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But he didn’t.
He let me walk away.
He let me hide.
And eventually, he let me pretend that night never happened.
I was nearly convinced that that night truly meant more to me than it did to him.
You told him to forget it.
Fucking devil.
Shut the hell up.
“You okay over there?” Ryan asked from the bed, as he tucked the flat sheet into the bottom of the bed. “You’re making some noises over there. Kind of sound like a dying cat.”
“Ha ha.” I rolled my eyes. God, I hoped I wasn’t talking out loud. Sometimes when the thoughts were rolling... “Just have a lot on my mind. I didn’t realize my thoughts were so loud.”
“They’re not, but you’re grunting and taking your anger out on the fruit.” I knew he was joking, but I eyed the fruit all the same. Meanwhile, he pulled the sheet up to the already dressed pillows. “I’m getting the feeling that my being here is interfering with whatever you came here for, so I’m sorry. Truly. I’d offer to go but...I don’t really have anywhere else to go right now.” His muscles bunched and stretched as he grabbed the quilt my grandmother sewed many, many years ago, and tossed it flat on the bed, before straightening it.
“No,” I shook my head. “No, it’s fine. You’re fine. It’ll just be like old times. And you can tell me all about your Hollywood stint.” I didn’t really want to hear about how wonderful Bella was, but hey, that’s what best friends did, right?
Support one another?
“Surely you don’t want the show spoiled...”
Was he teasing me? I couldn’t see his face, but I could hear a smile on his voice.
“The suspense is killing me, yeah,” I tried teasing back. “I’d like to know if I need to expect Bella at Christmas dinner this year. I’ll need to up my hair salon routine if so.” It was a running joke that I should visit a salon more often, but my hair was long and I had scissors...
I could cut a straight line.
And when the desire for bangs arose, I was pretty damn good at them.
Besides, my hair was up in a pony tail or braids or bun all the time. I didn’t really care if I had a stylish haircut.
But if I had to break bread with a beautiful actress...
My dad and I did Christmas with the Madden family every year, and so far, I’d been lucky—no girlfriends, famous or otherwise.
I wasn’t naïve in thinking he’d never had a girlfriend, or that he didn’t have a fuck buddy here or there. The man was gorgeous.
Tall, at somewhere over six-feet. Easily a foot taller than my five-three frame.
Built, but not gross muscle-building built.
Personable. He was friends with damn near everyone, which really only made the package a-thousand times better.
And, as much as I tried not to remember, he was...
Considerate...
In bed.
I mean, what woman wouldn’t want to hold on to him?
Sure, he could tease relentlessly, and yeah, he sometimes chewed his gum with his mouth open—a hazard from his baseball years—but really, who didn’t have faults?
