He dips his head. “Yeah.”
“So that means we can’t go to any raves. That’s not my scene anyway.” He doesn’t seem to be too impressed with my causal attitude about it. I’m just trying to assure him that it’s not a big deal. “Besides meds and avoiding bright lights, are there any other treatment options?”
He takes another bite of his pizza after saying, “Well there’s diet, which I am clearly not following, implants, and surgery.”
“All of that sounds expensive.”
“Yep.” He drinks his soda and leans back in the chair. A pizza crust remains behind on his plate. He’s not going to eat that? But the crust is the best part. It’s your reward for eating the whole slice.
I point to his finger. “I thought you were going to say you were married.”
He pulls his hands off the table and his expression changes—sadder, softer. “I’m no longer married. It happened about a year ago.” He blushes. “You’re the first date I’ve been on.”
“Fuuuuuuuuuuck,” I whisper. Mind blown. “Okay—crash course on dating: everyone sucks. Sometimes they’re cute, but they don’t show the right emotions when someone shares something deeply personal and they deflect with humor because it’s easier than being vulnerable again.”
He folds his pizza in half and points it at me, making a little circle with it but the tip flops over. “So that’s what this is?”
“Yep. Emotional detachment. It’s safer until trust can be earned. Oh and don’t worry about the tan line on your finger, I’ve seen guys on the dating scene have them.”
He takes a bite and chews for a few minutes. “Sounds like I’m not the only one with issues.”
“I have more baggage than an airport.” He doesn’t pry or ask follow-ups, which makes me want to give him all the gory details of my life. “Shitty ex, big, mean, always lying, taking my money, breaking promises, all that shit.”
I don’t mention the bruises or the time he choked me until I blacked out. And that wasn’t enough for me to leave him. There wasn’t one big pivot moment of self-confidence. I saw an opportunity one day and took it. I left him and most of my furniture, took my name off the lease, and started a new life on the other side of the city. Hell, I even changed offices so it would be harder for him to find me.
But Ryan isn’t like that. He closes his eyes and says, “I’m sorry you went through that.”
I start eating and we both take a few bites in silence. “Let’s talk about fun stuff.” And we do. Movies, memes, music. The rest of the night is legit fun. We walk around a park for a little while, the chilly air and the autumn leaves, with the ever-present smell of pumpkin spice. This feels like it could be in a Hallmark movie. It’s kinda perfect.
Once we’re at my car, he pushes his light-brown hair out of the way and shifts nervously from side to side. I know thisanxiety—Fox gives it to me all the time. It's oddly powerful but sort of mean to put Ryan through it. “Will you be eating dinner again, say, same time next week?” I ask.
He blushes. “I will be. Maybe we can go someplace with metal forks and a menu that isn’t sticky.”
I put my hand on my chest and toss my hair over my shoulder. “You spoil me, sir.”
Then I see it—the change. There’s a shift from carefree laughter to something darker, needier. I haven’t seen anything like that in so long. Fox might look at me like that, but the mask hides it. I know I like it.
Ryan steps closer into my space, placing his hand on the hood of the car—not really trapping me, but securing me in place. He leans in and I meet him halfway. The kiss starts slow and light. Not quite chaste, but not hot and passionate. It’s permission, consent. Fox has never kissed me like this. His kisses are hard and rough. They make me feel wanted and needed. Ryan’s kiss is different—there’s longing and hope.
Then his fingers snake through my hair, keeping me locked in his embrace, and I want more. But he loosens his grip and pulls away. His eyes are still closed and his cheeks have a dash of pink. He’s the freaking cutest ever. “I’ll pick someplace nice.” His hand drops to the car door and he opens it. “Get home safe, Amber.”
“You too.”
Once I’m strapped in and the car is on, he closes the door and steps back. I roll down the window for one last goodbye. “I’ll text you later.” I secretly wish for a time machine to make next week happen now, but I don’t want to push my luck.
By the time I’m walking through the front door of my apartment complex, there’s a text from Fox.
Fox: We good?
Me: Yeah.
We are. Ryan is different—kind and warm. But Fox is raw and primal.
Me: You wanna meet at the club soon?
Fox: Were you a good girl?
Me: I’m not seeing him for another week.
