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Melanie’s look was pure sympathy. “Sorry to hear that, hon. Tell Ryan, I’m sure he’ll be eager to pummel the guy for you. He’d do anything for you, Persy.”
“Probably,” I agreed. “But this guy isn’t worth the headache or the paperwork. He talks a big game, but he would probably be the first to press charges and I don’t want the hassle or the trouble for Ry.”
And, of course, now my thoughts were on the one person I tried to from thinking about all day.
Ryan. Kind and sexy and sweet. Funny. Witty. Gorgeous as hell Ryan. Thoughts of him inevitably led to thoughts of that night, more than three months ago. It was the hottest night I’d ever experienced, so damn satisfying that my toes curled inside my shoes just thinking about him and the things he did to me.
And the way Ryan responded when I did things to him.
A shiver went through my body and I gasped, grabbing the next file and marching away from Melanie’s knowing smile.
Not one night had gone by since then that I hadn’t thought of what happened between us. Every night when I laid my head down on the pillow, those images came back to me in vibrant, real-life color. The color of his blue eyes boring into me, the way he wore that crooked, slightly tense smile when he thrust into me. It was as if Ryan was programmed to know exactly how to please me because every touch, every kiss, every moan, brought me to a new level of pleasure.
God, yes! Again, please.
But I couldn’t. I couldn’t go back to Ryan for a repeat of that night, no matter how much I wanted to. Good friends were hard to come by in this world, and Ryan was the best friend I’d ever had. Sure, when I needed girl time or gossiping at the nail salon or spa, I called up Megan or Gus, Teddy or Hannah. But none of them were Ryan. He was my best friend, my confidante, my next-door neighbor. He was Titus’ godfather, and I couldn’t ruin all of that for something that was guaranteed not to work out.
Relationships and me were like tuna fish and chocolate mousse—we just didn’t go together. I’d had five relationships in my thirty-plus years of living, starting in high school. He’d dumped me because we were headed to different colleges. My first college boyfriend broke up with me because I wouldn’t screw him right away. Then, there was the biology major I ended thing with after he stole my midterm essay and nearly got us both expelled. In medical school, I met Tyson and he was great. Wonderful and loving, and just about perfect—if only he could stop screwing everything with boobs.
Finally, there was Ferguson. There was nothing wrong with Ferguson at all. He was a little bit geeky, but he was funny and kind, we just weren’t right for each other. The breakup was mutual, mostly. He wanted to return home to Canada and didn’t ask me to come. Two months later, I learned I was pregnant with Titus. It wasn’t enough to bring Ferguson back, and I didn’t want him back, but I thought Titus deserved a father. Ferguson’s fiancée thought otherwise, and that was the last I saw or heard of him.
None of my romantic relationships from childhood to adulthood had worked out, and there was no reason to think Ryan and I would break that mold.
I needed his friendship. I wanted to keep him in my life, and to do that, we had to remain friends. Just friends.
We couldn’t cross that line again, no matter how much my body actively rebelled at the idea.
I was stronger than my hormones, stronger than my wants and desires.
Wasn’t I?
Ryan
“I’m gonna beat you, Ryan!”
The sound of Titus’ chortle tugged a wide grin from me. The kid was nice and sweet, but he had a mile-wide competitive streak when it came to gaming. And the best thing of all? He wasn’t above talking a little smack when Persephone wasn’t around.
“Eat my dust!” He could barely say the words without laughing to himself.
“It’s not over yet, kiddo.” Maybe his mom was right and we spent too many hours playing video games, because the kid was getting good enough that I actually had to try to beat him. “Winner buys dinner.”
He laughed again. “Grown-ups buy dinner. That’s the rule.”
“Dammit, you got me there.”
Titus gasped. “You said ‘dammit.’ Dollar in the jar.” Eyes identical to his mother’s never left the television as he pointed to the swear jar kept on an end table.
I shook my head, happily adding a buck to the jar. “You repeated the word, little man. Quarter in the jar.”
“After I win.” With his tongue stuck out of one corner of his mouth, Titus handled the controller like an expert, sending his kart zooming down the course. “Hey, Ryan?”
