“Um . . . what was that?”
I lift my head and look her in the eyes. “I like him . . . like him like him.”
“Oh.” She pauses, letting my words sink in.
“Yeah, oh.”
“Like, this isn’t just carnal for you?”
I shake my head. “No, it’s not. I feel drawn to him, like there’s something special about Ryot that captures me. I can’t pinpoint it, but it’s there. I want to be close to him when he’s near, and I just want to talk . . . talk about everything.” I rub my eyes. “God, Nichole, I told him about my parents last night.”
“Wait . . . what?” she asks. “Seriously?”
“Yes. He asked me out on a date, and I told him it probably wasn’t a good idea. He asked why and for some reason beyond my comprehension, I told him the truth. It just came out of me. I didn’t even second-guess it.”
“How did he react?”
“The way I would expect him to—in the sweetest way possible. Told me I don’t have to carry my baggage alone and that the right person would help me carry it, you know, the type of stuff you hear in romantic movies but never hear in real life.” I groan and rest my head back down on the counter. “I don’t need this right now.”
“Don’t need what?” Nichole asks.
“A crush,” I answer.
“Ooooooo,” Nichole coos, which just makes me want to bang my head against the counter. “My girl has a crush on a boy.”
“Nichole, don’t make this worse than it is. I’m already feeling weird about it and unsure how to navigate these feelings I really shouldn’t be having.”
“Why shouldn’t you be having them? It’s a natural thing to crush on a man who has been nothing but nice and sexy and fun.”
“I don’t have anything to offer him.”
“I bet he thinks differently.” She waggles her brows, which causes me to roll my eyes.
“You know what I mean. He seems like the forever type of man. From his baggage speech alone, I can tell he’s into relationships. He’s into dating and commitment. You know that scares the hell out of me, and I fear I’ll hurt him if I go out with him. That’s the last thing I want to do.”
“So what are you going to do?” Nichole asks me. “Just never get involved with anyone?”
“You aren’t involved with anyone,” I point out.
“Because I’m not ready to settle down yet. I’m having fun, and nothing is wrong with that. And when the right man does come along, then yes, I will settle down, get married, and have kids, but I’m still young. I’m a free spirit. I love sex, and I will not stop because society’s standards say I should be married at a certain age. But the difference between you and me is that I’m not avoiding relationships, and I’m not pushing men away out of fear of hurting them. I just know what I want right now. And that is fun. What do you want, Myla?”
“I don’t know,” I groan just as my phone dings on the countertop. I glance at the screen and see it’s a message on my Instagram.
Nichole glances at my phone. “Is that him?”
“I’m thinking yeah.” I pick up my phone and open the app, where I find a message from Ryot.Bisley.Balls. I let out a large sigh. “Yup, it’s him.”
Nichole chuckles. “You picked the wrong brother. I got the player, and you got the sweetheart, relationship-prone one. Now you must decide what you’re going to do about it.”
She takes her coffee and heads back into her room, leaving me alone with my phone.
My thumb hovers over his name, and I consider swiping to the left to delete the message without even reading it. Despite my brain telling myself to do just that, I don’t. I tap the message. Even though I know it’s not right, I still want to see what he has to say.
Ryot.Bisley.Balls: You know, I did some thinking last night after we said goodbye. I think you got the wrong impression of me, and I believe I need to prove you wrong.
Don’t message him back.
It will only lead to trouble.
It will lead to something I’m not ready for.
Yet . . . he’s so playful, a breath of fresh air, an unexpected return to my life I didn’t know I missed. Which is crazy, because we’ve only been around each other three times. That’s it. Sure, we’ve messaged a lot, but that’s it. So why does it feel like I know this man when I really don’t? Why do I feel desperate to talk to him? To be around him?
My brain wavers between deleting and messaging him back.
This is the last thing I need. I still haven’t figured out what I want to do with my life because I can’t be a server forever. And that shows how far off I am from committing to a man in a relationship. I’m just not there yet.
Setting my phone down, I move away from it and into the kitchen, where I open the fridge and pull out a container of my overnight oats. The entire time, the message burns a hole in my brain. From the silverware drawer, I grab a spoon and take my pre-made peanut butter oats back to the island and have a seat. I stare at my phone.
My phone stares back at me.
Don’t, Myla. Don’t answer the message.
Don’t even think about it.
It’s a valiant effort, truly, but let’s all be honest here. No way can I let that message go unanswered.
I pick my phone up and message him back.
DrinkWithMe: What sort of impression do you think I have of you?
Once I press send, I set the phone down and squeeze my eyes shut. God, what am I doing? Why am I entertaining this? I know where it’s going to lead. There’s no way we can just talk. There will be some sort of endgame, and that will probably be a date.
Am I ready for a date?
No.
Not even close.
I don’t think I’m mentally prepared for anything past a fun night of flirting, which is all I’ve ever done with him.
My phone dings, and I pick it up so fast I nearly knock over my oats.
I open the app and click on his message.
Ryot.Bisley.Balls: The whole boring in bed thing.
DrinkWithMe: Oh, well, is it not true?
He types right away.
Ryot.Bisley.Balls: No. Boring is not how I would describe it. More like . . . cries when he comes.
I nearly spit out my mouthful as I laugh so loud that Nichole calls from her bedroom. “Not ready for dating, my ass.”
“Shut up, Nichole,” I call out.
Chapter Seven
MYLA
Present day . . .
“Are you sure you want to do this?” Nichole asks as she hands me the last of the food from the kitchen fridge. Am I sure? No, not at all. But I don’t know what else to do.
“Last night wasn’t okay,” I answer as I place the apples in the fruit bin. “I can’t move out as I have nowhere to go yet, but I can draw a line in the sand, so to speak, to set stronger boundaries inside this house.”
Nichole takes a seat on the stairs that lead from the garage to the kitchen. “Okay. I get that. What did he do? I know you were a mess, but a silent one, and that worried me.”
It worried me too. I cried myself to sleep. Again.