I can’t have him here under the same roof as me for a whole night. My skin boils hot just looking at him from across the room.
“Nah, I’d rather stay here with you.”
I stare at him, blinking. “No. Just no. Your opinion doesn’t matter here.”
He scrunches his nose up and says, “Respectfully, I disagree. Mainly because I weigh twice as much as you, and you’ll never be able to lift me off this couch. So…fake your date?”
I scoff. “Of course not. I went on a date.”
His eyes drop to my outfit, and I see the faint curl of his lips. “Little black number?”
I raise my eyebrows and widen my eyes as if to say I dare you to admit this outfit is ugly! “It’s black.”
“And the stain?”
“Soda.”
He nods. “Didn’t know they serve soda at art crawls.”
“They did at this one.”
“And Hunter? Did he have a fun night?”
Who’s to say exactly what Hunter was up to tonight, but he seemed like a pretty fun-loving guy. Not the sort to sit home and sulk over a lost date. “He had a fantastic night.”
“Oh, good. ’Cause I was worried when he came by about an hour ago to pick you up that maybe you guys had your wires crossed.”
“What! Oh no!” I drop the act for the first time, worried that I accidentally stood the man up if my cancellation text didn’t go through.
I grab my phone from my purse and frantically scroll through my texts until I find the chat between me and Hunter. I read, read, read until I get to the part where I realize Ryan just tricked me, because my cancellation text absolutely went through. That scheming little turd face!
My eyes snap up to Ryan, and I’m surprised lasers don’t shoot out of them and slice him in half. I race toward him, grab an overstuffed pillow from the couch, and start pummeling him with it.
“YOU JUST MADE THAT UP!” I say, emphasizing every word in between hits.
He’s laughing and curled up in a ball like a little baby with his hands over his head. “And you just confirmed that you weren’t really on a date with Hunter!”
“YOU ARE THE WORST, AND I HATE YOU!”
Bam. Bam. Bam.
Faster than a snake bite, Ryan reaches out and swipes my legs out from under me, pulling me down on top of him. He rolls me over so he’s pinning me onto the couch. His expression is equal parts danger and amusement. My stomach twists as I look in his eyes.
“You don’t hate me.”
“I might,” I say quietly.
“But you don’t.”
I swallow. “I should.”
“You love the game just as much as I do.”
My eyes trace a line from one dark eyebrow down his sharp cheekbone to his bottom lip and back up to his other eyebrow. I just painted a heart on his face with my gaze. “I like it a little bit.”
His body is heavy on mine, and I love it so much that I consider buying a weighted blanket. Ryan smells like crisp mountain air and all my teenage desires combined into one. I think he showered here, making me wonder if his body wash is still in there.
“June.” His voice is gravelly. “Why didn’t you go out with Hunter?” This is Ryan’s way of saying It’s time. He’s been patient and understanding with me, but he can only take so much waiting for my reciprocation.
It’s time.
The last bit of fight I have left in me vanishes. “Because he wasn’t you.”
Everything is so still and quiet in the house. Ryan looks back and forth between my eyes and then slowly dips his head down and kisses my lips. It’s a tender, I’m-in-no-hurry, melt-your-kneecaps kind of kiss, and I stay completely still. He breaks the seal of our mouths slowly only to lay another one on my bottom lip, and then the right corner, and then the left. I don’t close my eyes, but Ryan does. I see the whole thing in heartbreaking detail.
I think I love him.
He pulls away with a soft, patient smile and then shifts to the back of the couch so he can wrap his arm around my abdomen and pull me in close. He’s the big spoon, and I’m silent as he grabs the remote and hits resume on his show.
This, my heart whispers, is what we’ve been missing.
I relax into Ryan and close my eyes. I don’t care about what’s on the TV. I’m too busy healing as he holds me—sticky skin, threadbare leggings, and all.
Chapter 22 Ryan
I’m standing outside of June’s house, looking at the name flashing on my phone that I can’t avoid any longer. Noah Prescott has been texting, emailing, and calling nonstop over the past few days. I’m afraid that if I ignore him any longer, he’ll send a carrier pigeon. Or worse, he’ll hunt me down himself.
“Hello?”
