Total pages in book: 96
Estimated words: 95019 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 475(@200wpm)___ 380(@250wpm)___ 317(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 95019 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 475(@200wpm)___ 380(@250wpm)___ 317(@300wpm)
“Everything okay?” Angie asks, yanking me from my ruminations.
She sits on the edge of the love seat Lance and I are playing from.
“Huh?”
“You seem anxious, even for you,” she teases, and I force a smile.
She would notice as much in any of the other guys, but it’s one of the things I enjoy about her. She’s thoughtful.
Kind.
Caring.
Pretty much the opposite of a dick like Ryan, who can’t even be bothered to reply to my text about tonight’s tango lesson. Don’t know why he can’t do the bare minimum when he knows he’s gonna have to deal with me sooner or later.
“Nothing. I think I need to head to bed. It’s been a long day, and I have a test tomorrow.”
Frat Cat meows, either demanding more scritches or saying liar. Maybe a little of both. I wait for a good stopping point in the game, then say my goodbyes to the crew and Frat Cat, knowing full well I won’t magically be able to get to sleep.
When I reach my room, I hear music on the other side of the door. Not blaring, but loud enough to pinch at my nerves before I hurry in. The heavy metal assaults my ears, agitating me even more than seeing Ryan standing at the mirror in the bathroom, a towel around his waist, his hair messy since I guess he just took a shower.
Now I’m really pissed.
I head over to the desk and turn off the music, which doesn’t elicit any response from him. Is this some fucked-up silent treatment?
“Thanks for replying to my last message, by the way,” I say, not attempting to disguise my irritation.
“No problem.” He applies lotion to his face, his words the only assurance that he heard me or is even willing to acknowledge my existence.
I rest my hip against the doorframe, folding my arms. It’s like I’m posing in the mirror in the perfect frustrated stance. “I was being facetious because a reply would have been nice.”
He still won’t look at me. Maybe I was right about his visit with his parents.
“Sorry, man,” is all he says.
This is not the Ryan Lorde I’m used to. Where’s the sarcasm? Where’s the assholery? Where the hell is my frathole?
“I’m tired,” he adds, wiping his hands on his towel. “I don’t think I’m up for any dance lessons tonight. Probably just gonna pass out.”
He tosses the towel off, granting me a full view of the moon and his North Star before approaching me. I stay in his way, but when he still won’t look at me, I finally give him space, and he breezes into the room and rolls onto his air mattress.
Despite my annoyance with his behavior, I have to believe I was right. Maybe what we did has caught up with him, and he can’t play it cool while he’s struggling.
“Hey,” I say, forcing myself to say the word in as calm a manner as I can manage. “Will you talk to me?”
He closes his eyes as though he’s got a migraine. “Something on your mind?”
“Ryan, you don’t have to do this.”
“Do what?” he asks, opening his eyes and wincing.
“Pretend nothing happened last night. Or be weird about this.”
“I’m not being weird about anything.”
I glare at him. “It’s pretty clear something’s happened between this morning and now. You didn’t reply to my text. And now you’re practically giving me the silent treatment.” I take a breath. “This is a lot. And you like to pretend nothing fazes you. Like you don’t give a shit about anything, but it’s okay to not be okay with everything you’re going through right now.”
He sits up, his eyebrow quirked. “And what, exactly, am I going through right now?”
I want to meet him at his level, so I get down on my knees. “Whatever we’re trying to figure out, we can help each other. Don’t shut me out. We don’t have to do anything else. That can be the end of it, and I’ll be fine…” Even as I say the words, they’re hollow because part of what’s bothering me so much is not having those lips again; life feels so much worse now that I know how good it can be with his face mashed up against mine. “…but I’m dealing with the same stuff, Ryan. You’re not alone.”
He huffs. “You know, you can be a lot less of a prick than you act like most of the time.”
“I wish I could say the same about you,” I tease.
His lips curl into his dimples, so at least that cheered him up.
“So let me get this straight,” he says. “You think I’m acting this way because I regret what we did last night and now I’m questioning my sexuality and wanting to pretend it never happened?”
“Oh, look. You’re also not as dumb as you act most of the time.”