The Christmas You Crash (Going Rogue #2)

Chapter 34

thirty-four

LEXI

“Did you have fun tonight?” Ryder wraps his arms around me in the middle of his massive king-size bed. It’s two in the morning by the time we get to his place, and despite his promise to ravage me as soon as we arrived, we’re both way too tired. He gives me a quick tour of the apartment he shares with his teammate, and I’m barely awake enough to snoop. It’s decently sized, but nothing as extravagant as Maddox’s place. From the little I was awake enough to see, it’s the epitome of a bachelor pad.

There are jerseys and team flags on the wall instead of artwork, a massive television with two different gaming systems, and the whole place is fairly monochromatic. Outside of the jerseys, they’ve decorated everything in varying shades of gray. Ryder’s bedroom is much the same, although he has a golden-yellow comforter that reminds me of the gold and gray combination that makes up the Rogues’ team colors.

The one thing I do notice is a few framed photos on his dresser. One features a man and a woman with smiling faces hugging an adorable dark-haired toddler. It must be Ryder’s mom and dad and a stupidly cute, young Ryder. The other photo is of a teenage Ryder with the same man, only older. His dad. The older man has his arm thrown around Ryder’s shoulder. It must have been taken at the end of a game, because Ryder is in full uniform. His dark hair is sweaty and plastered to his face, and a faint bruise shadows his jaw. But they’re both smiling widely. It’s infectious. My heart pangs for Ryder’s loss. And there may be a secondary pang for teenage Lexi, who has no such photos with her dad looking proud and fatherly.

We brush our teeth and fall right into bed. He’s cute as hell when he yawns.

“I did have fun,” I say with a sigh as I nestle into his arms and rest my head on his chest. More than I was expecting, if I’m being honest. Ryder’s teammates were all hilarious and welcoming, and they surprised the heck out of me by agreeing to keep our secret so easily. They even looked pissed off on my behalf when I explained some of my dad’s disinterest. Which is a new sensation. To have people other than Rachel in my corner. It’s nice.

“I didn’t know Graves invited your dad. I wouldn’t have suggested we go if I knew.” Ryder plays with my hair as he speaks. His long fingers massage my scalp and glide through the curls. He presses a kiss to my forehead, eliciting a happy sigh from me.

“Don’t worry,” I reassure him. “I know.” We both fall silent, and my thoughts turn to my dad. I don’t exactly invite him into my life anymore, but there’s a reason for that. I’ve been burned too many times. Waited for him with my eyes on the audience, only to have his seat remain empty too many times. I’ve cried tears he didn’t deserve more times than I can count. Didn’t someone say the definition of insanity is doing the same thing over and over again and expecting different results? Well, maybe I expected my dad to show up when I was a kid, but I sure as hell don’t anymore.

Yet, there he was, tonight. Stopping by one of his player’s houses on the way to his plans just because Maddox asked.

God, that stings more than it should.

Ryder’s fingers stroke along my collarbone. “You okay?”

“Yeah,” I lie. “I’m good.”

Fake it ’til you make it. Lie it until you buy it. That’s more accurate. Because I’m not just lying to Ryder, I’m lying to myself. I’m good. Or I will be. I don’t care that my dad seems to care about everyone else more than he cares about me. Or I won’t care, eventually.

“I’m going to go on record and say that I don’t believe you,” Ryder says softly. “But I get it, so I’ll let it slide.”

I muffle my chuckle against the naked expanse of his chest. “How magnanimous of you.”

“I thought so,” he says. The gentle stroke of his fingers down my arm is so comforting, my eyes start to close until Ryder speaks again. “Spend the day with me tomorrow? We can go out for breakfast, then do whatever you want.”

I like the idea of going out for breakfast. It’s so normal. So mundane. I want those moments with him.

“Sure. That sounds fun.” I yawn, and Ryder chuckles.

He pulls the covers up to my chin. “Go to sleep, baby. Sweet Dreams.”

It's illogical, but I feel like everyone is staring at us.

We're sitting in a booth at this cute little breakfast place I never knew existed, and we're getting quite a few furtive glances. It's probably all in my head, but I can't help worrying that someone will recognize Ryder, take a picture of the two of us together, and that photo will somehow make its way into my father's hands.

"Relax," Ryder says, reaching across the table and grabbing my hand. His thumb rubs little circles over my skin. "Why do you look like you're freaking out?"

Probably because I am?

"I just...people keep looking at us."

Ryder makes a surreptitious sweep of the room with his eyes and shrugs. "They're probably wondering what a gorgeous woman like you is doing out with a big oaf like me."

"Riiiiight," I drawl. But he's accomplished what he wanted, because I can't stop the grin that overtakes my face. He matches my expression, and those stunning, icy-blue eyes of his crinkle at the corners. "Because you're so unattractive."

Every straight woman in this place checked Ryder out when we walked in. And likely some of the non-straight women too. Everyone can appreciate a beautiful specimen like Ryder Hanson. Objectively speaking, he's near perfection. Tall, muscular, with a strong jaw, a straight nose that he's somehow never broken in all his years playing hockey, and a smile that could melt the frozen panties off an actual ice queen.

I don't blame them for looking, and I certainly don't blame them for appreciating him, but that doesn't mean I particularly like the attention he's getting. Nor do I appreciate the hollow pang of jealousy that clangs in my chest.

But Ryder, bless him, hasn't seemed to notice anyone but me. Even when our server comes by and offers him a flirtatious smile, he simply rattles off his order with barely a glance in her direction. He only has eyes for me.

The problem is that it's not only the women who are doing double takes when they notice my handsome date.

"I think that guy recognizes you," I whisper to Ryder when the man sitting a few booths down with his wife pulls out his phone, leans in close to her, and points at Ryder.

"Maybe. I come here a lot, and some of the staff know who I am. But I don't get recognized very often. Not like Maddox or those guys. I'm still a rookie." Ryder shrugs before taking a sip of his coffee. "I'm not sure I really have fans."

He does, actually. I know because I stalked him on social media that first night we were stuck together in the cabin. His profile was completely clean. No pictures of half-naked women, no drunken videos, nothing even slightly scandalous. Just photos of Ryder working out, photos of him on the ice, and a few videos of his most impressive plays.

It's the fan sites and the hashtags that are scandalous. Ryder's a good-looking man. And the women of Minnesota have noticed. They salivate over shirtless photos, speculate about the size of his dick, and discuss—in raunchy, utterly inappropriate detail—all the things they want to do to him. I felt dirty just reading a few of those comments.

I'm not sure if Ryder is unaware of his female fanbase, or if he's choosing not to mention them, but either way, it's adorable. Plenty of guys in his position would crow like roosters about all the women who want him.

He's down to earth. And even though he doesn't seem put off by the occasional recognition by fans, he also doesn't seek it out.

"So, when do you find out if you're cleared to play?" I ask him once our server drops off our breakfast. I have mixed feelings about Ryder's hand healing. Obviously, I want him to get better quickly, but getting better means getting the go-ahead to play, and then he'll be back on the road. Getting snowed in was its own kind of bubble, but Ryder's injury is another.

I know how demanding an NHL schedule is. Not only watching the effect it had on my parents' marriage, but also experiencing the effect it had on me. Relationships where one person is constantly on the road are difficult. They take commitment and work, not to mention a massive degree of trust and understanding. I'm getting to know Ryder in the middle of the season, but with the rare opportunity to have uninterrupted time together.

Who knows how things will go when he's back on the road?

Ryder flexes his injured hand, staring down at the stitches that cut a gruesome path down his palm. "Not sure yet. I'm supposed to see the doc tomorrow, but I'll probably be out for another week at least."

He misses being on the ice, something that is obvious from his tone. And I think, being a rookie and all, he still doesn't feel like his spot is secure. I'm sure he's itching to get back in the game.

"Do you miss it? It must be frustrating to be benched."

"Yeah." He blows out a breath before shoveling a massive bite of eggs into his mouth. He considers his next words while chewing. "I was having a great start to the season before Chase pulled that shit. I felt like I was making a name for myself on the Rogues, you know?"

I do. I grew up on hockey. Loved it for a long time. Until things with my dad soured it for me. But I still follow along occasionally. Not religiously, or anything, but I keep up with the team's wins and losses. And, even though I didn't recognize Ryder when we first met, and I thought he was a serial killer, I've heard a few people talk about the rookie who has the potential to become a powerhouse star.

"I'm sure you'll pick right back up where you left off," I reassure him.

Ryder stares at me over the rim of his coffee mug. "I sure hope so, OTG."

We fall silent, both of us taking a few bites of food. I consider asking Ryder about Chase. He said they were best friends in college and played on the same team, then had a random falling out, but there must be more to the story. I open my mouth to ask him when a throat clears beside us.

"Um, excuse me. I don't want to be rude, and interrupting your breakfast is practically the definition of rude..." The man from a few tables over who'd been pointing at Ryder shifts his weight from one foot to the other while staring at my date. "But I just have to ask—you're Ryder Hanson, right?"

Ryder glances at me, then smiles at the man. "Yeah, that's me."

The middle-aged man claps and does a little shimmy shake with his hips like a teenage girl who's just found out that the boy she's crushing on likes her back. "I told my wife, but she didn't believe me." He glances back at his table. "See, Sheila? I was right."

His wife, Sheila, apparently, lets loose a long-suffering sigh. "Bill, leave the poor man alone. Can't you see he's having breakfast with a lady friend?"

"Oh." Bill's eyes dart to me. He grimaces. "Uh, sorry." He returns his attention to Ryder. "Do you think we could take a quick photo, and then I'll leave you alone? I'm a huge Rogues fan, and I just know you're going to be a star one day soon. I want to tell my kids I met you."

Sheila groans and shakes her head from their table. "We don't have any kids, Bill."

"We could," he shoots back. "You never know."

"I really do," she replies. "Menopause, remember?"

I can't help it. I giggle. The fan's wife meets my eyes and mouths, sorry . Turning to her husband, I smile and say, "Would you like me to take the picture?"

"Oh, would you? That would be amazing. Thank you so much."

"No problem," I reply as he hands me his phone. Ryder's a good sport about the whole thing. He smiles, takes a few photos with Bill-the-superfan, and even signs the guy's polo shirt. When he sits back down at his own table, he regales his wife with a full play-by-play of what just happened, even though she saw the whole thing. She shakes her head but smiles.

If that's not true love, I don't know what is.

"Well, that was entertaining," I whisper, leaning across the table. "And you said people don't recognize you."

Ryder's cheeks flush an adorable shade of pink. He scrubs a hand along his jaw, scratching at the dark stubble growing there. Somehow, he’s both incredibly sexy and ridiculously cute with that one motion.

"Yeah, well, it really doesn’t happen often." Taking another bite of his eggs, he grins an embarrassed, boyish grin at me. "Sorry about that."

"Are you kidding?" I say. "That was way too cute, and I'm glad I got to witness it."

And I am. I'm thoroughly enjoying every new glimpse behind the curtain.

We finish breakfast and spend the rest of the morning wandering around downtown Minneapolis. We don't have a destination in mind. It doesn't matter where we go or what we do, as long as we can hold hands and flirt shamelessly while we do it.

I wish I didn't need to go back to school in a few days. The temptation to blow off classes is strong, but I can't let myself lose focus. The sooner I get my masters, the sooner I can land a good job. Once I've done that, I can stop relying on my parents and make my own way. Ryder and I will find time to see each other. It'll be fine.

When he asks me to spend another night with him, it takes all of my willpower to decline. I need to get back to the real world. And I also need to do laundry. Which means going back to my place. Even though my bed feels like a lumpy rock compared to Ryder's. And it'll be cold without him beside me.

I'll need to get used to it. Soon, he'll be cleared to play. And sleeping beside him won't be an option when he's on the road for days or a week at a time.