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“Not even when you were drunk?” Ryan presses his palm against his thigh.
“Never.”
“Nothing?”
“Nothing.”
“Not even a kiss?”
“What about nothing is confusing to you?”
“The way you flirt.”
“We don’t.”
“He offered to make you come.”
“He was kidding.”
“Didn’t bother you.”
“Because he’s just being stupid.”
“He asked you to take out your tits and give him a hand job.”
“He’s just proving a point.”
“What the fuck point is that?”
Something about how Ryan isn’t into me. How I need to get over that idea.
But Ryan’s jealous.
His brow furrows. His jaw cricks. His palm rises, curls into a fist. He blinks, and it’s flat on his thigh again.
People are only jealous of things they want. There must be a part of him that wants me.
Somewhere.
“You can tell me if it’s Dean,” he says.
“It’s not.”
He nods okay, but it’s clear he doesn’t believe me.
Maybe I should let him believe it’s Dean. It will be easier doing this if he isn’t pressing me for details every three seconds.
I turn over my options until a buzz cuts through my thoughts.
Ryan’s phone.
His brow furrows as he stares.
“Dean?”
“Penny likes our photo. Aww, young love. How sweet.”
“God, her nerve.” Anger courses through my veins. I forg
