The Christmas You Crash (Going Rogue #2)

Chapter 35

thirty-five

LEXI

“God, I’m so jealous of you right now.” Rachel sighs dramatically, and I chuckle. The gusting Chicago wind whips through her long brown hair. Her cute little button nose and her enviously high cheekbones are rosy. But like the winters in the Twin Cities, January in Chicago is no joke. I don’t know why she refuses to take the bus or the L to her internship, but she won’t. She walks everywhere. Her warm brown eyes focus on me through the phone. “When does he go back to playing?”

It’s the million-dollar question. One I’ve been trying not to dwell on, because I’m not ready for the distance it will put between us. My attention swings between the world in front of me and my best friend’s face on the phone screen. Students rush to their next classes all around me. Their pace, like mine, is more urgent in the winter temps than it would be if it was warm out. The frigid weather, combined with my desire to be near Ryder twenty-four-seven, has made the transition back to classes after the break a rough one.

“He should find out this week. His appointment with the doctor is tomorrow. They won’t necessarily have a definitive answer then, but his hand is healing well.” So well that I constantly have to remind him to take it easy. I can tell he’s itching to get back on the ice. If I’ve discovered one thing about Ryder Hanson, it’s that he doesn’t like to sit still for long.

Rachel hums. “But you should have another week with him at least, right?”

“I think so. I’m telling myself not to count on it, though.” Better to brace for disappointment than hope for the best. I’ve learned that the hard way over the years.

“I don’t know, Lex. It kinda seems like you can count on him.” Rachel’s holding back on bestowing the full scope of her approval until she meets Ryder, but from the things I’ve told her, and apparently from the glow I’m rocking these days, she’s already a fan. “I get that you don’t like counting on people, but maybe it’s okay to try this time.”

“Maybe,” I agree. “I just... I don’t know, Rach. It’s all...”

“Freaking you out how much you trust him already?” Her thin lips curve in an understanding smile.

I wobble my head from side to side noncommittally. “Maybe.”

“That’s okay. This is still new. Just give it time and a real chance. You deserve to be happy and loved, Lex.”

Loved . It’s far too early in our relationship to be thinking along those terms. But I also can’t deny that I’ve daydreamed about it. What it would be like to be loved by Ryder Hanson. What it would be like if someone in my life put me first. But that’s a dangerous wish to nurture. Ryder is in the first year of a two-year contract. He needs to play well this season and maintain that momentum so he can negotiate an extension. Hockey is his livelihood and his passion. It’s understandable if I come second to that. Still, I can’t help it. When I’m lying awake in bed at night, I daydream about Ryder telling me that nothing is more important to him than me.

Does that make me selfish? Delusional? Sad? I don’t know. Rachel’s right, though. I need to give whatever this is time to grow into whatever it could be.

“Is it terrible that I want to look up the guy who injured Ryder and send him a fruit basket while simultaneously wanting to punch him in the dick?” I grin as Rachel chuckles. “He is the reason we met, after all.”

“What’s his name again?” Rachel asks.

“Chase Bowen.”

Her eyes narrow. “Right. He plays here, doesn’t he? For the Chicago Blizzard?”

I nod. “Yep. He and Ryder used to be close.”

“I’m going to get tickets to one of their games and hold up a mean sign the whole time,” my best friend vows. She looks so serious, I can’t help laughing. A few students glance my way, but I don’t care. Rachel is my ride or die. Her loyalty is unparalleled. I’m lucky as hell to have her in my corner. Apparently, Ryder has her in his now, too.

Laughter spills from my lips as I get closer to the building where my next class is held. “Oh my god, Rach. Please do that. I swear, that would make my whole year.”

Her earthen eyes glint with determination. “Oh, I will. I’m going to look up games and ticket prices as soon as I get off the phone with you. I’ll get Adam to go with me.”

God, I love her. “You’re the best, you know that?”

A strand of russet hair whips across her face, making her sputter when it gets stuck to the gloss on her lips. She pushes it out of her mouth with a huff. “I know.”

I’m about to commend her modesty when I spot a large crowd gathered near the entryway of the building housing my next class. “What in the world is going on?” I mutter.

“What?” Rachel peers at me through the phone.

“There’s a big group of students near the door of Pryor Hall. Which is weird, because it’s cold as hell out here.” Narrowing my eyes, I try to figure out what’s causing the flash mob. It’s an eclectic mix of male and female students. Quite a few of the guys look like athletes. They have the build. I can tell, even though they’re all wearing heavy coats. The women, though, are what throw me off. They’re all chattering excitedly to themselves, giggling, and batting their eyelashes. It seems like they’re converging around someone.

And that’s when I see a black knit cap pulled over familiar dark hair.

Ryder is significantly taller than most of the surrounding people, except for one or two guys. He’s smiling and taking photos with the students, but he looks bemused. Like he can’t quite believe these people are even remotely interested in him.

“Oh, my god.”

“What?”

“Look.” I tap the icon to switch my phone off selfie mode and point the camera at Ryder and his gaggle of giggling fangirls and fawning fanboys. As I get closer, I can see that he’s clutching two cups of coffee, and my heart swells, even though a small part of me bristles at the flirtatious looks and touches the women give him. To his credit, Ryder dodges as many of the touches as he can. It still rankles.

“Is that Ryder?”

I flip the camera back to selfie mode and grin. “Yep. It looks like he brought me coffee. Someone must have recognized him and caused a swarm.”

Rachel shakes her head, smiling. “How weird is it that you’re dating a guy who gets swarmed with fans?”

“Weird,” I say. And it is. I’ve seen people and reporters swarm my dad after games. At times, it was fun and exciting. Then there were the times when I needed my dad, and he was so preoccupied with the people around him that he didn’t even notice I was there. Where it had been exciting and cool when I was younger, it became a source of bitterness and frustration as I got older. Seeing Ryder like this elicits a complex cocktail of emotions.

On the one hand, I’m so freaking proud of him. That he’s getting recognized as a first-year player is impressive. It speaks to how well he’s been playing so far this season. It’s also adorable to watch him interact with people and be so confused by their attention. On the other hand, it makes my insecurities scream. If this is the kind of attention he’s getting as a rookie, what will it be like when he really comes into his own? Because I know enough about hockey to recognize that Ryder Hanson will only go up from here. He’s skilled and driven, and the way he’s gelling with the rest of the Rogues is magical. He’s going to be a force to be reckoned with. A household name. The level of attention he receives will only grow.

Can I handle that?

Do I want to?

“Your face is doing something weird, Lex,” Rachel says. It pulls me from my spiral. “You okay?”

“What? Of course. I’m good.”

My friend only hums. She doesn’t completely believe me, but she doesn’t call me on it. Rachel is aware of my issues with fame. I vented to her many times during our four years as roommates. “He’s not your dad. You know that, right?”

“Yeah,” I say. That doesn’t mean my logical brain always wins out. As I’m about to reassure Rachel that she doesn’t need to worry about me, Ryder’s head snaps up and his eyes lock on me. The biggest, broadest smile overtakes his handsome face, and some of my worries ease. An answering smile lifts my lips.

“He just noticed you, didn’t he?” Rachel sounds amused, but I’m too busy staring at Ryder to look at her.

“Uh-huh.”

“Right,” she says with a laugh. “I’ll talk to you later. Go have fun with Loverboy.”

I offer a distracted bye of my own before Rachel disconnects our video call. I shove my phone into my coat pocket as people glance behind them, trying to figure out what’s caught the pro hockey player’s attention. Ryder doesn’t notice any of them. He takes a few steps toward me before one of the guys asks him something.

Ryder’s brows pinch. I can tell he’s conflicted. He glances at me, then back at the student who says something else. Ryder gives him a short answer. He’s too polite to blow his fans off completely. Even if he may want to. I keep walking toward him, and Ryder tries to step around one of the female students. She puts her palm on his chest and says something before glancing back at me. A high-pitched giggle I can hear from fifty feet away grates over my ears. She uses her other hand to touch his bicep, and I feel my smile slip.

Jealousy and annoyance slice through my chest. Who does that woman think she is, touching my man? Ryder tilts his head slightly, and his eyebrows pull together. He shrugs out of the woman’s grasp, saying something to her that makes her cheeks flush. She looks pissed when she turns back to glare at me. I glare right back.

I don’t like you, either , I silently taunt.

With a few more words and a couple nods of his head, Ryder extricates himself from the crowd and closes the distance between us. The more space he puts between the horde of adoring fans, the more my chest loosens, though I’m still annoyed. I’m annoyed at the flirtatious women who had the nerve to put their hands on Ryder. I’m annoyed at him for not telling them to fuck off the moment he saw me. But most of all, I’m annoyed with myself. My reaction is not logical. I know this. If I had any doubt about how quickly the dark-haired hockey player has wormed his way into my heart, this situation would have made my feelings crystal clear.

I like Ryder Hanson. A hell of a lot more than I should, considering we’ve only known each other for about two weeks. If I could bitch-slap my overeager heart to snap her out of this and remind her she needs to be more careful, I would. It pisses me off how quickly he’s slipped past my defenses. How important he’s become in such a very short time.

“Hey, baby,” Ryder says softly. He hands me a coffee. It frees up his injured hand, and he wastes no time tangling it in the hair at the nape of my neck and pulling me in for a slow, sensual kiss. Despite my general annoyance, I melt into him and kiss him right back.

Take that, desperate coeds.

I’m immediately pissed at myself again for the ridiculous thought and the simmering jealousy I can’t quite shake.

“What are you doing here?” I ask when we finally break apart. Despite my best efforts, the words are sharper than I’d like them to be.

He’s doing something sweet. He brought you coffee. Stop being an irrational asshole, Lexi.

One dark eyebrow quirks up. He untangles his hand from my hair and points to the hot cup of coffee in my hand. “Bringing my girl some caffeine.” His fingers wrap around my hand and the cup, forcing me to bring it to my lips. A smirk hovers at the corner of his mouth. “Which I think you need, Oscar.”

The coffee is hot, sweet, and perfect, but I still glare at him as I take a few sips. “Don’t call me that.”

“Then don’t be such a grouch.” The man has the audacity to laugh when I let out a pathetic little growl.

“If I’m such a grouch, why don’t you go back to your adoring fans?” Why? Why did you let that slip past my mouth, brain? What the hell is wrong with you?

Ryder’s second eyebrow joins its compatriot at his hairline, and that stupidly cute smirk blooms into a full-blown smile. “And why would I want to talk to any of them? I happen to find grouchy women sexy.”

“You do not.”

Even the wind seems to laugh at me. It trills and howls as it whips through the grounds and tangles my hair. The flirtatious blonde who was all touchy-feely with Ryder watches us, along with a couple of the sporty-looking guys. They’re probably laughing at me too. Or wondering why Ryder-Freaking-Hanson is entertaining dirty looks from a woman who looks like the winter version of the Pillsbury Doughboy in her pink puffer coat. I don’t look cute today. I look cold and makeup-less. I growl again.

Following my line of sight, Ryder spares only the quickest glance at the crowd behind him. Then those frosted blue eyes that dance and sparkle like unmarred ice in the sun turn back to me. His lips twitch. “Alexis Cross. Are you jealous ?”

Yes .

“What? No. Of course not.” I hide my scowl behind the coffee cup as I take another sip. I can’t believe he showed up at my school with a latte for me. He’s so stinking sweet and thoughtful. Who does stuff like this? The annoyance I’m feeling with myself only grows. I’m the worst. I’m cranky and grouchy and irrational. Despite wanting to say thank you and tell him how much it means to me that he’s done all this, I’m still stewing in emotions that have very little to do with him and almost everything to do with me and my feelings of inadequacy.

Unfortunately, self-awareness doesn’t always translate into a corresponding action.

Anyone else would walk away from me right now. Who wants to spend their afternoon doing nice things for a prickly woman who can’t seem to just say thank you ?

But Ryder isn’t anyone else. His face softens as he pulls me against his chest and kisses my forehead. “You are totally jealous. It’s cute, OTG. I kinda like it.”

Ass.

Warm lips brush against my forehead again. “But you should know that you have no reason to be jealous. The whole time those people surrounded me, all I could think about was you. These pouty lips of yours, the way your eyes light up when you see me. I didn’t even notice any of their faces. I was too busy looking for yours.”

Okay. So maybe he’s not an ass.

“You’re seriously cute when you’re pissed off and jealous, though. Made me hard.” He presses his hips forward, and the firm length of him pokes into my hip.

Indignation battles with lust inside me. Focusing on the indignation means I have a smaller chance of combusting into a pool of arousal in the middle of my peers. So, I choose indignation. “I am not cute when I’m mad. What the hell, Ryder?”

The damned man simply laughs. He throws his head back, and the deep, melodic sound I’m coming to love pours out of him. More eyes turn our way, but he doesn’t notice. Once he’s gotten himself under control, Ryder focuses on me. He’s not put out by my irrational prickliness. Not at all.

Something tight and scared inside me begins to unfurl.

“Sorry, Oscar, but you are. You’re cute when you’re mad, you’re adorable when you’re jealous for no reason, and you’re hot as hell when you yell at me.” He leans in to whisper in my ear, so only I can hear. “Makes me think of all the times you’ve screamed my name with my cock buried deep inside your tight little pussy.”

Despite the frigid temperature and the wind blowing all around us, my insides turn molten and gooey.

“You can’t get rid of me, baby. I don’t scare easily.” Plush lips feather across my frozen cheeks, making them tingle. “But if it makes you feel better, go ahead and give me your worst. I can take it.”