My voice is as weak and shaken as the rest of me when I say, “I don’t know.”
He pulls back a little to examine me, his stormy-blue eyes creased with concern. “Can you walk?”
“I don’t know,” I answer again.
He nods, pulls his phone from his pocket, and, one-handed, types out a message. “Just lean on me, okay?” he says.
I grip onto his shirt while he walks me out of the room, his arm wrapped around my back and holding me upright. I see a panicked Malcolm sprint down the hall followed by Stella and Emma, who, by the confused looks on their faces, have no idea what’s going on except that I’m upset. Ryan goes to release me to my friends, but I refuse to go. I shake my head and grip his shirt more tightly. “Don’t go,” I say and press my cheek into his firm chest. Processing what happened is beyond my ability at the moment. All I know is that Ryan is safe, and I’m safe with him. I can’t let him go. He’s the only thing keeping me from falling apart right now.
“Okay,” Ryan says. “I won’t leave.” He’s petting my head, kind of like a dog, which would normally piss me off, but right now it’s exactly what I need. I let out a breath and sink into him. He’s talking to the others, but I’m not really hearing what they’re saying. I think I may be in shock. Can you go into shock from something like this? Ryan ushers me back down the hall and opens a door. “The bathroom,” he says when I give him a confused look.
Right. I needed to use the bathroom. Do I still need to use the bathroom?
“I’ll wait right out here, I promise,” he says.
I use the bathroom on autopilot and when I step back out, Ryan is waiting for me, as promised.
He smiles at me, and it’s so warm, I find myself smiling back. “Emma called the campus police. I hope that’s all right.”
Of course, she did. “That’s okay. I want to file a report.”
He blows out a breath and sags a little. “Good. I mean, I’m glad.” He scratches the back of his head. “You want to wait outside for them?”
“You’ll stay with me?” I ask. I’ve recovered enough that I’m aware of how needy I sound, but I’m still way too freaked out to care. Ryan, thank goodness, doesn’t seem to mind.
“Of course. Yeah. I should probably talk to them too, anyway.”
I’m fairly steady on my feet at this point, so as much as I want to keep hanging on to him, I hold myself back. Maybe Ryan senses my trepidation or maybe he needs to touch me just as much as I need to touch him, right now. I don’t know. Regardless, I’m grateful when he takes my hand in his and threads our fingers together. His hands are rough and warm and powerful and when they squeeze mine, it’s like something I didn’t realize was gripping my chest, loosens.
He leads me down the stairs and out the front door. We sit on the top step leading into the yard, our hands still clasped.
“How did you know?” I ask.
He shrugs—eyes trained on some point in the distance—and says, “I saw him follow you inside, and I just got a bad feeling. You know?” When I don’t respond, he continues. “When I lost you, I panicked.” He scratches the stubble under his chin. “Then I heard you scream.” He shrugs again like it’s no big deal. But I can tell he’s pretty freaked out, too.
I rest my head against his shoulder and wrap my free hand around our joined ones. “Thank you.” He nods and rests his head against mine. And even after all that’s happened, that simple gesture sends the little butterflies in my stomach into hysterics.
It’s another hour before the police leave with our reports and Ryan offers to drive me home. I shoot the girls a quick text to tell them I’m okay and follow Ryan to where a sick black and chrome Harley is parked on the lawn.
“We’re going on that?” I ask.
He shakes his head. “Right. I’m sorry. I wasn’t thinking. I can borrow Malcolm’s—”
“No,” I interrupt. Unconsciously, I lay a palm on his chest to stop him from turning for the house. His chest is warm and hard and a tremor runs through my hand at the contact. I jerk my hand away as if burned. “I… um… I’ve always wanted to ride a motorcycle.” Feeling oddly shy, I gaze up at him from under my lashes. My heart leaps upon seeing the tiny smile on his face.
“You sure?” he asks.
I nod, and he hands me a helmet that’s got to be two sizes too big, but I put it on without complaint.
He climbs on, holds a hand out to help me up and when he pulls my hands around his midsection so my chest presses against his back, I’m certain my entire body will burst into flames at any moment.
“Hang on tight, okay?” he says, giving my hands a squeeze. He starts the engine, and we slowly pull out of the yard.
When we reach my house, Ryan heels the kickstand down and hangs our helmets on the handlebars. “Watch out for the muffler,” he says, twisting around in his seat to help me extricate myself from the bike before getting off himself. Like being a sexy bad boy and my hero wasn’t enough. He has to go and be a gentleman. Is this guy for real?
He doesn’t let go of my hand once I’m down. Instead, he runs his thumb back and forth across my wrist, every stroke ratcheting up the heat building in my core. It’s got to be a reaction to him saving me, right? Because no way should my body be reacting likethatto a simple touch.
“Uh, thank you again,” I say.
