"Not like that."
"Yeah, like that. You give me shit about not eating."
"Someone has to take care of you."
Warmth spreads to my fingers and toes. He wants to take care of me. God, does he have any idea what he does to me?
What that means to me?
I feel it everywhere.
My eyelids press together. My head fills with images of a life together. A real one. Waking up in his bed. His arms around me as he scrambles eggs. The two of us arguing about coffee roasts, opting to use the French press so we each get exactly what we want. The smell of java filling the air.
Those soft lips on my neck.
Those calloused fingers between my legs.
That hard cock—
His cell's buzz pulls me from my dirty thoughts.
He pulls out his phone and checks a text. "Fuck."
"What?"
"Dean." He taps a reply into his phone. "He's throwing us a pool party."
"Why?"
"To celebrate our anniversary."
"How long have we been dating?"
"Six months."
"Not bad."
"All bad." His brow furrows as he stares at his cell. "He's inviting their mutual friends. His friends. Everybody."
"It's a chance to rub this in Penny's face. That's good."
"It's Dean. It's bad."
"Does he even have a pool?"
Ryan's eyes fix on mine. They fill with confusion. "You've never been to his place?"
"Why would I?"
"You hang all the time."
"At the shop. At bars. With Walker. And sometimes with you and Brendon. But never alone."
"Never?"
"Okay, sometimes." It's only natural for us to talk a lot. There are slow times, between appointments, where there's nothing else to do. Dean is nosy, obnoxious, and over-the-top, but he's also entertaining. "But not at his place."
His eyes bore into mine. "You and Dean haven't?"
"Haven't what?"
He stares back at me.
"No. God no." I would never sleep with Dean. Ever. He's a good friend. But he's so…
He's a slut.
And that's good for him.
But I don't want to wonder where his dick has been.
That was it at first. But now…
He's like a brother. It's weird even considering the possibility of kissing him.
"Not even when you were drunk?" Ryan presses his palm against his thigh.
"Never."
"Nothing?"
"Nothing."
"Not even a kiss?"
"What about nothing is confusing to you?"
"The way you flirt."
"We don't."
"He offered to make you come."
"He was kidding."
"Didn't bother you."
"Because he's just being stupid."
"He asked you to take out your tits and give him a hand job."
"He's just proving a point."
"What the fuck point is that?"
Something about how Ryan isn't into me. How I need to get over that idea.
But Ryan's jealous.
His brow furrows. His jaw cricks. His palm rises, curls into a fist. He blinks, and it's flat on his thigh again.
People are only jealous of things they want. There must be a part of him that wants me.
Somewhere.
"You can tell me if it's Dean," he says.
"It's not."
He nods okay, but it's clear he doesn't believe me.
Maybe I should let him believe it's Dean. It will be easier doing this if he isn't pressing me for details every three seconds.
I turn over my options until a buzz cuts through my thoughts.
Ryan's phone.
His brow furrows as he stares.
"Dean?"
"Penny likes our photo. Aww, young love. How sweet."
"God, her nerve." Anger courses through my veins. I forget about Ryan's jealousy. About Dean. About everything but how badly I want to put a million miles between Ryan and his ex.
"She's trying."
"You trust her?"
"No." He sets his phone on the table facedown. "But I want to."
"She can't make amends better than asking you to do her a favor."
"It's not for her."
My heart pounds. He's sharing something with me. I need it. All of it.
"It costs me too much energy hating her."
"But she deserves it."
"That doesn't do shit for me."
It's a valid point.
Incredibly mature.
Incredibly unappealing.
"I still hate her." My stomach churns. I should get over it, for his sake, but I can't.
"You don't have to."
"How could I not? She destroyed you, Ryan." My voice rises to something much too loud for the family restaurant. "You were about to fall apart. For months."
He stares back at me with those piercing blue eyes.
"You barely got through it. And she doesn't even care. She doesn't care that she destroyed you."
"I'm here."
"But you're—"
"Hopeless?"
"No, I—"
"That's what you think of me."
"It isn't." I press my palms against the table. "Stop telling me how I feel."
"Stop making me guess."
My fingers dig into the table.
"You make me guess everything, Leigh."
"And you?"
He ignores the question. "It's been two years. You still haven't told me why you left Rock Bottom."
"And you're always sharing your feelings with me?"
"You don't ask."
No. I must. I want them so badly. I must ask. "I do too."
He shakes his head. "You think I won't talk to you?"
Yes. "I don't know."
"I will."
"Then tell me about Penny. About how it ended."
"Tell me who this guy is."
"I thought you'd talk."
"I will."
"That's a fucking ultimatum, Ryan. Sharing isn't quid pro quo."
His eyes fill with frustration. "You talk to Dean about why you left Rock Bottom?"
"No."
"You two laugh about how hopeless I am?"
"I DON'T THINK YOU'RE HOPELESS."
He stares at me.
I stare back.
"Why can't you admit it's Dean."
"That's ridiculous."
"It's not."
"Yes. It is. I know how I feel."
"But I don't."
We return to our staring contest.
His expression screws with confusion.
It's my fault.
Of course he's confused. He's looking for Mr. Powers' identity. There are only two obvious possibilities. Ryan and Dean. But Ryan is never going to see that it's him.
I want to tell him the truth. I want to do whatever it takes to erase the hurt in his eyes.
But I can't.
If I tell him, he'll leave.
Maybe I can tell him the rest, but I sure as hell can't tell him this.