CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
With Ryland’s condo door wide open, I tromp back and forth between our places in different dresses. The charity event is a big night for the youth center and my planning skills. I need to look the part of a fancy-put-together woman. Plus, I love to dress up. There might be three weeks until our Casino night, but if I wear a dress from Simone, I’ll need it hemmed. It’s also a great opportunity for Ryland to practice his boyfriend skills by pretending to care what I wear with fake oohs and ahhs. So far he's done well.
The light blue dress I have on drags on the floor behind me, but I kind of enjoy the train feel of it. As long as no one steps on it and I fall on my ass. On second thought, maybe the train’s a bad idea.
Ryland sits stretched out on his couch watching ESPN on the television, but he turns his head when I step into the living room. His hand goes up and he circles his index finger silently asking me to spin.
“The purple one looked better with your eyes,” he says and then turns back to the highlight reel.
“Purple looks good with brown?”
“Yeah,” he answers without looking at me, but when I don’t move, his head turns. “Don’t question my opinions if you’re going to ask for them.”
I hate it when he’s a reasonable person and makes sense. Not that I’d tell him that. I’d rather change the subject. “Do you have a tie to match the purple one?”
The purple dress with a swoopy top is from my own closet so it fits, which will save me time and money on alterations. I’ve worn it before to a company holiday dinner with a certain ex who shall remain nameless.
“Kitten, just because I don’t wear ties doesn’t mean I don’t own a few.” He stops to think for a moment, his hand going to his jaw. “Actually most of them are in England, but I have some in the bedroom and if you like the purple dress I’ll pick one up to match.”
“I’ll go look. Where do you keep your stash?” I lean over the couch and give him a quick kiss on his puckered lips.
Ryland tries to sneak a hand up the bottom of my dress but gets caught in the extra material at the bottom. “This one is a definite no, it’s too long. The most important feature you consider for any dress should be how fast I can get it off you."
I lean back and give him my best unamused look even though his words excite me. “Uh-huh. And the ties are?”
“Top drawer of the dresser. Maybe in the closet, but check the dresser first.”
I’ve never seen Ryland in a tie besides pictures, but his comment and general lack of knowledge about his wardrobe make me question how much time he’s spent here since buying his San Francisco condo.
I pull open the top drawer of the large wooden dresser on the far corner of the master suite and my mouth falls open in shock. The ties are where he said they’d be. That’s not what’s interesting.
There… right there, smack dab in the top drawer of Ryland’s dresser pushed off to the right side and snuggled between two rolled up ties lays a shiny metal pair of handcuffs. I reach in and pull them out allowing one cuff to dangle from my index finger. They're heavy, better quality than those cheap plastic ones people use for Halloween.
What’s a girl supposed to do when she finds a pair of handcuffs in her boyfriend’s bedroom? Who knew Ryland had a kinky side? I kind of… like it. I stare at the heavy metal piece trying to think of how we could work this into our daily activities, but a little twist begins in my stomach. Another part of my brain — the jealous side — reminds me Ryland’s probably used these with another girl. Hundreds of other girls.
“Did you find a useable tie?” Ryland stops on the edge of the bedroom leaning against the doorway with his hands crossed over his chest.
“No.” I turn toward him, the handcuffs swaying from my finger. “But I found something more interesting.”
His mouth falls open and his eyes widen until both hands come out in front of him and he takes a step closer. “It’s not what it looks like.”
“So you’re not a kinky bastard who wants to tie me up and spank me?” I’m a bit disappointed.
He laughs and takes another step into the room, probably feeling safer since I haven’t thrown the cuffs at him yet. “Kitten, give me the word and I’ll spank you." His eyes burn with desire. “But the handcuffs aren’t what they seem. When I joined the soccer team at Stanford, players went through a lot of hazing.”
“Hazing with handcuffs?” I ask unable to come up with a single scenario where those two go together.
He rubs a hand on his forehead. “You’re really going to make me tell you the whole story aren’t you?”
I chuckle. “Obviously.”
Another one of his little prayers goes up to the ceiling while he shakes his head. “Fine, but I’ve never told anyone this. I’m trusting you with my deepest darkest secret."
“Uh-huh. Out with it, soccer boy.”
“Give me sympathy, woman. It was traumatic. The seniors took the new recruits out to the field and handcuffed us to a goal while a stripper…entertained us.”
“Yes, I totally see how a stripper would be a horrific experience for a young college kid.” I roll my eyes with disbelief and toss the pair of handcuffs at him.
