She slowly pulls her face from the pillow and looks at the TV, but not before her eyes dart to mine and quickly away.
Maybe I told her we’d pretend this conversation never happened, but there’s no way I’ll be able to forget that Lily thinks I’m hot.
CHAPTER 14
Lily
FRÉDÉRIC CHOPIN — ÉTUDE NO. 5 IN G-FLAT MAJOR, OP. 10
“That can’t be real,” I protest. “It looks so fake!”
“The background is fake, but that’s really me,” Ryder says.
I shake my head. “I don’t know how you do any of these stunts.”
He shrugs a shoulder. “I could teach you.”
I snort a laugh. “Yeah, right.”
“Seriously. A step vault is no big deal. Anyone could do it.” He stands, walks around the back of the couch, then does a cool move that launches him over to the front.
I clap for him, genuinely impressed.
“You could do that,” he says.
“Uh, remember who failed at cartwheels?” I point at myself. “I’m seriously uncoordinated.”
He waves a hand at me. “It’s unrelated. Come on.” He holds his hands out to me, patiently waiting for me to stand.
Hesitantly, I put my hands in his, feeling that same rush of warmth, and let him pull me to standing. He drops my hands and steps around the couch, and I follow him. “Okay, you’re going to stepup to the couch, put one foot on top and the opposite hand resting here”—he demonstrates the position—“then pull your other leg through.” He hops through to the front of the couch.
“You forget that your legs are way longer than mine.”
“Come on, you can do it.” He walks back over to me, standing behind me as I face the couch.
I sigh. There’s no convincing him that I’m not able to physically jump over the couch, so what else can I do? I rest my right hand on the couch, then heft my left leg so my foot is propped on the back of the couch, and raise my eyebrows in surprise.
“I guess I could reach,” I say.
“See?” he says from behind me. “Now swing your right leg through. Here, I’ll help.” His hands settle on my waist, sending sparks through my belly. I can only imagine what it would feel like to have him pull me to him, my back flush against his chest. “Ready?”
Absolutely not. Can we stay like this for another minute, please?
“Lily?”
“Uh, yes.” I shift my weight onto my left foot and right hand, and with Ryder’s help, push myself forward, swinging my right leg through. I’m still propped above the couch as I say, “Hey, I did—whoa!”
I guess I forgot about the part where I’d have to put my foot down and land. My leg buckles under me on the seat cushion of the couch, and I roll off, hitting my arm on the little coffee table and landing on the floor with a THUD.
“Lily! Are you okay?”
“Ow,” I moan, lying on my back and holding my elbow.
Ryder rushes over to me, crouching over my body. “Where are you hurt?”
“Everywhere,” I groan. I punctuate it with a giggle so he knows my injuries aren’t too serious.
But Ryder doesn’t seem to get the hint, and his hands touch my shoulders, moving down to my upper arms, then my elbows, my forearms, and finally my wrists and hands. Everywhere he touches leaves a trail of fire, stopping my giggles. This isn’t funny, but it’s also not the medical checkup I’m used to. His fingers and hands grip my body, firm but gentle, and my heart pounds in response.
