Fade Out (The Morganville Vampires #7)(59)

And maybe soon.

“You need to tell your dad it’s the twenty-first century, and that you’re going to marry whoever you damn well please. But not until like, you’re forty.” She rolls her shoulders, getting all riled. Like she always does when it comes to anything to do with my family matters.

“Yeah,” I say, shifting to lie against my pillow. “Because that won’t spur the apocalypse into motion.” I laugh, trying to make light of the very serious atmosphere creeping over us, but she only glares at me. “Look, even if it comes to that, it’s way too early, anyway. Ryder and I could be through next week. Hell, maybe tomorrow or today. You know how college romances go.”

And, oh, I totally regret my words as soon as the dumb things tumble from my lips. Her shoulders hunch, and her features shutter. “You’re right. Of course. It’s dumb to get all stupid over a guy so quickly.”

“Vee, I in no way meant you and Gavin.” I take her hand and give it a pump. “You’ve known him for years…you’ve known what you’ve wanted longer than anyone else I know. You deserve to be happy with him, and it’s very real between you two.”

She smiles wanly. “Thanks. Yeah, I think he’s getting more serious about us.” Her smile stretches, but I can hear the uncertainty in her voice. She’s been so committed to this ideal Gavin, for so long, that the doubt that he could ever reciprocate her feelings has festered into a tangible fear within her.

I think sometimes we can build ourselves up so high that the letdown is inevitable. That’s why I’m desperately trying to keep my expectations with Ryder within reasonable perspective. He’s going off to the pros. He has this whole other life waiting for him, ready to take him away from here, and I’m stuck. Not budging an inch from where I’m firmly rooted with my obligations and expectancies as the lone, single Wyndemere.

“Let’s get out of here,” I tell her. “Seriously. All this mush is starting to make my stomach ill.” She laughs and heads to the closet to grab her jacket. But I’m secretly relieved that my statement is actually false.

I’ve been doing decidedly well lately. Granted the stress has eased (before this morning, that is) in my life exponentially, but regardless, that has never helped in the past. I’d been worried Ryder would figure something out with how much time we’ve been spending together. Dreading that awful moment where I’d have to bare my dirty secret…but that conversation might never have to happen.

There’s no sense in telling him now, dropping a bomb like that, only to cause him worry. It would be all drama and the concern would be unnecessary, anyway. Besides, I am getting better. Every morning I wake feeling a little stronger than the day before, ready to conquer the next twenty-four hours.

I’ve leapt beyond baby steps.

Though I know I’m not supposed to depend on outside influences to lean against—to boost my confidence and garner security from—I know that Ryder has been that change. He looks at me and I just don’t feel beautiful, I believe I’m beautiful. Seeing myself through his eyes is like an awakening in my soul. But it’s more than superficial, more than skin-deep; every bit of me is uniquely perfect for him. That’s how he makes me feel. As if all my imperfections were just puzzle pieces waiting to find their home in order to complete one brilliant masterpiece.

I hold that revelation close, guarding it with a fierceness, as I follow Vee out. I push the stressful conversation with Becca to the foreground, burying my sense of unease beneath my anticipation to be with Ryder.





* * *



“How do you manage anything with those tiny hands?” Ryder says, chuckling.

I slap at his hard bicep before he captures my hand and attempts to splay my fingers over the football again. “They work just fine for me, thank you,” I say, affecting a serious tone.

“They work just fine for me, too.” His gaze hoods, snagging my attention away from the ball. Then he brushes a feather light kiss along my forehead. I lean into him, pressing my back against his chiseled chest, loving how his body folds around mine like a shield.

The crash of the ocean cocoons us, the sun hidden beneath gray clouds, casting the beach in sharp contrasting, winter tones. As the wind sends my hair across my face, I nod to the outstretched ball in our linked hands. “I thought you were going to teach me how to throw a ball,” I tease.

I feel Ryder’s diverted attention against my backside; the intensity between us sparking and igniting our desire whenever we’re close. He sighs heavily and shifts his focus to the football.

“Why are we out here in the freezing elements again? I mean, instead of somewhere warm and soft where I can take you five different ways before we’re dragged out tonight.” He mock sighs.

“You promised to teach me your legendary pass skills,” I say, shoring up my bravado. I turn to liquid every time he even hints to sexy times, and I really did want to get to know this side of him better before I lose all coherency to his hotness.

With a groan that sends a ripple of want through me, he curls his fingers around mine, repositioning my grip on the ball, and cocks our arms back. “Anything that puts this fine ass up against me, you won’t hear me complain.” Then he instructs me when to release as he launches the ball.

I watch it spiral into the air, sailing long and far (though nothing compared to what I witness when he’s out on the field), before it lands and tumbles down the beach. But as impressed as I am, I was already over the lesson, my need quickening, when he gripped my hip and clutched me to him as he sent it sailing.