A cute Hispanic guy. Dark eyes, tan skin, devilish smile. Total fling material. If I had any interest in a guy who isn't Ryan.
I flirt anyway. Help Ryan earn a forty percent tip.
He nods goodbye to his customer then turns to me. "Really?"
"Really?" I point to the tip on the receipt.
"You're stealing my credit."
"Show off your boobs. Steal it back."
His chuckle is soft. "Aren't you cold in that?"
My high-waisted shorts, key-hole white crop top combination is perfect for the eighty-degree weather outside. But in here? "Thank you. I'd love it if you turned down the AC."
He shakes his head. No way is that happening. "How's the homework?"
"Good. Thanks."
"Show me."
I check that the Ryan Maddox tab is closed, pull up the best mock-up, turn the computer to him. "What do you think?"
His gaze fixes on the screen. His brow knits with concentration. His hand slides into the front pocket of his black skinny jeans. "Good. Clean."
"But…"
"You're good at this."
My cheeks flush. "You don't—"
"Yeah. I do." His eyes fix on mine. "Good enough to charge."
"Maybe." Definitely not.
"Those covers you showed me—"
I clear my throat. Motion to Brendon, still in his suite in the front of the shop.
Ryan's hair falls in front of his eyes as he leans over the counter. "Why's the title I Love Fucking Brendon with a picture of me?"
Because it's actually I Want to Fuck Ryan. I press my lips together. Force a poker face.
It falls apart as I look him in the eyes.
"Explain." He straightens himself as he stands. "Or I can tell—" He motions to Brendon's suite.
"You won't."
He shrugs won't I?
No. But I need to keep his guard down. "It may have said Ryan. Just Ryan. Like Cher."
He shakes his head you're ridiculous.
I close my computer. Slide off my stool. "You meant what you said last night? About the run?"
"Of course."
"You ready to go?" I pick my backpack off the floor. Set it on the counter. "I can change now."
He nods. "Meet you here in ten."
"Sure."
I inhale through my nose as I push the ground away. My next breath is easier. My body takes over. I fall into step next to Ryan.
We're doing an eight-minute mile. Faster than my usual pace. Slower than his.
We're already such a good fake couple, compromising on our running speed.
My thoughts drift away as my sneakers hit the ground.
Pounding the pavement clears my head. When I run, it doesn't matter that I have no idea what I'm doing with my life.
It doesn't matter that my mom chooses booze over me.
It doesn't matter that Ryan barely knows I'm female.
Running is like sex. When it's good, it's the only thing that matters.
I forget about my plan. I forget about Ryan's ex. I forget about everything except my body.
We stay like that for two miles, breathing and moving together.
The sky streaks red as Ryan stops at a water fountain. He pushes his hair behind his ear, bends, drinks.
His messy waves fall to his shoulders as he stands.
He fills his bottle then steps aside. Motions to the fountain.
I place my hands on the stone. My ass brushes his hip as I bend.
My body buzzes. The water is cold on my lips, tongue, cheeks, but it does nothing to temper the heat racing through me.
He runs his hand through his hair. "You good?"
I'd be better if we were naked. "Yeah."
"You're welcome."
I flip him off.
He chuckles.
This is it. He's relaxed. We're sweaty and half-naked. And losing the light.
I pull out my cell. "Let's take a picture."
He raises a brow.
"Life doesn't happen unless you document it on social media."
"I don't do social media."
"You post all of your tattoos on Instagram."
"That's for work."
"You have a Facebook. You just ignore it." Or, more accurately, he's ignored it since he and Penny broke up.
But that's an ugly technicality.
He pulls out his cell. "I'll do you first."
Yes. Strip off my shorts and panties then plant your head between my legs. I want to tug on your hair as I come. "I'm a mess."
"How?"
I motion to my flushed, sweaty face.
"You look just fucked."
"I'm wearing too many clothes."
He shakes his head. "You're wearing nothing."
"Uh… Okay." This is good. I'm wearing nothing. I look just fucked. If I post this, write something sexy, Penny will see it.
Text him.
Like it.
Somehow goad him into doing this.
I smile, attempting a casual pose.
He stares at the cell screen.
I press my lips into a smile.
Click.
I cock my hip. Muss my hair. Shoot the camera fuck me eyes.
Click.
There's a picture of me on his phone. There's a picture of me in a sports bra and tiny shorts on his phone.
My blush spreads over my chest. I force myself to look up at the sky. Throw my hand over my eyes. Pretend as if I'm endlessly fascinated by a plane flying overhead.
Click.
I brush my sweaty hair behind my ears. "I look terrible, don't I?"
"You're better than baiting for compliments."
"You don't understand the insecurity a girl feels posing for photos without makeup."
"You call this without makeup?"
Okay, so I don't leave home without winged eyeliner and dark lipstick. That isn't a crime. "With less makeup."
"You look perfect, Leigh. Like a punk rock princess."
"You know that's a Something Corporate song."
"I knew the first time you told me." He stares at the screen. "Still suits you."
I shake my head you're ridiculous, even though I love the nickname.
I love that he thinks I'm a punk rock princess.
I love that he notices my hair, clothes, and makeup.
I turn back to Ryan, uncap my water bottle, suck the last drop of water from the mouthpiece.
Click.
"Not sure I get this, Leigh."
"It's fun." I pull my cell out. "Your turn."
He shoots me that you're ridiculous look, but he still straightens his t-shirt.
He stares up at the sky like all his hopes and dreams are in the sunset. Click.
He turns to the camera. His piercing blue eyes fill with this gorgeous mix of hurt and frustration. Click.
Then he blinks, and it's garden grade exhaustion. Click.
I move closer. "Take one with me."
His eyes light up with epiphany. "No."
"Why not?"
"You're better than this."
"Than posing during a run with my best friend?"
His expression softens. It means something to him, being my best friend.
It's my chance to strike. "I'll post it on Facebook. Tag you. That's it." I cross my fingers behind my back. "Maybe make one little suggestive comment."