Fade Out (The Morganville Vampires #7)(32)

I’m a starving, condemned man, just needing a taste. I release her hand to brush a loose strand from her shoulder. My fingers gently glide across her skin, taking in the satiny warmth, and I feel her shiver against me. It stirs a deep sigh from my chest.

Her freed hand snakes up along my chest as she wraps her arms around my shoulders. Her hands lock together behind my neck, and I’m aware that this is difficult, because of the height difference. But I’m not complaining one f*cking bit. It forces her body all the closer because of it. Her breasts press up against my chest, her stomach aligns with my waist, her thighs flush to mine.

We’re barely moving now. Swaying just slightly. I’m tempted to pull her farther into that dark corner.

Ari tilts back her head farther. Her eyes—lit liquid amber by the light—flick over my face as she pulls her bottom lip between her teeth. A groan lodges in my throat, my whole body aching to be alone with her.

“Arian,” a deep male voice says, interrupting the entrancing moment.

Both our heads whip around, our bodies putting more than an inch of space between us.

“You should introduce us to your friend,” he continues. He’s tall and wiry, but not weak. Built how a solid businessman should be. His dark hair is short and sculpted neatly to the side, his facial features all hard angles. Important.

I don’t need the proper introduction to know who this man is, but Ari proceeds at his request. “Father, this is Ryder Nash. The quarterback for the Braxton Bobcats.”

Releasing Ari from my hold completely, I step toward him and punctuate the air with an outstretched hand. “Nice to meet you, sir.”

His slight hesitation is witnessed briefly, but I keep my hand steady, until he accepts it with a hard shake. “Pleased to meet you, Ryder.” He gives my hand a firm squeeze before releasing it and wrapping an arm around the woman next to him. “This is my wife, Becca Wyndemere.” She nods, and I acknowledge her back. Then, “So, college football. That’s great. What year are you?”

My back stiffens with tension. I feel the inquisition coming on. But that’s okay. I take a quick peek over at Ari, note her rigid posture, and release a rickety breath for the both of us. I admit, I don’t get the parent third degree often, ever. But that’s because I never found a girl worth the trouble.

“I’m a senior, sir.”

He nods slowly. “I see. You plan to go pro next year?”

“Dad…” Ari inserts into the conversation.

But it’s really okay. “I do, sir. At least, that’s the plan at the moment. But I also plan for more schooling. Possibly graduate school. A couple years down the road.”

“That’s wonderful,” Becca says. I glimpse Ari’s unease toward her mother, but I don’t let on. “You have to always have a plan B. What’s your major?”

I smile. “Creative writing.”

A thick wall of silence stacks up like bricks between both parties. The music from the orchestra fills the vacuum of air. I pull the lapels of my tux straight.

“Well, that’s certainly an interesting plan B,” Mr. Wyndemere states. He looks about the room before he says, “Did your parents attend?”

Now this…might get uncomfortable. I don’t talk about my parents to anyone. And I’m not willing to make an exception now. “No, sir.”

When I don’t elaborate, he presses on, undeterred. “Are they local? Would I know them?”

He knows my last name, so he most likely knows the answer to those questions already. I’m starting to understand why Ari seems so anxious all of the time. “Yes, sir. Well, a couple towns over, actually. I’ve lived here my whole life. So I think it’s safe to assume we’ve not been acquainted until now.”

His eyes widen, maybe from disbelief that a jock could outwit him. I’m not going to play the “measure you by your parents’ worth” game with him. I’ll be as polite as possible, for Ari’s sake, because I really do understand her situation—but I won’t allow anyone to use my family to make me feel less than. I suppress the urge to turn the topic of conversation around, and wait for his response.

“I see, well. That’s wonderful.” He looks at Ari and smiles brightly before turning a hard gaze on me. “I’ve always thought there was something to be said about sticking to your roots.” He nods curtly. But he leaves what’s to be said, unsaid. Although his insinuation is perfectly clear to all.

“Jonathan, I’m practically parched,” his wife says, linking her arm through his.

“Right, dear.” He acknowledges her almost as an afterthought. Then quickly says, “Again, it was a pleasure to meet you, Ryder. Arian”—he lifts his chin in her direction—“we’ll be leaving soon. The event is winding down.”

He leaves before Ari can reply.

An awkward quiet builds between us. I’m not sure just how much her father’s opinion of me weighs on her…and I’m not positive how to broach that subject. Or if I should simply ignore the obvious.

She says, “Well, now that the torture part of the evening is over…” And turns toward me.

Relieved, I smile. I’m only concerned about what her family thinks of me if she is. I take her hand and begin to guide her toward a table. “That wasn’t so bad,” I say.