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“I’m just saying—”
“That not all guys are secretly married and using you as their sidepiece? Don’t you think I know that?”
Ryan raises an eyebrow at me. “Do you?”
I huff and choose to ignore that question. “It would be pointless, anyway. You know I’ve never been able to tell if somebody’s flirting with me, so I can’t figure out if he’s actually interested or not. I just can’t seem to—”
“He keeps checking you out,” Ryan interrupts.
I can’t help but take another glance. Hot subway guy’s gaze is glued to his notebook.
“No, he doesn’t.”
“He does. He just hides it a lot better than you. Seriously, dude. You’re as subtle as a brick to the face.”
I look toward my subway guy. Is he? Can it be? Ryan wouldn’t just blatantly lie to my face, but what if he’s wrong? I very much lack the software needed to detect somebody else’s interest in me, so I only manage to unravel the most blatant of clues. Basically, the dreamy subway guy would have to take out his dick and suggestively wave it at me for me to get the hint. And then somebody would call the cops, thus ending our budding romance. We were doomed from the start is what I’m saying, so there’s no point in even trying to start anything.
Ryan pats my knee.
“You’ll be fine. Just give it a shot. Trust me, he’s interested.”
The subway guy chooses this exact moment to look up. His gaze moves over the passengers until he reaches Ryan and me, then he takes a lightning-quick look at Ryan’s palm still resting on my thigh, and then he looks past us. I squeeze my eyes shut.
“Even if he was checking me out at one point, he’ll think we’re a couple now.” I groan.
Ryan raises his brow.
“I thought you weren’t going to talk to him anyway, so what does it matter?”
“I’d still like to maintain the illusion that something might happen. It’s what gets me through the day.”
Ryan grabs his bag and gets up. He leans forward.
“Consider this a favor, in that case,” he says in a low voice before he straightens up. “Bye, August!” he says in a voice so loud that every other person in the car looks toward us. “I’m now going to go to fuck my husband, because I’m… married. We’re very happy. Being in the holy matrimony is the best! Not that you’d know, seeing as you’re one hundred percent single.”
“I hate you,” I whisper after him frantically.
“You love me,” he throws over his shoulder. “In a completely platonic, non-sexual way, of course.” The last sentence is, again, delivered in a booming baritone.
Fantastic. Now I have to change my name and move to Alaska. I’ll get lost in the tundra and die in the most gruesome way possible after a grizzly bear catches the scent of my unwashed body and mauls me to death. At twenty-five. I’m way too young to die!
I venture a glance toward hot subway dude. He’s not looking at me, but he has a small smile on his face. That doesn’t necessarily mean he’s laughing at me, though. Maybe he just found a funny recipe?
He dashes that hope by sending another lightning-quick glance my way. The smirk widens. Awesome. That’s just what you want from a hot guy—for him to think you’re a fucking clown.
I escape the subway car a stop early and walk the rest of the way.
So much for the grand romance I built up in my head.
2
Caleb
Seven thirty is the highlight of my day. That’s when I see him.
August. That’s what the guy he’s with on most mornings called him.
August. I repeat the name in my head. It suits him. His smile has a late summer’s warmth to it.
