Chapter 5

Jayden

I tuck my chilled fingers tighter around the small plastic bag from Book he's already spotted me. His eyes lock onto mine, and everything else fades away.

"Go talk to him." Mimi nudges me in the side.

"Right, because that won't be awkward at all," I mutter, my heart thumping wildly against my ribcage.

"Play it cool," my friend says, and I take a deep breath and summons every ounce of confidence I possess.

Ryder moves with an easy grace that belies his size, navigating through the cluster of beachgoers with a predator's focus. Directly toward me.

"Didn't think I'd see you here," he says.

"Seems to be a small town after all," I reply.

"Too crowded here. Walk with me?" His eyes don't leave mine, and there's a command behind the casual invitation. Everything about him screams 'not to be ignored,' from the way he stands to the intensity in his gaze.

"Sure," I agree as if my heart isn't doing backflips.

We weave our way through Caffeine Beach and onto the boardwalk outside.

"How’s your evening going?" I ask, pulling my jacket tighter around me against the chill.

"Better now," he says, and I catch a rare softness in his voice. We stop at the railing overlooking the water, the Christmas lights twinkling along the shore reflected in the dark waves.

"Maybe we could switch to Irish coffees," I suggest. "Or would that be too scandalous for Caffeine Beach?"

"Scandalous?" His eyebrow quirks up. His reaction dents my confidence, but I push past it, refusing to let the sting show.

"Never mind." I laugh, a touch too loud, and swat at an imaginary speck of dust on my sleeve. "Just a thought."

I catch him glancing over my shoulder, attention snagged by something or someone else. Frustration builds in me. I'm right here in front of him. Why can't you see that? As if sensing the shift in my focus, he leans forward, recapturing my gaze with sudden intensity.

"Tell me about these books you got," Ryder says, nodding toward the bag in my hand. It's as if he's only really present when I'm on the brink of looking away.

"Ah, they're Christmas themed," I start, voice dipping into a whisper. "They’re also steamy. Hockey romances, because, you know, 'tis the season for pucks and... mistletoe."

A smirk tugs at the corner of his mouth, and I bask in the small victory. I want to flat out ask him what it’d take to keep him from drifting his attention away again, but instead, I simply reach out and gently graze my fingertips along his forearm. The contact is hot and unsettling, just like it was the other day when he was practically dragging me down the dock.

"Sounds... interesting," he murmurs, taking a sip of his coffee, his gaze once more sliding past me.

"Interesting enough to read together?" I venture, half-serious and wholly desperate to keep this connection alive.

"Maybe," Ryder replies noncommittally, his focus on the waves out in the ocean.

"Maybe's better than a no," I respond. I might not have his undivided attention now, but something tells me persistence is key.

"Jayden," he acknowledges, the corners of his mouth twitching as if unsure whether to settle into a smile or a frown.

"Oops!" I say, a bit louder than intended, as I 'accidentally' drop my book bag. It hits the wood with a soft thud, spilling copies of steamy Christmas hockey romances across the boards. Bending over to gather them up, I'm acutely aware of Ryder's gaze on me, though I don't dare look up just yet. Instead, I take my time, the hem of my sundress riding up ever so slightly.

"Need a hand?" His voice is closer now, our hands brushing as he helps me with the books.

"Thanks," I whisper, meeting his eyes. There's an unspoken question there, an opening, and I take my opportunity.

"You know, I've been thinking. We should go out, like on a date." The words tumble out before I can second-guess them.

His eyes widen. However, I remember the longing in his voice from that phone call at Sand Dunes, the way he spoke of wanting someone, and I know this is my shot.

"Date, huh?" he finally says, rubbing the back of his neck. "That's pretty straightforward of you."

"Life's too short for maybe's and what-ifs," I reply. The ball is in his court now, and I’m holding my breath, waiting for his next move.

There’s a battle of wills in the silence that stretches between us. Just when I'm about to break it, he leans back against the boardwalk railing, his posture casual but every line of his body screams control.

"Although," he starts, "a date sounds tempting, I've got something else in mind."

My heart does this funny little skip. Is he rejecting me? Yet he continues, "How about being my date to my mother's Christmas ball instead?"

I blink. His mother’s Christmas ball? That's leagues away from a casual coffee date. I can picture it now—the glitz, the glam, the swirling dresses. Ryder, looking dapper as hell in a tux. The thought is beyond exciting.

"I can do that, no problem," I say.

"Great." He nods, but there's a calculating look in his eyes. "But I need more than just one date."

"More?" My voice hitches up an octave, and I force myself to remember to breathe.

"Yeah, I've got a couple of work Christmas parties coming up. Need dates for those too." His shoulders shrug, but his gaze is intense, as if he's daring me to say yes.

For a split second, I hesitate. My planner flashes in my mind—study groups, finals, my part-time job at the bar. Then there's Ryder, with that look that says he's used to getting what he wants. Truth be told, I want to be the reason someone like him looks forward to attending holiday parties.

"Okay," I say. "I'll be your date for those too."

"Several dates," he clarifies, as if sealing a contract.

I take a sip of my warm coffee. The caffeine does little to steady my nerves as I steal glances at his sharp jawline and the way his black long sleeve henley stretches over his broad shoulders.

"Several dates," I parrot, trying to sound cool, collected. My pulse is doing just the opposite though.

"Actually," Ryder starts again, leaning in closer, "I need more than just a few dates." He pauses, and there's something flickering behind his ice-blue eyes that I haven't seen before.

"More?" My hand freezes mid-gesture, the proximity suddenly feeling too intimate, and lean back to take a long sip of my coffee.

He runs a hand through his hair and then drops the bomb. "I need a girlfriend."

My mouth goes from zero to Niagara Falls as the coffee I'd been savoring spews across the wooden floor in a fine mist of shock and Colombian roast.

Girlfriend. He needs a girlfriend.

"Shit!" I scramble for napkins, my sweater, anything to dab at the mess, my cheeks burning hotter than the spilled drink. "Ryder, I—you want what?"

His mouth twitches, like he's fighting a smile at my expense. "A girlfriend," he repeats, slower, enunciating each syllable.

"Be your girlfriend," I say, tasting the words, letting them roll around on my tongue.

"Only for the season," he adds quickly, as though sensing my hesitation. "No strings attached."

I study him, playing girlfriend to Ryder Raines, hockey god and notorious heartbreaker? That's playing with fire. No strings attached. Just a simple agreement to stave off loneliness during the most romantic time of the year. It's crazy, utterly insane, and... possibly exactly what I need.

"Okay," I hear myself say with a shaky voice, and he looks as shocked as I feel. "I'll be your girlfriend."