He shifts, so we’re looking at each other. His eyes are wide. “Shit. Fuck. Daisy. I didn’t mean you. You have to know that.”
I’m quiet for a long time. My eyes feel hot, and my throat is rough. “We never talked about that night.” I take a tremulous breath to give myself the bravery to continue. “The night I climbed into your bed,” I force myself to clarify, though I’m sure I don’t need to. “I’ve wanted to apologize for a long time. We were friends. And I crossed a line. I know you felt guilty about everything, like you were at fault. But you weren’t. You did nothing wrong.”
He closes his eyes. When he opens them, they’re full of regret. He brushes my hair with his fingers in soft, soothing strokes. “I shouldn’t have just left. I should have stayed. Talked to you. Helped you understand how much I cared, even if…”
“You didn’t want me?” I finish.
“It was never about me not wanting you. I blame myself for you thinking that. I blame myself for how I fucked it all up.”
My smile is sad. “You were right to reject me. I had a huge crush, but back then, I could never have handled it if you’d taken me up on my…offer. It’s not like I was innocent. But at that point, what I needed was a safe harbor and to focus on myself. I fell for you because, well, let’s be honest, what girl wouldn’t?”
He snorts.
“I mean, not to make your ego any bigger. But you were—are—Ryder Black. It was more than that, though. You just got me. When we were together, it was as if I finally belonged somewhere. Like we were two puzzle pieces that clicked. I’d never known that before. And when I was so consumed by thoughts of you, I could avoid worrying about everything else that was wrong in my life,” I admit.
Ryder blows out a breath. “I was young and stupid. And when I saw you in my room, I was afraid if I didn’t leave right then, I might not have the strength to walk away. And I couldn’t take advantage of you or the situation.”
“I understand. I guess I thought we were the same age, you know? I never thought of it as you taking advantage of me,” I say, tilting my head so I can see him better.
“I’d been emancipated from my family for a long time, living as an adult.”
“And except for those years Chase lived with me, I’d been taking care of myself my entire life.”
“I know, Daisy. I’ve never doubted your strength. Or your smarts. But you were a runaway and still in high school. And mybirthday is only a few weeks after yours, so I was about to turn eighteen. Even more importantly, though, I was in a position of trust. You were Chase’s little sister, going through a hard time and living with us. I couldn’t abuse that. Not just because it could ruin my friendship with Chase. But because I’d never forgive myself.”
I debate my next words. I just want to stop dancing around this subject.
“What about when I was older? Did you keep your distance because of what happened? When I took the pills.”
“I—I’m partially responsible for that. And I made a promise a long time ago that I wouldn’t hurt you again, like I had before.”
“You weren’t responsible, Ryder.”
He doesn’t answer. Not right away. Finally, he breaks the silence. “When we were older, I didn’t know you still cared like that. I figured you eventually got over your crush.”
“How could you think that? I flirted. So much.” I sit up fully, dragging the sheet with me.
His gaze follows my cleavage before returning to my face. “Daisy, you flirt with everyone. You flirt with the cashier at the market. The cab driver.”
“I do not,” I say, offended.
“You make people feel special. It’s not a criticism. It’s a gift. You give everyone a piece of your heart.”
I swallow, still embarrassed about the video, and all the messy emotions I revealed. “Yeah, well,” I give a shaky laugh. “I’m trying to be smarter with my heart.”
He schools his features, but his eyes are filled with an emotion I don’t recognize. “I don’t want you to be cynical,” he says gently, as if I’m some wary, wild animal he fears will bolt.
“Why not? You are.”
He pulls me up so I’m leaning over him, my hair tumbling onto his chest. The sheet falls away. He brushes my hair behindmy ears, then follows the line of my jaw, my neck, and down to my chest. He strokes a rough finger over my nipple and cups my breast. Pleasure shoots through me to my core.
“I’m completely and utterly not cynical aboutyou, Daisy Lane.”
My breath catches at the intensity of his expression. “I’m not cynical about you either, Ryder Black. And I hate that.”
As hard as I try to resist. As much as I try to remind myself that this is just a fun interlude, a way of getting Ryder out of my system. As much as I remember the expiration date. Deep down, I know I’m just fooling myself, using it as an excuse to indulge in behavior that is dangerous to me.
I can’t logic or talk my way out of how I feel when he looks at me, when he touches me, when he shares parts of himself.
