Off Sides

Something everyone should see."
    Ryan pauses and looks down at the table. My heart breaks a little for him because I can see that his ignorance of these issues is causing him some real pain. I don't know what to say to him. I feel clueless and all of a sudden, I'm thinking how very bad this evening is turning. Because I'm starting to feel something for this man sitting across from me and it's the last thing in the world I want right now.
    And yet, I'm helpless when I reach across the table and take his hand in mine. With my other hand, I stroke the back of his, running my fingers lightly over the crisp hairs. I turn his palm up and trace my index finger over his callouses, reveling in how they feel against my soft skin. With my thumb, I trace around the outer edge of his thumbnail, almost absentmindedly while I think of something comforting to say to him.
    I sneak a glance up at him and my breath catches. He is looking at me with such startling intensity that I drop his hand.
    "Don't," he rasps. Then he clears his throat. "Don't stop touching me."
    I am mesmerized by his look and I think I might go up in flames right now. The hunger in his eyes...for my touch, my approval...is overwhelming. I tentatively pick his hand back up and start touching him as he asked. I feel a connection to him that words can’t describe at this point. I’m sure I’ll spend a lot of time later analyzing it.
    I opt for a change of subject to ease the tension.
    "So, why do you have all these callouses on your hand?" I realize how that sounds and start snickering. "I mean—that is—if you can tell me in polite company."
    Ryan pulls his hands back and snorts at me. He pulls his nachos back over and tucks in. "They're from playing hockey."
    "Do you play inter-mural or something?"
    His smile at me is one of indulgence. "I play for Northeastern. I'm the captain of our team."
    I choke on the swallow of beer that was heading down my throat but is now headed for my lungs. Ryan patiently waits while I hack and cough to clear my throat. He actually smiles at me while he's chewing his food, patiently waiting for me to catch my breath.
    "You're the captain of the team? The Northeastern, NCAA, Division I hockey team?"
    I can see he's enjoying my shock.
    "Sure am. Are you a hockey fan?"
    "Uh, hello...born and raised in Boston. Of course, I'm a hockey fan."
    Ryan gives me a smirk but rather than want to slap his face, I want to run my fingers along his jaw. He has dark stubble gracing the hard lines and it makes him look dangerously sexy.
    "Well, for someone who is such a hockey fan, how come you didn't know I am the captain of your school's hockey team?"
    "Touché, Mr. Burnham...touché." I give him a mock salute.
    He pops another nacho in his mouth and gives me a wicked grin. "That's Captain Burnham to you." I just roll my eyes at him and take another sip of my beer. This time, it goes down smoothly.
    ***
    Ryan is driving me to my apartment now and I'm brooding over what has occurred. I agreed to go out with him tonight thinking he would be scared away from someone like me. Not that I think I'm deficient in any way. It's just we come from two vastly different worlds. We are definitely not "peas and carrots".
    However, I have found Ryan Burnham to be more than the pretty face that first caught my eye. He's funny, charming, kind and in no way the stuck up prig I originally thought he might be.
    I so don't want to like him but I do. And now I don't know what to do with it.
    Ryan pulls over and parks on the street outside of my building. I start to open the door but he lays his hand on my arm, stopping me. I turn to look at him and I've immediately lost the war that was brewing in my head mere seconds ago. He lifts a hand up and smooths it over and past the hair at my temple until he is cupping the back of my head. He doesn't make a move but just holds me by the head, looking at me. I nervously wet my lips which immediately draws his attention there. He brings his other hand up and gently traces my bottom lip with his thumb.
    "Do you think this is a good idea?" I whisper. I want him to say yes. I want him to say no.
    Ryan drags his gaze up from my lips and looks at me. "I don't know. I can be all kinds of fucked in the head sometimes."
    Is he warning me off? Should I listen?
    "Who isn't fucked in the head these days?" I ask.
    "Indeed," he murmurs as he bends his head toward mine.
    Our lips meet softly...nothing more than a whisper against each other.