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“I did!”
“Yeah. First your scarf, and now your phone? I don’t think so.”
“Just call me, okay?”
He dug out his phone. Still staring at it, he added in a particularly snide voice, “Nice T-shirt.”
“What?”
“Didn’t have time to change?”
Not far away, my phone started ringing. I ignored it. “What are you talking about?”
“You know, I didn’t really believe you at first. About your ad-agency boyfriend. But you two were really going at it yesterday.”
That damn Kiss-Cam. I kept my voice flat. “You’re talking about John.”
He stepped up a row of seats, heading toward my phone. “Yeah. You’d convinced me you were actually legitimately shy. Guess not.”
The hollow feeling in my stomach started to churn. As though he had any right to talk about my actions.
“I hope,” Ryan drawled, “that he was at least worth it.”
I broke. “Will you just shut up? No, he wasn’t worth it! And I was drunk off my head and in a bad mood and I slept with him just because—just because—I don’t even know, but I shouldn’t have and now I feel disgusting even though I don’t want to feel that way, I want to be able to hook up with people and feel carefree like those mythological normal, adjusted people out there. And I don’t want to deal with you right now, Mr. I’m-Such-A-Goddamn-Charming-Quarterback, with your snarky little remarks and your clever quips. I just want to be in a fucking bad mood! Argh!” I threw myself into one of the seats.
Ryan stared at me like a lion had reared up when he was expecting a kitten. “What’s wrong with you?”
“I don’t have a fucking clue, okay? But obviously something, otherwise why would I jump in bed with a guy I don’t even like that much who has a girlfriend? God!” I drew my knees up and buried my face in them. “Haven’t you ever regretted sleeping with someone?”
There was a moment of silence.
“Okay.” Ryan lowered himself into the seat next to me. “You know what this calls for?”
“No.” I spoke grumpily to my knees. I’d humiliated myself, I was tired, and my head and stomach hurt. It made me petulant.
“It calls for Larry’s Diner.”
“That’s a dumb name.”
“Doesn’t matter.” Ryan looked amused. “It will make you feel better.”
“No,” I said again, quite definitely. “Nothing will ever make me feel better again.”
“Uh-huh. Okay, I have your phone with me. Me and your phone are going to Larry’s now. Are you coming?”
“Don’t treat me like a child.” I snapped my head up. “Ugh. Do you have any ibuprofen?”
Ryan smiled temptingly. “Larry does.”
“Fine.” I stood shakily. It took a lot more effort to get up than it had to sit down. “Let’s go to Larry’s.”
Chapter Nine
Larry’s was a small, packed diner with red Formica tabletop
s, olive-green booths and servers that were, without a doubt, of Eva’s ilk. Even at one o’clock on a Monday afternoon, half the booths were crowded with a mix of tourist families, parents with young children, and high school skippers.
Customers ordered at the counter, so we lined up there, behind a huge glass display of muffins and cakes. I craned my head back to view the numbered entrees, which all seemed to be variations on carbs and protein, with sugar and fat thrown in for good measure.
