I should have gotten up, gone down to the couch, and gotten some sleep. But I couldn’t seem to move.
CHAPTER SEVEN
SYDNEY
I wasn’t alone in bed. I realized that before I even opened my eyes.
An arm draped over my midsection, holding me firmly against a hard chest and… other hard things. I stifled a moan and tried to shift away.
Ryder mumbled something in his sleep, and his grip tightened.
This was a problem.
Not because I didn’t like it—I very much did—but because I knew the moment he woke, he’d regret falling asleep beside me. Ryder liked to think he was a completely different person now,but he was still that teenage boy who used to dress up my Barbies for the ball I’d organized when I was sick.
Safe, calm, collected. Steady Ryder. Hard-to-embarrass Ryder.
Definitely not the "groping his best friend’s little sister early in the morning" type. Even if said little sister wasn’t little anymore.
Shouting erupted in the hall, and before I could extricate myself, the bedroom door banged open.
“You better be dressed, Syd, because I’m coming in,” Teddy called, one hand clamped dramatically over his eyes.
“Oh, shit.” I scrambled out of Ryder’s arms and practically fell out of the bed.
At my curse, Teddy ripped his hand away. His eyes darted between Ryder, still asleep in bed, and me. I could practically see the gears turning in his head, anger building with every second. Teddy had always been too much like the old me—quick to emotion, quick to bad decisions. No one had ever told him it was wrong to be loud, emotional, or too much.
“It’s not what it looks like, I swear.”
