“I’d love to see your bit.”
I shake my head. “I’m too self-conscious.”
“You just said you’ve practiced for hundreds of hours.”
“That doesn’t mean it gets any easier.”
“Sort of like hockey, then.”
“What do you mean?” I frown. “Don’t you just use that little stick thingy to shoot the little black thingy toward the goal?”
“You think hockey is hitting a little black thing with a stick.” He laughs, a sound that warms my heart. “I think being a comedian is saying funny things and making people laugh.”
“Point taken,” I say, a smile curving up my lips.
“I’ve practiced for hundreds of hours, skated for decades, dribbled, shot pucks, studied strategy—all of it, for most of my life, and it all comes down to a few minutes, most of the time. Either I choke on the winning goal or I nail it; there’s not much of an in between.”
“Huh.” I sit, still pondering his words. “I’ve never thought of it like that before, but standup is the same. At the end of the day, when I get in front of the crowd, I either nail it or I bomb completely, all in a few minutes, despite the millions of words I’ve written to get there.”
“It looks easy to everyone else, until they go to try it.”
“Exactly!”
I’d never bonded over my passion with anyone except Lisa. It is so hard for my accounting friends or my business-oriented dad to understand it at all. The hours of preparation, the work that may never amount to anything, the pressure of those moments when it’s finally time to perform, the sheer adrenaline of knowing I killed it onstage.
Ryan understands completely. I can feel it, both in his words and in the way he talks about hockey. We might be from different worlds, but we speak the same language.
It’s then that Ryan parks his brother’s BMW behind my car. I notice he leaves plenty of space. I also notice my bumper sitting on the sidewalk. It’s cute; he’s put a little blanket over it, almost as if to keep the thing warm.
“Oh,” I say. “I’m really sorry about that.”
“It’s our new art installation,” he says. “I like it.”
“I bet your brother doesn’t.”
“I’ve convinced him to leave it for a while, until we can get you sorted—hopefully with a new car.”
“Thank you,” I say, and then wait for a long moment. Neither of us moves. “I had a really nice time tonight.”
“Are you sure you don’t want me to give you a ride home?” Ryan’s eyebrows crinkle in concern. “We can figure something out for the morning. I can pick you up before class.”
“No, I’m fine. The coffee helped, and it’s been almost two hours since my last drink. Thanks, though, I appreciate it.”
Ryan leans over the center console, bringing his hand behind my head and pulling me in toward him gently, as if giving me every opportunity to say no. I don’t, because I’m not insane. Ryan Pierce is about to kiss me, and I’m going to let it happen.
But he doesn’t kiss me; he merely brushes his lips against my cheek and whispers in my ear. “I’m going to see your standup routine, sooner or later,” he says. “Mark my words.”
I freeze. “Okay,” I say, then get out of the car before I do something stupid and pucker up my lips for a kiss that will never come. “Have a great night.”
“Andi—”
“I’ll talk to you soon!” I’m already halfway out the door as he calls my name. I walk slowly to my car, giving him plenty of time to get my attention in case he has something else to say. He doesn’t, apparently.
I climb into my clunker and make my way home on nothing but a prayer. I head straight to Peretti’s Pizza, my mind whirling with whatever I got myself into tonight.
Shit, I think, making my way inside the restaurant.
I’m Ryan’s fake girlfriend.
A few hours ago, I thought it was the best proposal ever.
But now, I’m not so sure. Being so close to Ryan but not being able to touch him is like being put in a room with an ice cream buffet and being told you can only look, maybe drool a little. Ryan Pierce is my ice cream buffet, and I want him bad.
CHAPTER 17
Ryan
I let her walk away. I should call her back, press my lips to hers like I know she wants. I can feel it, the electricity between us. Unless I’ve completely lost my touch, Andi wants me too. I thought she wasn’t looking for anything physical, but I am beginning to think that’s not accurate.
When I leaned in close, her breath hitched in her throat. She inhaled like she wanted something more than a wave goodbye or a ride home. I wanted more, too, but I missed the boat. Now it’s too late, and she’s halfway home while I’m stuck with a hard-on that won’t quit.
So I climb into the shower—again—and take care of myself before getting into bed. I don’t have an early meeting tomorrow, but I do have a chat with the Ice Queen at lunch, and lunch is going to come fast—just like I did while thinking about Andi Peretti and her curvy little figure.
On a whim, I pull out my phone and send her a text. It’s simple, but I hope it’s direct.
Ryan: Preseason scrimmage in LA next Saturday. Come watch, and don’t make plans after.
My phone beeps a second later with her response.
Andi: Is this a date?
I wait a few minutes before responding, but only because I can’t think of what to say. I know I’m not letting her walk away again. If she comes to my game, watches me play, and lets me take her out to dinner after, I’ll do everything in my power to get her back here. Alone. Naked.
I decide not to mince my words and respond quickly.
Ryan: Yes. Clothing is optional.
CHAPTER 18
Andi
“So, can you get us tickets?” Gio asks, leaning against the pizza counter while Angela fawns over his orange self. “Me and Ang wanna go.”
Two weeks have passed since my deal was made with Ryan. I meant to go to his game last Saturday, but I was forced to work last minute by my dad, and one doesn’t argue with my dad when he is hangry.
Ryan and I tried to hang out afterward, but he’d gotten a minor injury during the game and needed to ice and take care of it. Since then, we’ve been playing phone tag, and I have to admit the whole thing is fun—really fun.
He texts me horrible jokes to use for stand-up, and I text him back offering awful hockey advice. It sounds stupid, but…it’s our thing.
“I can’t,” I say to Gio, Angela’s boy-toy of the week. He’s even oranger than she is, and probably spray tans more. I’m getting dizzy with the fumes from the pair of them. “Sorry.”
Gio frowns, then reaches across the counter and drags Angela into his arms. He dips her so low her head nearly smacks the ground, and he gives her a sloppy, smoochy kiss. “See you at home, baby. I’m taking you out to dinner then. Screw hockey.”
Angela sighs with gusto as Gio leaves. “Isn’t he a hunk?”
I make a noncommittal noise in my throat. After catching a glimpse of Ryan in a towel, an orange-faced Ken doll just doesn’t compare. “So are you two a thing now?”
“A thing?” Angela grins. “I don’t know what you’d call it, but he slept over last night.”
I shriek, pointing a finger in her face. “I knew it! You turned all lovey-dovey on me. I knew as soon as he called you baby that you’d slept with him! I thought you were just hooking up, but is this heading toward relationship territory?”
She bites her lip, throwing a pizza in the oven before turning back to me. “He’s really sweet.”
“I’m happy for you.” I scoot around the counter, giving her a little slap on the rear end. “Get out of here. Go shower. Get ready for the big date.”
“I’m supposed to close with you tonight.”
“I got it,” I say with a wave of my hand. “Go enjoy. Young love, so precious.”
“You’re sure you can handle it?”