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"Need a hand?" His voice is closer now, our hands brushing as he helps me with the books.
"Thanks," I whisper, meeting his eyes. There's an unspoken question there, an opening, and I take my opportunity.
"You know, I've been thinking. We should go out, like on a date." The words tumble out before I can second-guess them.
His eyes widen. However, I remember the longing in his voice from that phone call at Sand Dunes, the way he spoke of wanting someone, and I know this is my shot.
"Date, huh?" he finally says, rubbing the back of his neck. "That's pretty straightforward of you."
"Life's too short for maybe's and what-ifs," I reply. The ball is in his court now, and I’m holding my breath, waiting for his next move.
There’s a battle of wills in the silence that stretches between us. Just when I'm about to break it, he leans back against the boardwalk railing, his posture casual but every line of his body screams control.
"Although," he starts, "a date sounds tempting, I've got something else in mind."
My heart does this funny little skip. Is he rejecting me? Yet he continues, "How about being my date to my mother's Christmas ball instead?"
I blink. His mother’s Christmas ball? That's leagues away from a casual coffee date. I can picture it now—the glitz, the glam, the swirling dresses. Ryder, looking dapper as hell in a tux. The thought is beyond exciting.
"I can do that, no problem," I say.
"Great." He nods, but there's a calculating look in his eyes. "But I need more than just one date."
"More?" My voice hitches up an octave, and I force myself to remember to breathe.
"Yeah, I've got a couple of work Christmas parties coming up. Need dates for those too." His shoulders shrug, but his gaze is intense, as if he's daring me to say yes.
For a split second, I hesitate. My planner flashes in my mind—study groups, finals, my part-time job at the bar. Then there's Ryder, with that look that says he's used to getting what he wants. Truth be told, I want to be the reason someone like him looks forward to attending holiday parties.
"Okay," I say. "I'll be your date for those too."
"Several dates," he clarifies, as if sealing a contract.
I take a sip of my warm coffee. The caffeine does little to steady my nerves as I steal glances at his sharp jawline and the way his black long sleeve henley stretches over his broad shoulders.
"Several dates," I parrot, trying to sound cool, collected. My pulse is doing just the opposite though.
"Actually," Ryder starts again, leaning in closer, "I need more than just a few dates." He pauses, and there's something flickering behind his ice-blue eyes that I haven't seen before.
"More?" My hand freezes mid-gesture, the proximity suddenly feeling too intimate, and lean back to take a long sip of my coffee.
He runs a hand through his hair and then drops the bomb. "I need a girlfriend."
My mouth goes from zero to Niagara Falls as the coffee I'd been savoring spews across the wooden floor in a fine mist of shock and Colombian roast.
Girlfriend. He needs a girlfriend.
"Shit!" I scramble for napkins, my sweater, anything to dab at the mess, my cheeks burning hotter than the spilled drink. "Ryder, I—you want what?"
His mouth twitches, like he's fighting a smile at my expense. "A girlfriend," he repeats, slower, enunciating each syllable.
"Be your girlfriend," I say, tasting the words, letting them roll around on my tongue.
"Only for the season," he adds quickly, as though sensing my hesitation. "No strings attached."
I study him, playing girlfriend to Ryder Raines, hockey god and notorious heartbreaker? That's playing with fire. No strings attached. Just a simple agreement to stave off loneliness during the most romantic time of the year. It's crazy, utterly insane, and... possibly exactly what I need.
"Okay," I hear myself say with a shaky voice, and he looks as shocked as I feel. "I'll be your girlfriend."
