Chapter 9

CHAPTER NINE

MADISON

“Why are you wasting your time entering contests?”

I tap my pen against my notebook, stewing over last night’s conversation with Dad. I thought this late-night study session in the library with Ryan would be the distraction I needed to get Dad’s words out of my head, but it isn’t working.

“Now isn’t the time to mess with such drivel.”

Drivel!

He actually referred to my art as “drivel.”

The same argument we had over the summer drove me to Becky’s party. They want me entirely focused on schoolwork but fail to recognize that my artistic expression is my coping mechanism. It’s how I deal with stress, my feelings, and … everything . It keeps me sane.

Dad’s condescending dismissal proves he doesn’t know me at all. And I hate how much that bothers me. I’ve always tried being the dutiful daughter. Always sought approval that never came, but the one thing I thought they knew was how much my art meant to me.

But that’s a big fat negative.

And if the day wasn’t shitty enough, Ryan and I ran into Becky right before entering this study room. Why was she even here this late? I doubt she’ll be a problem, but her little “call me” signal she made behind Ryan’s back was annoying. As if I’d ever spill any secrets to her. She’d be the first to blast it to social media for the hits.

Ryan’s methodical page-turning pulls my attention back to our study session. His perfectly styled hair doesn’t move an inch as he leans over his color-coded notes, brow furrowed in concentration. His button-down shirt stretches across broad shoulders built from hours spent on the ice.

I bite my bottom lip as my pen stills. What would running my fingers through that neatly trimmed beard be like? To trace the lines of his strong jawline? I didn’t get a chance to touch him during the summer. And for that, I hold many regrets.

I shake my head as if the movement would banish the forbidden thoughts. Focus, Maddy. You’re here to study, not fantasize about your nemesis. But I have to hold back a laugh. What would Dear Old Dad think about me studying with Ryan? I guarantee he would disapprove.

“You okay over there?” Ryan’s deep voice breaks through my reverie. “You’ve been staring at that same page for ten minutes.”

Heat creeps up my neck. “I’m fine. Just … processing.”

His eyes narrow slightly. “Sure you are. Maybe if you actually wrote something down instead of doodling, you’d retain more information.”

I bristle at his tone, my fingers tightening around my pen. “I’ll have you know, Sorenson, that my ‘doodles’ help me remember complex concepts better than any of your fancy highlighters.”

Ryan leans back in his chair, a challenge glinting in his eyes. “Oh, yeah? Prove it.”

Irritation and attraction swirl in my chest. He’s so damn close. I knew studying with him was a bad idea.

Forcing myself to meet his gaze, I ignore the way my stomach flips. “I did already. By the way of my quiz score.”

“Smartass.”

I stick my tongue out at him, but I know I made a mistake when those eyes darken.

“You better watch your tongue. Or else I’ll find a good use for it.”

“I don’t remember you being this obnoxious in high school.”

He laughs. “Believe me, the thoughts were there, but I held back.”

“Well, put those thoughts toward something better, like physics.” I tap my notebook.

“Hmm, I’m beginning to think your perfect score was a fluke. Or beginner’s luck.”

“Yeah? Bring it on, hockey boy.”

I flip my notebook around and shove it toward Ryan more forcefully than necessary. “See these diagrams? They’re not just random scribbles. They’re visual representations of the physics concepts we’re studying.”

Ryan leans forward, brows furrowed as he scrutinizes my work. I catch a whiff of his cologne, and the sandalwood and citrus bring me back to that summer night. And those thoughts segue into his ridiculous proposal. Teaching me how to give head. Really?

Though, would the trade-off be so bad? If I could handle him, I’d be a fucking expert.

Focus, Maddy. Do not cave to the dick trance.

“These are … actually pretty clever,” Ryan admits grudgingly, tracing a finger along one of my sketches. The touch sends a jolt through me, and I pull back slightly.

“Don’t sound so surprised.” Irritation laces my tone, but I’m unsure if it’s from his surprise or where my mind went. “Just because I don’t color-code every single note doesn’t mean I’m not taking this seriously.”

Ryan’s eyes lock with mine, and for a moment, I see a flicker of something—respect, maybe?—before his usual competitive glint replaces it.

“Fair enough. You were always artsy. But how do you keep track of everything without a proper system?”

I tap my temple, smirking. “It’s all up here, Sorenson. Some of us can actually remember things without writing them down a hundred times.”

He scoffs, but I catch the twitch to his mouth. “Whatever works for you, I guess. Just don’t come crying to me when you can’t find that one crucial formula during the exam.”

“As if I’d ever come crying to you,” I shoot back, ignoring the little voice that whispers how much I’d like to.

Ryan shakes his head and chuckles softly. “You’re something else, Grimes. Though, I’ve always known that about you.”

Warmth surges inside at his words, and I quickly tamp it down with the reminder that we’re rivals, not friends. And certainly not anything more. No matter how much I might wish otherwise.

“Alright, Grimes. Let’s put your ‘creative methods’ to the test. Why don’t we quiz each other on the material?”

My pulse quickens, but I keep my face neutral. No way I’m backing down from this. “And what do I get when I prove you wrong?”

“What do you want?”

“A hard truth.”

“Agreed.”

“Okay then, bring it. I’ll run circles around your color-coded notes any day.”

“We’ll see about that,” he says, snatching up his textbook. His fingers run through his hair, a tell I’ve noticed when he’s gearing up for a challenge. “Ladies first. Explain the concept of angular momentum.”

I take a deep breath, willing my brain to cooperate. This is my chance to prove I’m not just doodles and daydreams. “Angular momentum is like … imagine you’re spinning on ice skates. When you pull your arms in, you spin faster. That’s because?—”

“I asked for the concept, not a metaphor,” Ryan interrupts, his brow furrowing.

I clench my fists under the table. “I’m getting there. The point is angular momentum is conserved. As the radius decreases, the angular velocity increases to maintain the same angular momentum. L equals I times omega, where I is the moment of inertia, and omega is the angular velocity.”

Ryan’s eyebrows shoot up, and I can’t help the smug smile that spreads across my face. Yeah, that’s right. I know my stuff.

“Not bad,” he admits grudgingly. “Your turn.”

I flip through my notebook and land on a page covered in swirling doodles and equations. “Okay, hotshot. Explain the difference between elastic and inelastic collisions.”

Ryan’s lips quirk into a half-smile, and I try to ignore the way it makes my stomach flutter. “Easy. In an elastic collision, kinetic energy is conserved. In an inelastic collision, it’s not. Objects stick together in a perfectly inelastic collision.”

“And?” I press, leaning forward.

“And what? That’s all that’s mentioned in the chapter.”

“Dig deeper into the theory.” There’s more to it, and I know he knows it. All he has to do is think it through.

Ryan hesitates for a moment, and I feel a thrill of satisfaction. Maybe this won’t be the cakewalk he thought it would be.

I tap my pen against my notebook, waiting. Ryan’s eyes narrow, focused intently on some point just over my shoulder.

“Ah-ha,” he finally concedes, meeting my gaze. “In an elastic collision, the objects bounce off each other, maintaining their shape and kinetic energy. Think billiard balls. Inelastic collisions involve deformation and energy loss, like a car crash.”

I can’t help but grin. “Not bad yourself, Sorenson. But you forgot one crucial detail.”

His eyebrows knit together. “Which is?”

“The coefficient of restitution,” I say, twirling my pen between my fingers. “It measures the elasticity of the collision. One for perfectly elastic, zero for perfectly inelastic.”

Ryan’s lips press into a thin line, and I have to bite back a laugh. He hates being one-upped.

“Alright, smartass,” he challenges, leaning across the table. “Let’s see you explain wave-particle duality without your usual interpretive dance routine.”

I gasp in mock offense. “I’ll have you know my quantum physics dance moves are legendary.”

“I’m sure they are,” he quips, a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “But let’s keep it verbal for now. We don’t want to scandalize the entire library.”

My cheeks heat up at the thought, but I push through. “Challenge accepted, Mr. By-the-Book. Light exhibits properties of both waves and particles, depending on how you observe it. It’s like … imagine you’re watching a hockey game. From the stands, the players look like a fluid wave of motion. But up close, you see individual players, like particles.”

Ryan’s eyes spark with interest. “Not bad. Though I’m pretty sure Schrodinger didn’t use hockey analogies.”

“Well, maybe he should have,” I retort, tossing my hair over my shoulder. “I bet his cat would’ve appreciated it.”

I lean back in my chair, stretching my arms above my head. “Okay, Einstein, I think we’ve earned a break from the quantum realm. Tell me something that doesn’t involve equations or hockey plays.”

Ryan’s eyebrows shoot up, but his shoulders relax. He drums his fingers on the table, thinking. “Okay. I have one. When I was eight, I wanted to be a professional magician.”

I can’t help but burst out laughing. “No way! Mr. Serious with card tricks? How did I not know this?”

“Hey, I’ll have you know I was pretty good.” He grins and reaches for a nearby pen. With a flick of his wrist, it disappears. “Ta-da!”

I clap softly, impressed despite myself. Talking like this reminds me of the days we spent together. Back when conversations came easily. “Okay, that was smooth. Why’d you give it up?”

His smile falters slightly. “Dad said I would stand out enough without acting like a clown.”

“What does that mean?” My brows furrow in confusion.

“Going to Stewart Academy meant upholding certain standards, and I already had a strike against me by being a scholarship kid. Being crowned the class clown wasn’t a title he wanted for me. He pushed me toward sports instead.” His mouth curves to that lopsided grin that stirs my insides. “Better choice, considering I fucking love hockey.”

“It would get further traction for sure.”

His smile disappears, causing a chill to run down my spine. The room temperature didn’t drop, but his mood sure did. I want to ask why he isn’t pursuing hockey, but something equally dumb falls from my mouth.

“Why did you use me to go out with Jade?”

He rears back as if I slapped him.

“You owe me a hard truth,” I add when he remains silent.

“Is that what you think? That I used you?”

“It’s what I know.”

His eyelids slam shut for a moment. Steely gray eyes hold mine when he reopens them. “I valued our friendship, Maddy. It killed me when we couldn’t remain friends. I need you to believe that.”

“I don’t understand why we couldn’t remain friends. What changed?”

His face looks pained, as if he wants to say something but can’t. It’s almost as if he’s holding something back. I can’t imagine what though.

“Everything changed after my dad’s fall. I—” He shakes his head and sits taller. “I thought I was doing us a favor by asking her out. It was the worst mistake I ever made.”

“Why?”

“Because it led to you hating me.”

But it’s getting harder and harder to maintain that hatred.

“That’s because I got to hear Jade’s constant babbling about your sexcapades.”

“Say what now?”

The shock in his tone throws me off. Surely, he isn’t this stupid. “You’re ‘wonderful night of lovemaking.’ That’s a direct quote, by the way.”

“There was no ‘lovemaking.’ In fact, we got into a huge fight because I kept watching you all evening.”

I blink, stunned. “You… you were watching me?”

Nodding, he gently tucks a loose curl behind my ear. “All night. I couldn’t take my eyes off you.”

My heart pounds in my chest like a runaway drumline. A part of me wants to believe him, but the wounds cut too deep. I was miserable that night. But now he’s saying he spent their date watching me? It doesn’t make sense.

“I don’t understand. Why’d you keep dating her?”

He shrugs uncomfortably, averting his gaze for the first time since we started this conversation. “I don’t know. Maybe I thought it would make me stop thinking about you.”

“And did it?” The question is out before I can stop it.

“No.”

I suck in a breath. The room feels as if it’s shrinking in on us. I can barely breathe.

“That’s… unexpected.”

Ryan rubs the back of his neck, looking more vulnerable than I’ve ever seen him. “Yeah... Well.” He shrugs and flashes me an awkward smile.

A silence descends upon us, stretching like the ice rink under the stadium lights—cold, hard, and unyielding.

I break it first. “And what about now?” I ask softly. “Do you still…” My words trail off, unable to finish the sentence.

“Do I still what?” Ryan’s gaze finds mine again.

I take a deep breath, summoning every ounce of courage I have left. “Do you still watch me?”

Ryan doesn’t answer immediately. He leans back in his chair and studies me with a steady gaze.

“Every chance I get.” His voice is deep and steady. “Every damn chance.”

The confession sends a jolt through me. This is new territory for us—openly admitting that he still likes me. I need to shut this down before it gets out of hand. It’s not as if we could be a real couple.

“That’s kind of stalker-ish, don’t you think?”

He laughs, but it’s his half-shrug that gets me. It’s full of confidence, as if he doesn’t have a care in the world. “You asked for a hard truth.”

“I did.”

“Does knowing that make the lesson easier?”

There he goes, confusing me again. “What lesson?”

“The art of giving head.”

My mouth gapes. “You’re not serious.”

“I’m one hundred percent serious. Isn’t that why you agreed? To learn some extracurricular activities?”

“No! I, I—” I shake my head. Why did I agree? I think I was just caught up in the moment. “We’re not doing that.”

“Why not?”

“Being together is a bad idea, you know this.”

“It’s not as if anyone will know. We had fun this summer. I’m willing to sacrifice my body for your learning experience.”

“You sound like a bad porn.”

His shoulders shake. “Fine, just keep it in mind.” He checks the time. “Shit, it’s late.”

I glance at the clock—one o’clock in the morning. I didn’t realize it had gotten this late. “We better leave.” I push to stand and start gathering my belongings.

“Did you drive?”

“Yeah.”

“I’ll walk you to your car.”

“You don’t have to.”

He shoots me a look that says ‘yeah, right.’ “You can hate me all you want, but I’ll always make sure you’re safe.”

Warmth floods my insides. “I don’t hate you.” Not anymore.

“Yeah?” His mouth curves to his lopsided grin. When I nod, he drapes his arm around my shoulders. “Good. It’ll make our lessons more fun.”

I shake my head but don’t pull away. Instead, I let him guide me out of the building and into the parking lot. He can’t possibly be serious about teaching me oral sex, can he? When we reach my car and I catch the heat in those stormy, gray eyes, I think he is.