“This is a solo spot.”
“You literally have enough room for a picnic in here.” He tilts his head. “Come on, move.”
I sigh and move over just a notch. He steps up onto the bumper and swings himself into the back of the truck, settling down beside me with his legs stretched out. “You always come out here?”
“Sometimes.” I nod. “If I’ve been in my room for too long.”
He leans his head back against the panel. “I get that.”
We sit in silence for a little while and then his gaze drifts to my screen. “What are you even working on?”
“Auscultation practice. I’m reviewing abnormal lung sounds and comparing—”
I stop explaining when I notice his eyebrows slowly climbing toward his hairline. “What?”
“That was not English.”
I scoff. “Yes, it was.”
“Pretty sure I heard at least three different languages in there,” he says, which makes me roll my eyes. “You asked.”
“I did,” he agrees easily. “Still interested. Just maybe use actual words this time?”
I fight a smile. “Fine. I’m basically listening to recordings of people’s breathing and then trying to figure out what’s wrong with them.”
Ryan nods slowly. “Ah. See, why didn’t you just say that?”
I bump my shoulder lightly into his. He huffs a quiet laugh, and as I look back at my screen. I see a notification pop up—a message. From Jacob. My body tenses before my brain even registers the words.
JACOB: was thinking about you today :)
I slam my laptop closed so fast I’m afraid I might’ve just accidentally broken it. God, is this guy serious? Does he think he can just say stuff like that? The confidence is almost impressive.
“Does he seriously still try to flirt with you?” Ryan asks. I blink at him—because I almost forgot he was here—and shrug.
“You know he’s a total asshole, right?”
I huff a laugh. “Oh, I know.”
I lean my head back against the panel as. Sometimes, I think about getting payback. You know, like stealing his clothes and shrinking them. Or putting green hair dye in his shampoo. Or even better, start a rumour that his designer clothes are fake.
Ryan lets out a snort beside me.
Wait—did I just say that out loud?
“I’m kidding,” I add quickly. “Kinda.”
He laughs softly, but then his hand comes up to the back of his neck, rubbing like something’s bothering him.
“You okay?” I ask, a little amused. He rolls his shoulder once. “Yeah. Just sore from training.”
“What did you do?”
“Coach had us running defensive takedowns for an hour,” he mutters. “Then we moved into ground control and restraint drills, getting someone down, practicing cuff placement. Over and over.”
I wince. “Damn. That sounds intense.”
“It is.”
