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“What about it?”
“What were you like in high school? Were you already a shameless flirt?”
“I wore eyeliner and painted my nails black.”
“Do you have pictures?”
“Somewhere.”
“I bet you looked hot in black eyeliner.”
“Is that all you think about?”
“No,” I say. “It's just easier to think about hot Luke in eyeliner than to think about sad, teenage Luke mourning his mom.”
“You don't have to think about him.”
“I want to,” I say. “He's still a part of you.”
“What about lonely, teenage Alyssa?”
“She's still destroying her life.”
“Don't say that.”
“I should go.”
“Or you could stay,” he says. “Spend the night. Let me make you breakfast.”
“I can't.”
“We'll have to talk about it soon.”
“I know, but let me enjoy a little more time with you first,” I say. I press my lips to his and he murmurs some agreement.
His hands find my hips, pressing my body into his. He's hard. I fight a sigh. If only we had time for another round. If only it didn't mean I'd need a shower before I went home to my fiancé.
Chapter 29
The week goes slowly. Days on set are long and I can't bring myself to pretend the books on my Kindle are more interesting than replaying the last few weeks in my head. I would never hurt Ryan if I didn't have to, if I wasn't missing something, if I didn't need whatever it is that Luke is giving me.
Don't get ahead of yourself. All he's given you is a few orgasms and a tragic backstory. You really think he's going to let a pathetic whore like you replace his sweet, innocent fiancée?
Ex-fiancée.
I manage to avoid Luke and Ryan, turning off my phone for days at a time. Ryan complains about missing me in his bed. He tries to kiss me or touch me or get me out of my clothes, but I claim exhaustion. “Is this because of him?” he asks, and I shake my head, no. But it is because of Luke. It is because it hurts twice as much to think of Luke when I'm lying next to Ryan.
I sleep in Ryan's bed after that. Is it because I want to lessen his suspicions or because I want to feel his body near mine? I don't know. And I am so tired I can't bring myself to care.
The weekend is twice as painful. My only respite is a hike with Laurie. She drills me about Ryan and the mysterious other man, but I stay quiet.
Finally, on Sunday night, I turn on my phone, and check my texts from Luke.
“Come to my house in the morning. As early as you want. You leave before Ryan. He'll never know you left early.”
“Are you staying at the house again?” I reply.
“Jesus. Where have you been?” he replies.
