Page 66 of What are the Risks
“I mean Kitty Banks.” The first girl he’d ever kissed, who wore so much self-tanner she was permanently orange. “Giselle Sterling.” His freshman year crush, whose extensions likely cost the equivalent of my first car. “And Sienna Davis.” The latest girl he’d introduced me to, whose breast implants were perkier than a pilates instructor’s ass. “You have a type, Wheels.”
“Do not.”
“You do. Just like every quarterback you grew up idolising, you’re drawn to perfect looking girls.”
He had the nerve to look offended, like I’d just dropped a bombshell. “You’re being judgy, Rubz.”
“I’m not. I’m merely stating a fact.”
“That I only date fake girls?”
“No,” I said, with a hint of remorse. “That you only date the kind of women who are flawless in every category – perfect face, perfect hair, perfect bodies. You know, those who appreciate the difference between bronzer and contour.”
Ryker was still hovering above me, his arms caging me in. His dark hair had fallen over his forehead since tickling me, making him seem messy and chaotic.
I... liked it.
Ryker was always perfectly kept together. Whenever he called me after a shift, when my messy bun was coming loose and there were dark bags beneath my eyes, he’d appear like he’d just left the set of ahigh-end commercial, not a college class. Even after a game or practice, when he was drenched in sweat, it only added to his appeal.
He was just a hot, picture-perfect guy – drawn only to women just as hot and picture-perfect as him.
“What’s the difference?” he asked me.
I shrugged. “I don’t have a clue.”
“You think I wouldn’t date you because of that?”
“I don’t think you’d date me for a lot of reasons.”
“Name one.”
“I can name one hundred. Can you name one why weshoulddate?”
He smirked. “I can name one hundred.”
I snorted. “This should be good. Go on, give me one.”
“We get along.”
“Boring.”
He pulled his bottom lip between his teeth, thinking. “We come from the same hometown.”
“Convenience isn’t a reason to date someone.”
As he briefly opened his mouth, only to shut it in defeat, I beamed triumphantly.
“Aha. You’ve got nothing, Wheels.”
“Give me time, woman. I’m trying to think.”
“Needing to think is proof you’re wrong. We’d be disastrous.”
Ryker started to protest, so I raised my hand, cutting him off. I had my reasons ready.
“Between football and my roster, we’d never see each other.”
“I suppose, but–”
