“Ryan, I have to,” she defends. “They’re my parents.”
“I don’t care. I don’t want you going over there for them to treat you like shit.” My words are hard, but they come out before I can even think to soften them up for her.
She sighs and leans back into me, resting her head on my chest, and I enjoy the contact.
“I have to go,” she whispers. “It’s Christmas, and I really should be there. I’m only going for dinner. That’s all.”
“Then I’m going with you.”
“What?” she says as she pulls away and sits up.
“I don’t want you going alone, Candace,” I tell her. “I’ll go with you.”
“I don’t think that’s a good idea,” she says, but I’m not letting up on this.
“Well, I don’t think it’s a good idea that you’re going. So we can argue about this, or you can just say okay.”
Her eyes are locked on mine, stunned by my tone, but the feeling that I have to shield her from getting hurt again is powerful, almost uncontrollable. It takes her a moment, and I watch her brow twitch right before she turns and slowly leans back.
“Okay,” she resolves with uncertainty.
Certain or not, I don’t care. She said ‘okay,’ and I take it a step further, pushing her when I add, “And I don’t want you spending Christmas alone either, so why don’t you come home with me. I could use the distraction at the madhouse.”
“What?! No. Thanks, but I’ll be fine,” she says in a high-pitched voice.
“I’m sure you will be fine, but I don’t like the thought of you sitting here alone, so you’re coming with me.” I need her to come with me. I just need her . . . with me.
“Ryan, it feels weird,” she argues.
“Why?”
“Because. It just does. I know you have a big family, and I just don’t want to intrude.”
“It’s not an intrusion,” I assure her as I move to face her. “My family isn’t like that.”
She drops her head and takes her time contemplating. Questioning. Shit, did I go too far? Did I scare her? As soon as I start to regret my words, she speaks.
“Okay, but no gifts. It makes me uncomfortable.”
“Why’s that?”
“I don’t know. It just always has. Please,” she says, almost begging, and I don’t push it any further.
Excitement rushes through me, a feeling that’s all too new for me. But I can’t help it, knowing that I get to have her with me for a solid chunk of time.
“Okay. No gifts,” I say with a smile.
We both sit back, and when she gets comfortable in my arms, she asks, “So when did you start making all the rules?”
“When you started making me worry about you,” I respond, completely transparent.
Sitting there, I continue to hold her. We don’t talk at all. It’s quiet and peaceful, and having her warm body tucked in close with mine gets my heart racing. All I can think about is how I want to kiss her, touch her. Pick her up and make good use of her bed. But I know once that happens, I’ll never want to leave that bed. The thoughts alone turn me on, and I need to get control of myself.
“Hey,” I whisper, looking down at her. When she tilts her head and peers up at me, she’s close. So close, that if I lean down slightly, I could kiss her. Maybe I should. But I know myself. I won’t want to stop. I don’t think I could with her, so instead, I say, “I should get going.”
She nods her head, and feeling the movement against my jaw makes leaving so difficult, but that’s what I do. I stand, and she walks me to the door.
“Thanks for helping me out tonight.”
“You don’t need to thank me,” I tell her and then walk out to my car after she gives me another nod.
The drive home is almost painful because all I want to do is turn around and take her, claim her as mine, but nothing about this girl is telling me that I should handle her in that way. I’m holding back, and I’ve never had to do that before. The anticipation drives me crazy, wondering when I’ll get to see her again, hear her voice when she calls, or read her words when she texts me.
I need to talk to her. Be honest and tell her how I’m feeling. But I just got her to agree to spend the holidays with me, so I’ll selfishly take the time and won’t mention anything right now. God, this is killing me.
When I wake up, I fix myself a cup of coffee before calling my mom to tell her about the change of plans.
Taking my coffee over to the couch, I kick my feet up and call her.
“Hi, dear,” she says when she answers the phone.
“Hey. You busy?”
“No. How are you?” she asks.
“Good. Um, I have a minor change of plans for Christmas,” I tell her. “I’m gonna bring Candace with me.” I say this, almost cringing at what her reaction is going to be. I’ve never brought a girl home with me—ever.
She’s surprisingly understated when she says, “That doesn’t sound like something minor. So what’s going on with you two?”
“Nothing’s going on.”
“But you’re bringing her here. Home. With the whole family. And nothing’s going on?” she pries.
“She’s alone, and I don’t want her to be. That’s all,” I explain, but we both know that’s not all.