Play With Me

I’m going
to drink up the ocean.”
    “Chin up,
Matthews. We’re almost there.” So said the king’s most trusted torturer.
    He led me to the
prettiest house at this strip of the beach. Painted in white, it had a
roundabout wooden porch with nice rattan furniture and even a porch swing. From
the pot-plant on the broad railing, he fetched a set of keys and let us inside.
    Average size,
the bungalow had a kitchen and maybe two or three bedrooms in the back. We
entered into a cozy sitting room, with comfy couches, flat screen TV, and an
amazingly wide bookshelf. Someone really liked to read out here.
    Ryan left me
leaning against the wall and grabbed two bottles of water from the fridge. He tossed
one at me.
    Ah, liquid
heaven. Water had never tasted this good.
    My pulse stayed
in higher spheres for a little longer, but I found I could talk without gasping
for air like a dying fish. “So, great tormentor, why did we run on the beach?
Was it just for your personal pleasure to see me suffer?”
    He rolled his
eyes with a half-smile that not even Tony could beat. “Why do you think so badly
of me?”
    “I don’t know.
Maybe because I lost my lungs somewhere on the way? Or because my legs are on fire?”
I walked over to the couch and leaned my butt against the backrest, arms folded
over my chest.
    “Oh, come on
now. We jogged over two miles and you’re still standing. That’s great. And
running in the sand will strengthen your legs a lot better than the pavement.
Since we only run on grass at soccer, you need to get used to the additional…”
    “Torture?” I
helped him out when he paused to search for the right word.
    “Exactly.” He pushed
aside my damp bangs with a finger, took my empty bottle, and dumped both with a
high toss in the trash can just outside the kitchen door.
    I fixed my ponytail
then swept my forearm across my brows. Sweaty as my arm was, it didn’t help
much.
    The sound of
footsteps clinking on the porch caught our attention. For a reason that escaped
me, we both stiffened.
    The shock on
Ryan’s face as he glanced first at the door then at me prickled my skin into
goose-bumps. Without warning, he rushed toward me, knocking me over the
backrest of the couch. Together we rolled to the floor. Keys rattled in the
lock as I landed on him, and a rush of air exploded out of his lungs.
    “Who is it?” I
hissed, glaring down at his face. In this awkward position, I couldn’t help but
notice the beautiful color his eyes were. Like the tiger’s eye my mother kept in
her collection of gemstones.
    “Can only be my
mom.” Using a little pressure to my hip, he steered me closer to the couch as
he rolled me off him, then he clapped his hand over my mouth. Duh, as if I was
going to scream.
    My heart pounded
like that of a criminal during a bank robbery as we listened to Mrs. Hunter
walk into the room and put something heavy on the floor. Sounded like boxes. She
carried one after the other into the kitchen.
    “She’s stocking
the fridge,” Ryan murmured with his mouth to my ear.
    Great. Who would
pack a fridge at six in the morning? But then she probably wanted it done
before she went to work. When she went for the third round, I pulled Ryan’s
hand off my mouth and said in a fierce whisper, “Why are we hiding here?”
    “My parents
don’t like me bringing random girls to this place. Unless you want to be
introduced as my girlfriend, I suggest you stay down.”
    Agreed. But I
scowled at him from the half-inch space between us, wondering how, in only
twenty-four hours, I could land in such an intimate position with Hunter—twice.
    A breath of
relief whizzed out of me when his mother finally left the house and the door locked.
A minute passed before Ryan pushed to his feet. He held his hand out for me,
but I didn’t move a limb.
    “You sure your
dad isn’t on his way, too?” Heavy cynicism laced my voice.
    “Yes, I’m sure.
He never comes here during the week.” He grabbed my hand and tugged. “Get up.”
    I let him help
me stand. “Next time you feel the need to knock me over, I’d appreciate a
little warning first.”
    “Gotcha!” He
went to the rear of the house and came back with a towel that he wiped over his
face then tossed it at me.
    “Ew.” He didn’t
really expect me to use the same towel he already marked with his sweat? “I don’t
know how a little running together got us to that level of intimacy.” But since
he ignored my annoyed look and walked outside, I