Page 51 of Rookie Season
He’s not saying he’s obsessed with me, but damn, it feels that way.
“Is that part of this lone wolf bullshit you claimed in the hot tub?” he asks. “Don’t pretend that’s not why you hightailed it out of there by the way.”
I feel myself stiffen on instinct. “You act like you know what women want or need. I get mansplained to every day. I don’t need it from you.”
“So, tell me.”
My mouth falls open.
“Unless it’s some point of pride that you don’t let anyone in. But it feels good to be known, Sierra. I play a team sport. You don’t win by being an island. You win by knowing and by being known.”
I sigh. “I guess when I’m around you, I’m reminded that we’re not the same. You’re flying private jets and signing swag, and I’m working long hours and arguing with my dad over a drinks list and new stools.”
“You fit in fine.”
“Do I?”
“Maybe you’re right. Doesn’t matter who’s around, I can’t seem to stop looking at you.” He lets that settle in for a moment. Then he says, “You were really going to protect the whole cabin from intruders?”
“Yes. I look out for my friends.” My lips twitch.
His eyes soften. “Go back to bed.”
“I was going to sleep on the couch.”
“Then I’ll look for some clean sheets.”
He starts upstairs, and I’m staring at his back as he recedes.
I have the weirdest feeling that I missed out on an opportunity.
We’re not the same, but we have a connection. When I listen to a customer at the bar, it’s genuine but has boundaries. This feels as though he’s listening because he wants to.
I’ve spent time with Kodiaks for years, but Ryan’s different. He’s funny and fun, and when he looks at me, it feels as though he’s seeing parts of me I haven’t agreed to show him but I don’t want to take back.
I want more. I shouldn’t, but I do.
A moment later, he reappears, crooking his finger.
“Did you find any?” I ask.
“Something even better.”
I follow him upstairs. Inside the linen closet is a ladder. He disappears up the ladder. I hesitate only a moment before following, curiosity getting the best of me.
My bare feet slip a little on the way up, but Ryan grabs my arm and pulls me up.
It’s dark until Ryan clicks a switch and the whole place lights up with fairy lights.
It’s a loft. A beautiful loft with a king bed.
“The listing said five bedrooms. I couldn’t find the last one,” he says.
The bed is even made up, with a fluffy gray duvet and at least ten pillows.
I have to bend at the waist so my head doesn’t hit the peaked A-frame roof, but it’s worth it. I pad across the room, the boards creaking softly, until I reach the window at the end. It’s round, like a porthole. Snow flurries drift across the glass, adding to the magic.
“It’s the best room in the cabin,” I whisper.
