Mr. Darcy: That’s fine. I was just trying to see if you saved my number in your phone, anyway.
I immediately flip my phone over like that will keep Ryan from seeing the truth. But my phone buzzes again, and I can’t help but look.
Mr. Darcy: Don’t bother hiding it. I already saw that you saved my number. Want to get out of here with me?
Goodness. Has Stacy always kept it so hot in her house? It’s a furnace in here. I’m about to spontaneously combust, and no, it doesn’t have anything to do with Ryan’s texts. Clearly, her AC is broken.
I quickly pocket my phone and shoot up from the table. I guess I did it a little too forcefully, because everyone’s eyes fly to me, wide and alarmed. I smile softly and excuse myself to go get a little more ice for my water, aka stick my face inside the freezer. Part of me thinks that Ryan will follow me, and a big part of me hopes for it. Why? I shouldn’t be feeling this way.
In the kitchen, I stew. Anger is bubbling inside me, and I’m annoyed that no matter what I do, Ryan still has the upper hand. I pace circles like an MMA wrestler waiting for an opponent to step into the ring. Why is he doing all this? He’s going to be leaving in less than a week.
Ryan was always a wrecking ball in my life, and it appears that nothing has changed. My skin sizzles when he looks at me. My stomach turns a hundred flips when he touches me. And even though I’m trying desperately to push down the hope I feel growing, I can’t seem to smother it.
I wanted Ryan to like me in high school. I wanted him to want me at the bachelorette party. I wanted to dangle a kiss in front of him like a dog bone on a string. And now, it feels like I’ve gotten my wish. Poof. My fairy godmother is somewhere in the world, waving her wand and making all my dreams come true. Now, I just want her to undo it.
Sorry, oops, wrong wish. You thought I said please make Ryan want me? What I said was, Ryan GOSLING. Honest mistake, it’s fine. I’ll wait while you beam him down for me.
The truth is, I’m scared to death of Ryan Henderson. He’s my kryptonite. An arrow that shoots straight to my heart and never misses. I’m too wounded to withstand any hits from him. He’ll be gone in a week, and if I let myself fall for him completely, he will crack my heart wide open. It will never seal back together. It’s why I have my one-date rule. It’s why I pour myself into my work. The game of life is easier when I’m the one moving all the pieces.
After spending a minute gathering my wits, I go back into the dining room and take my seat. Carter smiles his pretty Beach Boys smile at me while finishing up whatever conversation he was having with Logan, and I smile back absentmindedly, because I’m still a little focused on the fact that Ryan was trying to get me to bail on this dinner and go somewhere with him.
“…Yeah, that movie looks great. Maybe I’ll take June to see it this weekend. What do you think, June?”
“Hmm?” I look up, pausing my superfun game of pushing the steak bites back and forth across my plate and dreaming of what Ryan and I would be doing if we weren’t here. “Oh, yeah. Sure.”
Carter smiles again and reaches under the table to squeeze my knee.
I suddenly wonder what I just agreed to. There’s no time to dissect it, though, because apparently my date is a Chatty Cathy and is now driving the conversation across the table.
“So, Ryan, you live in Chicago?” Carter asks, being a better friend at this dinner than I am. I’ve gone dead silent. Chewing this steak is my only objective.
“I do.” Ryan’s curt tone has me looking up. His dark eyes are stormy, hiding below his furrowed brows—smirk nowhere to be found.
“And you’re a chef?”
“Yep.”
“That’s awesome. I can barely make ramen noodle soup.”
“Congrats?”
Whoa! Attitude alert.
Logan senses it, too, because he clears his throat and asks Ryan to help him clear the plates. Stacy takes the opportunity to tell us why she really brought us here. She lays out a blueprint of the seating chart for the reception. Her hands unroll the paper and smooth out the edges, because actually, she has lured us here under false pretenses of a friends dinner when, really, she only needs help writing out name tags for the reception place settings. Stacy, you dirty little con artist. I feel a tiny bit guilty about forcing Carter into this, but he’s a good sport and assures me he doesn’t mind.
—
After an hour, I can’t take the guilt anymore and tell Carter he can head out. I’ll make Stacy drive me back home since she now owes me a million favors for all she’s put me through over the past few days. Carter hesitates like any nice guy would but eventually gives in, and I walk him out the door. We reach that awkward moment on a first date (if you can really call this a date) where we decide if we should kiss or not. Part of me wonders if Ryan is watching, and if so, maybe I should lay a big one on Carter.
But I don’t know…my heart’s not in it anymore. Ryan’s bad mood soured mine, and now I just kinda want to shoo Carter off as quickly as possible. I settle for letting him kiss me on the cheek and apologize for such a strange evening. Once he drives off, I go back in the house and shut the door. That’s that. Another man exits my life.
I turn around and find Ryan standing in the living room. He doesn’t look happy, and his already imposing figure somehow feels even bigger. Up until this point, Ryan has been smooth and congenial. Like nothing I could ever say or do would truly fluster him.
He looks flustered now, though.
His scowl is so angry it blisters my skin and pins me to the door at my back. He lifts a brow. His face says, Well?
I lift one brow to mirror his.
He takes a step, and so do I.
“Are you two about to duel?” Logan asks from the threshold of the kitchen.
“Go away, Logan,” Ryan all but growls.
“No way. In fact, don’t move. Let me go get my phone so I can film this.” Logan rushes off, and Ryan and I are left here, fighting about I don’t know what. We’re always fighting about something, though, so it doesn’t really matter.
“So…you got me back,” he says, breaking the silence first. One point for me. “Brought a date to friends dinner.” I don’t answer. Another point. He steps closer, and a sad smirk touches the corner of his mouth. “How do you feel? I’m guessing not as great as you hoped.”
I clear my throat so my words will dislodge. “Why do you say that?”
“Because that’s always how I felt after I brought some random girl to our friends dinners. Every single time, my only motive was to make you jealous. But you never were.”
I stay quiet still because my emotions are teetering. He’s standing there and laying his heart on the line, and I’m on mute. I don’t know how I want all this to end. If I stay quiet, nothing is final. Nothing is decided.
“Does he get a second date?” asks Ryan. And when my brows pinch together, he says, “Yeah, I know about your rule. Logan told me.” Freaking Logan. “And I want to know if, after five years, Carter the marketer gets a second date with you?”
Is that why his mood crashed? My stomach flutters. He’s angry because I might be into someone else?
