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It’s not like I want to stay married to him. I fucking want that divorce. The sooner, the better.
But the illogical, insane part of my brain is very loud and very insistent that Ryker will be yet another person who’ll have to take legal action to get rid of me.
“And for fuck’s sake, lower your voice,” I whisper, very much belatedly. I just need him to stop saying the h-word. “Why are you even here?”
His jaw clenches. Congrats, me. You’ve just managed to piss off arguably the nicest, most laid-back dude in the world.
He takes a deep breath and tries to be subtle about it, but he fails miserably.
“I thought I’d see if you wanted to grab dinner,” he says tightly.
I expect there to be a but tacked onto it.
“I thought I’d see if you wanted to grab dinner, but you’re such a miserable fucker I’m not in the mood anymore.”
It’s what he should say. Instead, he just looks at me expectantly.
“Why?” I ask.
“Because food is good? Necessary? Something you should consume every once in a while?” he offers in that same exasperated tone from before.
I keep staring.
“And then,” he continues, and now the flush deepens, moving up from his neck to his cheeks, and he avoids looking at me. “Then I thought maybe we could go to my place. After. Or yours. If you prefer yours.”
I swallow hard. My cock jerks eagerly, totally, one hundred percent onboard with that plan.
“Why?” I repeat.
The flush deepens.
“You know why,” he says.
“No, I really don’t. You’re gonna have to spell it out for me.”
He licks his lips, and then he’s actually looking at me. His chin lifts slightly. Defiant when faced with a challenge.
“To finish what we started.”
“Well, well, well.” I tilt my head to the side. “The golden boy wants to be fucked.”
“I…” He looks down at the table before he meets my gaze again. “I mean, I don’t…” He lets out a deep breath and drags his fingers through his hair. “Somebody pointed out to me that right now is the time to try things. Experiment, I guess.”
I turn the page of my textbook just so I have something to do with my hands, because otherwise I might just do something stupid. Like punch him. Or kiss him.
“That’s nice,” I say in my most measured tone while my insides boil with anger. “For you.”
“Meaning?”
I slam my book shut and get up from my seat.
“Meaning it’s nice that you get to just decide to try shit out like the consequences don’t matter at all.”
I yank my backpack open and start stuffing my shit in.
“Meaning it’s nice that you just assume you can snap your fingers, and I’ll jump. Once again, you didn’t buy me, James.”
I throw my backpack over my shoulder and straighten up, facing him head-on.
