"Don't have a fucking clue what we're talking about."
"Your jeans."
I bring my hand to her ass and hold her body against mine.
She groans as my hard-on brushes her stomach. "You're too good at this."
"You complaining?"
"No." She takes another step backward. Kicks the bedroom door open. "I just…" She steps into my bedroom. "I had this epic plan of winding you up and leaving you wanting."
"Now?"
She shakes her head. "Take off your pants."
"What if I like your plan?"
Her groan is agony.
"What if I want you on edge all fucking night?"
"Ryan—"
"Yeah, baby?"
"You're evil."
"I know."
She slides her hand under my t-shirt. Presses her palm flat against my stomach. "You're supposed to be desperate."
"I am."
"But you're so—" She looks up at me, her blue eyes wide with lust. "In control."
"Don't tell me you don't like it."
Her purple hair falls in front of her eyes as she shakes her head.
"That a yes or a no?"
She backs herself onto my bed. "I fucking love it." Her lips press together. She lies on her side, draping herself over my black sheets as she pats the spot next to her.
She looks like a centerfold.
She's fucking perfect.
But this is all wrong.
This is so fucking wrong.
There hasn't been a naked woman in my bed since—
Fuck.
My head fills with that awful mental image. Penny under Frank. His name rolling off her lips. Her nails digging into his back. Her honey eyes filling with relief.
I can't fuck Leighton in my bed.
I can't even fuck myself in my bed.
Leighton pulls the sheets against her chest. The same way Penny did.
The same fucking—
"Ryan?" Her voice gets soft.
"I can't. Not here."
"Oh." Her blue-green eyes turn down. Her lips press together. "Did I do something?"
"No, Leigh. It's me."
"I thought you were over…" Her voice trails to a whisper. Her brow furrows. She can't bear to finish her sentence. She can't bear my bullshit.
"Me too."
"So you're still…"
I nod to the hallway. "Let's go to the couch."
She shakes her head. "No, uh… I… I'm gonna get dressed." She stares into my eyes.
She's asking for something.
But I don't have a fucking clue what it is.
She must not find it, because she looks away with a frown.
Slowly, she slides off the bed, pulls the mirrored closet door open, and dives into the top drawer of the black dresser—her drawer.
"Could you give me a minute?" She hugs the black sheets to her chest.
"It's not you, Leigh."
"I believe you."
But she doesn't. It's written all over her face.
"It's just not… I don't want to think about her either." She swallows hard. "It's okay. Really. I'm starving anyway."
"I'll make you something."
"No." Her voice drops to a whisper. "I should probably—"
"Stay."
"Maybe."
"Let's get street tacos."
Her voice perks. "Yeah?"
"Your pick. You can school me on how to make them."
"You didn't add any cilantro last time."
"I'm a monster."
She nods, but there's no enthusiasm in it.
She's pulling away.
I can't let that happen.
I need to fix this.
But that means fixing my head.
And I don't have a fucking clue how to do that.
Chapter Thirty-Five
Ryan
Leighton shifts her weight between her heels. She taps her grey jeans with her silver fingernails. Adjusts the lacing on her tank top.
Fuck. It's like she's wearing this shit to make some point about what an idiot I am for not taking her against the wall.
No arguments here.
I'd kill to turn off the part of my brain that throws up the brakes. That part that's still tied to my ex-girlfriend.
I'd kill to pry that last bit of my heart from Penny's French manicured grasp.
The couple in front of us rises to their tiptoes to order at the window. The guy wraps his arms around the girl. Laughs at some joke as he hands over a twenty-dollar bill.
Leighton taps her cork sandal against the pavement. "I'll order."
"I know."
"I'll get it too. You can find us someplace to sit."
"We can go back to the apartment."
"I don't want to be there."
I bite my tongue. She's pissed. I get that. I deserve it.
If she needs time to deal with that, fine.
But I need to know.
She motions to another couple sitting on the curb. "Let's grab that spot."
"All right." I'm being a hypocrite—holding onto all this instead of explaining it to her. But I don't know how to put it into my words. I don't know how to make her understand.
It's not that I still love Penny.
It's not that I want her.
It's the scar tissue. I don't know how to heal it. I don't know if it's possible to heal it.
Am I going to walk around struggling to trust people for the rest of my life?
Wondering if I'll ever be enough for a woman?
Looking for evidence in every sigh or frown?
I find an empty spot on the curb a block away. Watch Leighton turn on the charm as she orders and pays.
She's magnetic. Nobody can resist her smile. Or her laugh. Or the way she curls her hair around her finger in that I'm thinking about you naked way.
She steps aside. Joins the dozen people waiting in front of a closed furniture shop.
Her hips sway as she shifts her weight between her heels. Her nervous gestures stay the same. She keeps tapping her nails against her thighs. She keeps avoiding my gaze.
A short guy picks up his order. Drowns a burrito in red salsa.
A tall guy squeezes lime on his tacos.
A curvy woman adorns an enchilada plate with cilantro.
Leighton turns to me. Her eyes meet mine. They're still asking for something. And I still don't know what it is.
We stare like that forever.
Until the happy couple steps in front of her to grab their takeout order. They laugh like they're the first people to discover love.
I want to hate them, but I can't. I remember that feeling. I don't miss Penny, but I miss the intoxication. I miss being able to let my guard down. Being able to love someone without wondering when the other shoe is gonna drop.
Leighton knows my head is a mess.
But that's different than living in it.
I need to explain this to her. Or convince her it doesn't matter.
But it does.
And I don't know when I'll feel normal.
If I'll ever feel normal.
She taps her heels together as the guy calls her name. Her eyes fix on me. She motions come here.