Page 24 of No Rhyme or Roughing
Frankie sighed. “The Cassidy boys. How can twin brothers hate each other so much? It’s baffling. They’re both genuinely nice people—except to each other.”
My phone buzzed again, and I flipped it over. Dad. What was he doing calling me? I hit ignore and debated how much I should share. The drink was going to my head, the bar swimming before me, and I found myself telling them the tragic story of two brothers in love with one woman.
“Do you know Sullivan’s fiancée?” I asked.
They both nodded.
“She’s lovely,” Shai said, though she sounded confused.
“Yes, I’ve heard.” I sighed. “But she was with Ryder for ten years.”
Their heads snapped toward me.
“College sweethearts,” I continued, remembering what Teddy had told me over the years. “She followed him to his teams after college. He proposed three times. Each time, she said she didn’t plan to get married. Then, suddenly, she’s with Sullivan. Engaged.”
Shai whistled. “Now, I kind of hate Sullivan too.”
“Don’t. Ryder wouldn’t want anyone to have issues because of him.”
Frankie sipped her drink thoughtfully. “That explains a lot.”
“Explains what?”
“Why Ryder’s so serious now. He only lets the façade drop with fans. It makes him a great captain, but it’sholding back his play. He was so creative once. Now, he’s all structure, no freedom.”
The thought hadn’t occurred to me before. Was Ryder’s past holding him back on the ice?
I threw a twenty on the counter and slid off the stool. “I have to go.”
Half an hour later,I stepped into the dark, quiet house in Alameda. Alcohol fueled my steps as I kicked off my shoes and crept into the living room.
Ryder was asleep on the couch, a blanket pulled up to his chin. He looked so at peace—something I knew he wasn’t.
His hair was tousled, his features relaxed. There was a beauty in sleep, a rare moment where the weight of the world lifted. My eyes traced the curve of his lips to his jaw, sharp enough to cut me.
Before I could think better of it, I climbed onto the couch, straddling his hips. I leaned down, brushing a kiss across his lips.
His eyes shot open, but he didn’t push me off. His hands gripped my hips, pulling me closer, and he kissed me back.
Then, he stopped, all sleep fading from his face. “You taste like a bar, Syd.”
“That’s because I just came from one.” I tried to kiss him again, but he turned his head.
“Go to sleep.”
“No.”
“Sydney Valentine, I want to kiss you. I want to layyou down on this couch and worship you despite my better judgment. But you’re drunk. So, don’t push this.”
Huffing, I climbed off him. “You need to loosen up, Ryder. It’s just sex. I’m not asking you to marry me.”
This was why I didn’t drink. It took all control away, letting the bitch out.
I stormed up the stairs and collapsed face-first onto the bed—Ryder’s bed—and promptly passed out.
CHAPTER TEN
RYDER
