30

Kassie

A Ten Thousand Dollar Straitjacket

"I hope these satisfy you!" The attendant slid the dresses through the curtain of changing room three and beamed at us again. "I'll find more while you try them on. Let me know what style works best."

I waited until she left. "We're not buying any of these."

"Why not?" Ryan asked.

"Because…" My words trailed and skipped along as I lifted a price tag clipped on with a safety pin. "Fuck me, this dress is nine thousand, eight hun—this is a ten thousand dollar dress. You don't have any concerns ?"

"Yeah, I do." Ryan stood up. "Do these have shoes?"

"Oh my god, Ryan, " I said, suddenly overwhelmed, and shooed him back to the chair.

Sitting back down, there was a noticeable difference between him and I. Ryan looked at ease. Like he belonged in the fitting room of this expensive-ass boutique. Of course he did. His suits were nice as hell. But I didn't fit in and I knew that.

I softened my voice. "Ryan? We can head to another store."

"This is the one Cleo wanted."

"Yeah but it's—look, it's a lot here."

He waited for me to continue like that wasn't a good enough reason.

A little embarrassed, I gestured back towards the dresses. "It's one thing to spend the college's money—they overcharge anyway. But I'm pretty sure robbing this store would set anybody for life, and I'm not sure how comfortable I feel—"

"They're not paying for it."

"They're not?"

"I am."

Convinced I'd heard him incorrectly, I waited for the joke to roll in. But Ryan didn't make jokes and his face was as serious as ever.

"I don't understand."

"Marrs is one of the few schools where I can earn royalties from my name. And I do. Every jersey that's sold, I get a percentage. Every shoe signing. Every commercial."

The numbers whirled behind my eyelids. "Are you serious?"

"We need something good for alumni night. They offered an amount but I don't like working with limitations."

Clearly, the man had been hit too many times with footballs. If anything - that made it worse . I could use and abuse the college's bank account, but I didn't want Ryan's money. There was no way we were buying something from the store. Not while I was unrestrained.

"I'll walk out of here," I warned him. "At least I won't get mugged by your groupies."

Ryan shrugged. "You're trying on a dress."

"And why is that?"

"I thought you wanted the distraction?"

Narrowing my eyes, I knew he got me, hook, line, and sinker. I did want a duplicate of those bracelets, no doubt about that, and I did need him for that. If my friends and I burst into the store by ourselves, they'd probably call the cops on us.

I pressed my lips together. " And …I want to touch the car radio."

This was the part where Ryan would put down his foot. I knew how much he prized his silent car rides. The car rides where he contemplated the mysteries of the universe and how he could get the pass-rushers to improve their sacks to the double-digits. Me touching the radio was not going to happen.

"Done."

I blinked at him. "What?"

"Done. Try on a dress."

"I—uh…" Shit, I didn't expect it to go like this. But I did want that distraction. "Fine."

"Good."

I took another look at the line of dresses and tried not to cringe. For a long time, I'd been so focused on making my own money, paying my own bills, worrying about my own stuff, that anything else was uncharted territory, a completely foreign concept.

What if something happened, and the bill came to me?

I ran my hand over the first tax write-off. It was incredible. The dress slipped through my fingers like water from a bath. But there were at least twenty straps, four on the front, plenty on the back, and a few more that I needed to decipher.

I slipped into the dressing room. "Human calendar, what're we looking at?"

"The big upcoming event is the alumni night," Ryan answered automatically. "Today, there's a study session at Gianna's . I know tomorrow we have something about a museum that Cleo wants us to attend—"

"That sounds fun."

"—the theme is ‘historical man-made horrors—'"

"Okay. Less fun."

"—football game Saturday—"

"Barbecue afterward?"

"No, we'll be icing. It's a JBU game. That'll be an actual challenge."

I rolled my eyes. "There's that humble spirit."

In the quiet moment that followed, I peeked behind the curtain to see a smug grin on Ryan's face. When he glanced up, the boyish grin stretched even further.

I shook my head. "You're supposed to argue against that."

"Am I?"

I let the curtain fall back into place. "You're supposed to say something like ‘every team tries their best.'"

"They do. We're better."

Running my fingers through the fabric again, I tried not to smile. He didn't even say things like that to get a rise out of people, like Zariah's brother or Adam. No, the ball dribbler genuinely believed it. And it wasn't like I could prove him wrong. I'd seen him in action.

Ryan wasn't arrogant. He was better.

I looped my fingers on the underside of my shirt and gazed into the mirror, ready to pull it up. With my shirt halfway up my stomach, I took another long eyeful at the curtain behind me.

What was the problem? It wasn't like Ryan had a front-row seat in the dressing room.

Ryan was…Ryan. Silent as a box of Christmas decorations in April. I could see him through the curtain. Big muscles. Big thighs. Big hands. Just…big.

With a tug, my shirt slipped off, and I unbuttoned my jeans, all while I watched the mirror, keeping my eyes firmly on the curtain.

Is he looking back at me?

Yes, he is .

"This is like a damn straitjacket," I murmured, trying to work out all of the little straps and ties on the dress.

"The dress?"

"Yeah, the dress." I loosened up another knot and frowned. "That's not right…how am I supposed to—?"

"If you need scissors, let me know."

I snorted. "Those won't be needed."

"That was a joke."

My fingers were tied in a crossed-over, halfway loop across my hip, but I stopped. "Oh. That was funny."

"Thank you."

There was another momentary bout of silence while his outline shifted away from the wall.

"I have to keep up with you somehow," he murmured.

I stilled over the strap on my thigh. "You think you can?"

"Some days I do. But some days I think, I don't think I ever could."

What's that supposed to mean?