Sweet Rivalry (1001 Dark Nights)(2)

“This isn’t about me and my ego,” he says quietly as he takes a step closer to me.

“Yeah, right. Like I said, you’re an *. Thanks for nothing, Ryder.” I hate that I’m hurt when I should have known better. I hate that I cared that he was judging me.

He just looks at me with this expression on his face that I can’t quite read but don’t think I want to. “After all this time, that’s how you want to end this?”

“End what?” What is he talking about?

Emotion swims in his eyes but I’m so upset and now confused that we stand feet apart without saying a word. He opens his mouth and then closes it before chuckling a disbelieving laugh. “You know what? Forget it. Forget I even followed you back here to congratulate you on winning. Go Bruins! Yay,” he says, the sarcasm thick in his tone as he raises his fist like he’s cheering me on before waving his hands at me like he’s over me and turns to walk out the door.

“Don’t you dare leave!” I shout the words as panic suddenly fills me over the thought of him actually doing just that.

His laugh is louder this time as he stops and turns around, hands shoved in his pockets, shoulders shrugged as if to say decide. “Make up your mind, Harp. Get out. Don’t leave. What’s it gonna be?”

That slow, easy tone of his is like the scissors snipping at the final strings of my temper. Tears swim again. “Screw you!”

He tucks his tongue in his cheek and just shakes his head from side to side. And I’m not sure why I’m looking for a fight but he’s not giving it to me and that only pisses me off further. “You had no right to question me. None.”

“You’re goddamn right I did!” He’s in front of me in a flash, face a reflection of anger—eyes wide, neck strained, hands fisted—that shocks me. “And I’d do it again in a f*cking second, so screw you, Harper. Screw. You.”

I stand there, a foot from him, my temper seething, my mind a mess, my emotions scattered a million places. “Ryder…”

“No. Just no. You don’t get to Ryder me either.” He steps into me, well within my personal space, and stares so deeply into my eyes that I want to look away but don’t dare. I meet him match for match. I’m not backing down. And then suddenly, his expression softens. Changes. “Why don’t you see it?”

“See what?”

“You’re good, Harper. Fucking brilliant. I’ve sat here for two years—during our entire graduate program for f*ck’s sake—hating you and respecting you for that alone. You’re stubborn and smart and you know everything and you’re irritating. You’re goddamn right my ego’s bruised but hell, you deserve it. All of it. You deserved the respect of every single person in that auditorium tonight.”

“I don’t understand what that has to do with what you—”

“Don’t you get it? I wanted them to see it too. Not your stage fright. But you. Your mind. Your brilliance.”

He takes a step back, runs a hand through his hair, squeezes his eyes shut as if he’s not getting his point across, and yet all I can do is stare at him slack-jawed and surprised at the words coming out of his mouth.

And while I watch him struggle with whatever it is he’s trying to finish explaining, I want to reject what he’s saying—his reasons and his praise—but it’s all so clear now. How nervous I was, stumbling over words and not articulating my points. Then the hmms started and it was him I was fixated on. It was the feeling I was used to—wanting to beat him, prove him wrong—that owned my thoughts as my arguments strengthened and my conviction came through.

The crowd disappeared.

The nerves vanished.

Because he was the one I had focused on and was determined to prove wrong.

Just like I’ve been doing the past two years.

“Ryder.” Thank you. Why did you do that? I’m sorry. The thoughts don’t manifest themselves into words because when he turns to look at me, I feel like I can’t breathe, let alone think.

He takes a step toward me then hesitates, but before I can process anything else, his lips are on mine.

And not just on mine––not just a brush of lips against lips—but I’m talking all in. Hands on my cheeks, tongue licking between my lips, body pressed against mine, groan in the back of his throat, type of all in.

I don’t react at first. I’m stunned. Flabbergasted, my mind reeling from the anger to the surprise to now this without any warning at all.

This is Ryder.

My rival.

My supporter.

My crush.

The thoughts flicker that this is what I’ve wanted. But they soon shift to panic. To insecurity I don’t kiss well enough. That this is all a joke and I’m the butt of it.

But then I feel. Everything. All at once.

And I know this is real.

It’s like I can’t catch my breath and have too much air all at the same time.

My body is on fire. And not just from his touch but from that burn deep inside that feels like it’s exploding and imploding all at once.

So this is what it feels like to really be kissed.

It’s a fleeting thought before the sensations, the moment, the emotions, consume me whole. His hands move my face to change the angle of the kiss. His fingertips on the line of my jaw singe my skin. His lips move expertly against mine, and all I can do is feel. All I can do is want.