At the Right Time

Chapter Seventeen

Rylie ~ Five and a half years ago

My hair hangs in soft waves around my face as I look at myself in the mirror.

I didn't keep on the generic school spirit jersey that I wore at the game. Instead, I snuck into Maxwell's room and got one of his real ones.

The only problem is that this one has number sixteen on it. He wears number five. I figure it's just an older one, though. And it still has his name, Rossi, on the back. That counts.

I wear no bra underneath with lacy, white panties to match the white accents on the orange jersey. It comes down to my thighs, covering me where I need to be covered, but I still feel exposed.

I'm not sure what I think I'm doing. This is a bit forward for me, but I want him, and I think he feels the same. I guess we'll see.

Maybe I'm being ridiculous. Maxwell and I aren't a couple. We're not dating. We don't even talk that much between school and basketball and trying to act inconspicuous around the house.

But when I'm with him there's a spark and I want more of it.

All of it.

I just hope he didn't find someone else he'd rather spend time with at the party. I don't think he's sleeping with anyone, but I guess I have no real way of knowing.

I sigh, looking at the time. Just after eleven.

I look back to the mirror, feeling my cheeks heat at the sight of me trying to be sexy for Maxwell. This is stupid.

I stand, opening my door and glancing down the hall to make sure the house is quiet and everyone is asleep. Then, I go over to his room so I can ditch the jersey. It's too much. He's going to think I'm lame.

I flip on the lamp beside his bed and walk over to his closet.

I get the jersey halfway up before I hear him.

"Holy shit."

I freeze, my heart dropping to my toes. Lowering the jersey back down, I slowly turn to face him.

He's propped against his doorway with his arms crossed. His jaw is flexing like he's thinking really hard and his eyes aren't on my face, they're on my body.

Heat rushes to my lower belly and I stand still while he drinks me in with his coal eyes.

"You're wearing my fucking jersey." I nod slowly, pressing my lips together, waiting to see what he's going to do. He steps towards me, closing the door with his foot, each deliberate move making nerves dance throughout my body. "What do you want me to do to you, Rylie?"

He's circling me like a shark, staring at me with such intensity I'm sure there's heat coming from his gaze. I swallow. I wasn't prepared for this.

I've had sex before but it was only once and it wasn't like this. It was quick and sloppy and when it was over, I'd wished I would've waited for someone better. He didn't force me. I wanted to, but it just wasn't what I was expecting.

This feels different. This feels like I'm teetering on a balance beam between heaven and hell. With flames that could burn me but waters that could redeem me.

"Answer me." He whispers, standing so close I can feel his warmth on my back, but he's not touching me. I want him to touch me.

"Touch me, Max."

"Where?"

"Everywhere." I whimper at the mere thought of his hands all over me, and with that, he doesn't need anymore encouraging.