"That's true. I… I think I will. Does he need a plus one?"
"You know Dean."
She laughs. "Yeah. How is he?"
"Same as always." I push off the wall. Focus every bit of my attention on my bare feet against the hardwood. Half a dozen steps and I'm at my desk.
I sit in my eight-hundred-dollar ergonomic chair. Press my palms into my black wood laminate desk. Stare at the sketchbook left open to a mock-up.
It's lyrics from some song about wanting your ex to die in a fiery car crash.
I even envy that violent bastard of a lyricist.
I wish I wanted Penny to die in agony.
That would be so much easier than wanting her to live by my side forever.
My stomach churns. This conversation is torture. How the fuck am I going to survive watching her walk down the aisle? "You want cash or something off your registry?"
"Ryan…" You're not supposed to ask that.
I need some way to get through this. A shield. Someone that will convince her I don't need her. Someone who will get how fucked-up this is.
But the only person who gets this is Leighton.
There's no way I'm using her as—
There's no way I'm using her, period.
She's my best friend.
The only person in the entire world I trust.
The only sliver of light in most of my days.
No fucking way I'm risking that.
I force my voice to steady. "I gotta go. Congratulations, Pen."
"Thanks. Ryan, I—"
I end the call before she can finish her thought.
Chapter Three
Leighton
Even with the beach breeze blowing over my shoulders, the July heat is oppressive. Sun beats down on my back. It warms my hair. Fries my tender, just bleached scalp.
The six-block walk to the shop—it's a miracle I found parking this close—is enough to get my dress sticking to my chest.
The bell rings as I press the Inked Hearts door open.
Fluorescent light replaces the glow of the sun.
The warm air dissipates. It's freezing in here.
Then my eyes catch Ryan's, and the coolness disappears. Heat spreads to my fingers and toes.
He looks so good.
He always looks good, but it's been an entire day and a half since I've seen him.
He really is that beautiful. Those strong shoulders and inked arms aren't figments of my sexual fantasies. They're all him.
"Hey." He nods hello from his suite, the one on the right, next to the window.
"You're here early."
"I'm always this early."
"No. Just usually." I pull my arms over my chest. How can I be hot and cold at the same time? It defies explanation.
His eyes find mine. "You want my hoodie?"
My toes tap together. My tongue slides over my lips. Ryan offers his hoodie almost every day. And I always say yes.
But not because I'm cold—my cardigan is in my purse, and it looks a hell of a lot better with this outfit.
Because it smells like him.
Because it's his.
He bends to pull it from his backpack. His fingers brush mine as he hands it over.
It's black, of course.
His entire world is black—his jeans, his t-shirt, his backpack, his car, his sketchbook, his pens, his attitude toward humanity.
You'd think the whole constant brooding, still not over his ex thing would be enough to convince me to stay away.
Not that I've ever had good taste in men.
I fell for the wrong guys for so long that I gave up on guys entirely.
Then I met Ryan.
And I tried to get over him. Really. When I started working here, he was still with Penny. I'm a lot of things, but I'm not a home-wrecker.
I had no intentions of stealing him from her.
I have no intentions of claiming him.
He's been single for a year now. We've been friends all that time. More.
But that's all we are.
That's all we'll ever be.
I'm okay with that. Really, I am.
Being his friend is a lot better than being his nothing.
I slide his hoodie over my shoulders. Turn as I inhale the scent of him. Lemon soap, rubbing alcohol (the shop reeks of it), and something distinctly Ryan.
"You want coffee?" he asks.
"I can do it."
"Sit. I'll fix it."
"If you tell me why you're frowning."
"I'm not frowning." His lips press into a smile. It's genuine. It lights up his eyes. Softens his brow.
God, he has a nice smile. "Okay, why you were frowning."
He shrugs like nothing has ever bothered him before—a hard claim for anyone to make.
But for someone as broody as Ryan? There's no way he's selling that.
He motions to the Keurig in the lobby. "It's happening."
"I have to restock it."
"Already did it."
I bite my lip. He does this all the time—gets to the shop early or stays late, does my job for me.
It's nice, having less to do. It frees up my time. Lets me focus on graphic design instead of busywork.
But—"That's my job."
He shrugs. "I was here."
"Thanks." I guess.
He crosses the room and fills a pod with French roast.
The smell of coffee fills the room as I set up. Purse under the counter. Computer on. Come In, We're Awesome sign turned. Schedule printed.
He sets my coffee on the counter along with one container of half-and-half and another of Sugar in the Raw.
"Thanks." I tear the fixings, pour, stir. Mmm. Sweet, creamy, rich perfection. "You're weird today."
"I'm always weird."
"True." But he's being extra weird. "You miss karate or something?"
"Aikido."
"You realize you're the only person who cares about the difference."
"It's my cross to bear." His voice stays dry.
But the joke still warms me everywhere. Ryan hides his sense of humor from most people.
I get it.
I get that side of him.
I get so much of him.
But, still, my heart wants more. Even if my head knows better.
I take another long sip. There's something in those baby blues, something hurting him, but he isn't going to tell me.
He isn't the sharing feelings type.
Not that I can talk.
My heart is locked up tight. It's easier that way. Safer.
You can't fall for guys who pretend they love you if you keep them at arm's length.
You can't buy into yet another I'll change, I promise if you don't believe in someone in the first place.
And you'll never, ever suffer the rejection of being someone's second choice, if you don't care about being first.
Yes, I'm crazy about Ryan.
Yes, we're best friends.
We hang out. We run. We mock bad TV and eat dinner and tease each other about how we fix our coffee.
We don't pour our hearts out.
"You sure you're okay?" I ask.
His gaze goes to the bright blue sky outside the windows then it's back on me. "I'll get there."
"You want to talk about it?"