I end up staying for dinner with Justin, Brady and Ryder. Especially because Justin and Brady offer to share their Trader Joe's frozen pasta with us as a 'thank you' for joining in on the games tonight at the last minute. And after we all coach Justin with his speech, we get ready to go out. My only concern then had been that with the sun set, I'd be cold in just my shorts and top, but Ryder lends me one of his hoodies.

It's a light rose color, the soft material warm as it falls past the edge of my shorts, making it look like I forgot to wear pants. But I'm grateful for it when we play the first round of flip cup, which is set up at a station in the backyard of Brady's friend's house.

The friend's name is Zac, a sophomore who is tall and lanky with unruly sandy blonde hair. And unfortunately for me, between the second round of rage cage and waiting for the ice cube tray races to start, Zac corners me in the tiny kitchen of this house.

I end up standing against the tall table in the center of the kitchen, which operates as a kitchen island, empty beer cans and red solo cups scattered around. Sagging cabinets, which might have been white at one time, surround us on three sides, an oven and dishwasher in front of me and counter-space  behind me next to the fridge.

Zac scoots closer and closer as he asks me what year I am and what I'm majoring in, Justin and Brady have wandered off in search of something to drink that isn't KeyStone Light and after this last game ended, Ryder was chatting to some girl in a pair of daisy dukes with a cropped flannel tied around her chest and a tacky belly button ring. He seemed interested enough, though I couldn't tell if he was just being polite, as she leaned against him and ran her hand up his chest. Like I was telling him, he gets more than enough female attention. He doesn't need any from me.

I'd been feeling like a third wheel until Zac invited me to come get a drink inside with him. Now we're here, no drink in sight as he'd clearly only used it as an excuse to get some alone time together.

"So, what's it like being a senior?" Zac asks lamely, edging even closer to me as I subtly take another step back, the soles of my Doc Martens sticking to the alcohol coated kitchen tiles beneath us.

"Exciting," I reply politely, choosing to give a standard, predictable answer. "But also weird, it feels like I'm still a freshman in a lot of ways actually."

"Freshmen are so lame," Zac laughs, though I can't tell if he's joking or serious. "I mean, I know I was a freshman, but now that I'm older I see how annoying freshmen are."

"Aren't you a sophomore?" I ask, unable to help the sarcasm in my tone.

"Well, yeah," he shrugs, snorting. "But still, I don't look like a sophomore, do I?"

"I think you do." I deadpan, not as entertained by him as he is by me. But he misunderstands me, laughing and snorting again as he shakes his head.

"If we're going off age," he continues, narrowing his dark brown eyes at me. "Then I guess I might consider you a cougar. Since you're older than me."

I purse my lips, blinking at him as I refuse to dignify his words with a response.

"Don't get me wrong," he leans one hand on the kitchen table now, cocking his foot out as his eyes rake over my body and up to my face again. "You make a smokin' hot cougar."

"I'm 21." I say flatly. "I'm not sure I'm old enough to be considered a cougar."

"Well yeah, duh," he jokes, leaning towards me as I get a whiff of Old Spice deodorant and cheap liquor. "I was joking, sheesh, at least try to keep up."

I just stare again, feeling less amused by the second, my mind beginning to contemplate all the ways I have to end this conversation and leave him in this dingy kitchen.

"Blondes." he snorts, rolling his eyes and smirking at me.

"You're blonde." I point out, now feeling offended at the implication. The stereotype he is putting me in is one that I held a specific disdain for. That blonde females were vapid, dumb hussies who were essentially just arm candy for their much smarter and more capable boyfriends or husbands.

"But I'm a guy," he counters and I roll my eyes heavily. This conversation is getting worse by the moment. "Don't worry though, I don't need my woman to be smart. Just so long as she's pretty and she's got a nice ass. And you've got both."

"Excuse me?" I snap, crossing my arms over my chest. But just then I hear footsteps behind me and I turn my head over my shoulder, glancing up at Ryder who has just appeared in the doorway to the kitchen, right in time to save Zac from getting slapped.

He's dressed in dark jeans, a black t-shirt and jacket, his expression curious as he approaches me. Almost like he can sense I've had it up to here with Zac. My eyes train on a pair of silver chain necklaces that match the metal of his rings which flash in the fluorescent lighting as he runs his thumb and index fingers over the corners of his mouth.

I feel a sense of relief wash over me when I realize that girl from before is not with him. He raises his eyebrows at me, moving to stand opposite us as he leans forward on the kitchen table with his elbows.

"Am I interrupting something?" He asks, grinning as he eyes flit between Zac and I.

"Kind-of man–"

"No." I snap instantly, narrowing my eyes at Zac who makes a face at me.

"You don't want to keep chatting?" Zac's gaze is imploring. "Just us two."

"Not really." I reply cooly and he frowns, glancing at Ryder.

"Oh I see," he rolls his eyes. "The second Mr. Popular here joins us, you lose interest in me? That's so typical, just like a blonde to chase a jersey instead of a nice guy who'd treat you right."

"Bro, that's pretty rude." Ryder interjects, his expression humorous as he observes the interaction between us. Zac looks at Ryder, his face puckered into a sour expression.

"It's also rude to butt into a conversation that was going just fine before you showed up," he retorts. "But hey, good luck with this one dude, she seems like a handful."

"Yeah, I am," I say, deciding to sass him. "And I can tell your hands aren't nearly big enough to handle me or my nice ass."

Zac's puckered expression worsens, his bottom lip pressing up into his top lip almost like a pout before he opens and closes his mouth, shaking his head before he stomps around me and shoves his way out of the kitchen past two unsuspecting girls who gasp as he shoulders between them.

"Damn," Ryder laughs then, and I look at him now, smiling. "And here I thought I was coming in here to rescue you. Looks like you didn't need it though."

"Well, yes and no," I concede. "If you hadn't come in here, I might have hit him and that really would have escalated things."

"I would've paid to see you take a go at him." He grins again, blue eyes glinting mischievously and I laugh shortly, turning now so that I'm facing him as he stands across the table from me.

"So," I lean across the table on my elbows too. My face now level with his, close enough to enjoy the handsome features of his face. My eyes travel over the sharp line of his jaw, admiring the light five o-clock shadow there. "What happened to that girl? She was flirting with you, you know."

"I got bored." He shrugs, and we both laugh.

"You're terrible." I giggle, shaking my head, letting it dip forward a bit as my hair falls around my face before I look up at him again. "What if that was your Andee or Riley? Like you were saying before. If part of you wants something more, you have to do something about it. You can't just keep getting bored."

"Hmm," he hums, a smile playing on his face as his eyes focus on me, I watch as he stands upright again, fingers trailing on the table as he slowly walks around it towards me. "Pretty sure she wasn't going to be anything more than a good time tonight."

"Well then," I sigh. "Isn't that better for you?"

He stands close to me, cologne washing over me, my body turning to face him as I tilt my head back to meet his gaze. In this moment, I feel nervous energy and anticipation erupt into butterflies in my stomach. This mixes with a strange calmness though, the urge to move closer overwhelming me.

"No, she's not the one I was interested in tonight," he answers slowly, blue eyes swirling with something unfamiliar as he watches me. There's a thick tension in their air now as his words sink in and I understand his meaning, it's like it had been earlier today, only this feels stronger.

"Um, d–do you know when the ice cube tray race starts?" I stutter a bit, trying to shake myself out of the desire and attraction I suddenly feel for the man standing in front of me. It's confusing and a bit scary that he suddenly seems to be having a whole new effect on me.

He doesn't speak, only shaking his head as he leans his head down a bit, now even closer and suddenly it's hard to breathe. Like that night in his bedroom after he carried me out of the lacrosse house and away from the poor choices I'd been about to make.

"I like this on you," he murmurs, his hand reaching up to tug at the strings of his hoodie that I'm wearing. I swallow hard, unable to say that I liked wearing it too. We're both silent again, watching each other carefully, the pupils of his eyes dilating as I lean closer still.

I have no way to explain what I'm doing. All reason and logic and my previous resistance to him fly out the window as he follows my movements, his head tilting down while I step right up to him, our chests pressed together now as I stand on my tiptoes.

A gasp echoes from my lips when his large hands wrap around my waist suddenly, steadying me against him, holding me firmly through the thick material of his sweatshirt. Our faces are mere inches apart, close enough to inhale the fresh scent of the mint gum he'd been chewing earlier.

My senses tingle, eyes moving from his to his plump lips before glancing back. Desire flickers in his gaze, sending a shiver down my spine.

"What do you want, Jourdan?" His voice is low and warm, a wave of contentment washing over me as it soothes my eardrums.

I shake my head, I don't know what I want or what I'm doing. So instead, I just do it.

In one swift movement, I close the space between us, my eyes falling shut as I press a featherlight kiss to his lips. I'm just testing the waters. After all, I haven't wanted to really kiss anyone since Miles and the last person I expected to want to kiss like this was Ryder Harris.

There's a pause, both of us very still, adjusting to the feeling of our lips together. His are soft and warm, returning the same amount of pressure. I stay like this, a flutter of excitement and electricity zinging through my body. I press closer, my body flush against his as I run my arms over his shoulders to wrap around his neck.

One hand slides to the base of his hair, appreciating the soft, curly strands as I keep the kiss innocent and chaste. He lets me too, just pressing his lips on mine, his hands squeezing my sides gently, moving up ever so slightly.

I pull back then, breaking the kiss as I open my eyes and flush.

"My turn." He says, voice gravely and eyes molten as they meet mine.

"W–what?" I gasp and he grins.

"You got to kiss me," he replies smoothly. "So now I get to kiss you."

Before I can protest, he's connected our mouths again, lips pressed against mine in a burning kiss as he tilts his head, exhaling as he increases the pressure between us. Electricity blazes to life within me now, starting at my toes and racing up my body as I feel a soft moan echo into his mouth. He responds accordingly, one hand moving to cup the back of my neck as he guides my head and moves his mouth over mine.

Every thought, every worry, or concern, or inhibition floats away as I let him kiss me. The passion and heat of the moment overwhelming me and leaving me feeling different than I ever had before. I can't remember kissing anyone else, even Miles, like the way that Ryder and I are kissing right now.

It's real and raw and so new that it's making my insides swirl excitedly. My heart thumps loudly in my ears, my breath continually stolen from me as his lips pull at mine. A groan vibrates his chest, the movements becoming more desperate and needy now.

I gasp against his lips when he turns us, lifting me onto the countertop behind us. The rough surface of the calluses on his fingers and palms scratch against the soft skin of my thighs as his expansive hands move over them. He guides my legs open so he can stand between them, hands then moving up to rest on my shorts, underneath his sweatshirt that I'm still wearing.

"Ryder," I murmur, tilting my head against the cabinet behind me as his lips move to my jaw then, pressing soft kisses there until he reaches a particular spot behind my ear.

"Fuck." He breathes against my skin, my chest heaving against his as he licks and sucks at the space on my neck that makes my insides pool with desire. It's so easy, so natural between us, it's like I've been kissing him for years.

My hands wrap around his jaw then, pulling his head up and meeting his heated gaze. Then I'm leaning forward again, pulling us closer and locking out mouths together in a desperate kiss. His tongue prods at the seam of my lips and they part, allowing it to dip between them and taste me.

He groans again, chest moving up and down heavily beneath my arms and I can feel his heart hammering against his throat. I know he feels it too. The way he kisses me, it's like this is the first time he's felt this way with someone. The first time a mostly sober kiss has meant something more than just desire or attraction. Though there's plenty of that between us right now.

This is becoming more than I can control, my body wanting to take over and give into the need I feel from him right now. If we don't stop, I don't know what I'll allow to happen. But nonetheless we continue to make out like this, his hands squeezing the base of my hips as the flex against his touch. Part of me wants to strip this sweatshirt off, let him see my nipples pressing against my top again. Let him do more than is allowed in Zac's kitchen.

Ironic that Zac was so jealous of Ryder. Not even five minutes ago I thought his concerns were unfounded. But now, with my legs moving to wrap around his torso and his tongue practically down my throat, maybe Zac had been right.

The thought cools my neck slightly, goosebumps running up my arms underneath his sweatshirt and a sense of confusion washes over me. Almost as though he can sense it, Ryder slows the kiss, holding me steady for a moment, savoring the last touch of our lips before he pulls back. And takes a long breath.

"Holy shit," I whisper, my fingertips moving instantly to my swollen lips as my eyes flip open and meet his own lust-filled ones.

"I know." He heaves, swallowing hard as he catches his breath.

"Um," I pause, not sure what to say or how to explain what just happened.

But just then, a voice interrupts us.

"What the hell are you two doing?" I glance over Ryder's shoulder, eyes widening when I spot Justin standing in the doorway to the kitchen, two ice cube trays in hand and a dumbfounded expression on his face. I open my mouth to speak, but nothing comes out as my eyes move back to Ryder, who closes his eyes briefly, taking another breath. When they open again, he seems more calm, a small smirk playing on his lips before he turns his head slightly to glance at Justin.

"Sorry bro," he answers gruffly, clearing his throat as his hands squeeze me gently, lifting me off the counter and setting me down next to him with ease. "We didn't know when the next game started."

"So you decided to stick your tongue down my best friend's throat instead?" Justin retorts quickly, dropping the ice trays on the counter next to him with a clatter before he crosses his arms over his chest.

"It wasn't like that," I interject. "I–I just, well," my mind races for an excuse as I glance back up to Ryder who looks amused and still a bit dazed from before. My eyes note the way his lips are a bit red, puffy from kissing me. "I decided to go out with that guy, Emerson, but I was nervous about kissing someone again in a more sober setting, so ... Well, Ryder was here."

"Oh?" I ignore the tone of Ryder's voice, keeping my gaze straight ahead, focused on Justin as I hear him chuckle lightly. "Just the right place, right time then?"

"Yes," I scold him, turning my head and looking up. "Just practice, remember? I asked you and you were more than willing."

Something flashes in Ryder's eyes then as they narrow, searching mine. For a second I almost think I can detect hurt or regret in his expression but it passes too quickly to be sure. Instead he nods, choosing to play along with me, a new determination in his gaze.

"Right, practice," he says, watching me before turning to Justin again. "No big deal really, I was more than willing to oblige."

"Okay ..." Justin hesitates, almost like he doesn't believe it, but then he shrugs. Grabbing the ice trays. "Well, come on guys, we're up next."

"We're coming." I nod.

He spins on his heel then and I make to rush after him, darting around the kitchen table and away from Ryder but I'm not quite fast enough. I feel his large hand wrap around my elbow, pulling me back to face him, his body so close to mine that I'm suddenly pressed up against the door frame in the entryway to the kitchen.

"Practice?" He asks, gaze still narrowed and expression taken aback.

"What?" I retort, shrugging and trying to maintain my composure. "It's kind of true."

"We both know you're lying," he rasps, stepping even closer. "If that was the practice round, I'd love to know what it's like on game day."

"You're never going to find out." I snap, yanking my arm from his hand. "I didn't mean to–I just, I was trying it out. And it didn't do anything for me, so we're still just friends."

"No," he shakes his head firmly, getting so close now that I have no way around him. His broad chest and shoulders blocking my view of everything behind him. "We're not just friends. Not after that."

"What's the matter, afraid you'll fall in love with me?" I attempt to tease him but his expression doesn't waver.

"I don't know why you're pretending that it meant nothing to you," he says, keeping his voice low. "But it won't last. And lucky for you, I won't hold a grudge against you for taking your time to figure out whatever it is you're resisting between us."

"Us?" I scoff. "You're already delusional."

"Sure," he laughs easily. "But we both know what I'd find if I slid my hand between your legs right now."

I slam my mouth shut, glaring at him out of frustration as a blush colors my cheeks. As if on instinct, my thighs clamp together, suddenly all too aware of the aching pressure there, ignited by his words.

"So fine, maybe I am delusional," he continues, a devilish smirk on his lips. "But at least I know one