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“Maybe.” Definitely not.
“Those covers you showed me—”
I clear my throat. Motion to Brendon, still in his suite in the front of the shop.
Ryan’s hair falls in front of his eyes as he leans over the counter. “Why’s the title I Love Fucking Brendon with a picture of me?”
Because it’s actually I Want to Fuck Ryan. I press my lips together. Force a poker face.
It falls apart as I look him in the eyes.
“Explain.” He straightens himself as he stands. “Or I can tell—” He motions to Brendon’s suite.
“You won’t.”
He shrugs won’t I?
No. But I need to keep his guard down. “It may have said Ryan. Just Ryan. Like Cher.”
He shakes his head you’re ridiculous.
I close my computer. Slide off my stool. “You meant what you said last night? About the run?”
“Of course.”
“You ready to go?” I pick my backpack off the floor. Set it on the counter. “I can change now.”
He nods. “Meet you here in ten.”
“Sure.”
I inhale through my nose as I push the ground away. My next breath is easier. My body takes over. I fall into step next to Ryan.
We’re doing an eight-minute mile. Faster than my usual pace. Slower than his.
We’re already such a good fake couple, compromising on our running speed.
My thoughts drift away as my sneakers hit the ground.
Pounding the pavement clears my head. When I run, it doesn’t matter that I have no idea what I’m doing with my life.
It doesn’t matter that my mom chooses booze over me.
It doesn’t matter that Ryan barely knows I’m female.
Running is like sex. When it’s good, it’s the only thing that matters.
I forget about my plan. I forget about Ryan’s ex. I forget about everything except my body.
We stay like that for two miles, breathing and moving together.
The sky streaks red as Ryan stops at a water fountain. He pushes his hair behind his ear, bends, drinks.
His messy waves fall to his shoulders as he stands.
He fills his bottle then steps aside. Motions to the fountain.
I place my hands on the stone. My ass brushes his hip as I bend.
