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Ryan steps back into the house and holds the door open for me. After closing it, he walks around me in the entryway, his shoulder brushing against mine as he goes. The smell of soap and some kind of yummy, manly body wash is left in his wake, and my stupid mouth waters as I follow him. And when he shoves his hands into the front pockets of his shorts while he walks, I have to force my eyes not to stare at how good his ass looks in those butt-hugging basketball shorts as he leads me into the living room.
A gorgeous living room that looks like something right out of an island home magazine. There’s one whole wall of windows that faces the ocean and the beach, and the room is all white with touches of different shades of blue. From the blue-and-white-striped loveseat, to the blue nautical decorations hung on the walls, and island-themed knickknacks on the coffee table and bookshelves. The living room opens up to the kitchen, and the all-white with blue accents theme continues in there, with white marble countertops, stainless steel appliances, and dark walnut, high-back chairs pushed up to the kitchen island, with blue-and-white-striped cushions tied to them.
From what I can see from here, it’s absolutely beautiful. With a chenille blanket tossed over the back of the couch, a candle lit in the middle of the coffee table, framed family photos adding a personal touch on the end tables and across the mantle, and a fireplace just waiting for someone to light a match when it gets cold, I can already see myself curling up on the couch with my sketchpad and enjoying the homey comfort I felt as soon as I walked through the door.
“All right, explain yourself and the complicated-girlfriend comment.”
I get right to the point of my visit, not wanting to fall in love with the place any more than I already have, when I’m still not sure I trust this guy. I stop walking and stand behind the couch, crossing my arms in front of me.
Ryan slowly turns around to face me a few feet away and then shifts back and forth nervously on his feet as he stares down at them. I refuse to think about how adorable he looks with his bare feet sinking into the carpet, while he takes one hand out of his pocket to rub it against the back of his neck. Or how hot he looks in that fitted white T-shirt that clings to all those wet muscles that I got an eyeful of when he opened the door.
He looks good wearing something other than a polo and khakis. He looksreallygood. He looks like he could be another hot Hemsworth brother. I noticed it at the pizza place, but I’m noticing it even more now, seeing him dressed so comfortably in his own home. And now that I know this nerd is buff as hell underneath those clothes—
He clears his throat and bites down on his bottom lip before his eyes finally meet mine, and I just want to close the distance between us and kiss his damn mouth again.
Whichcannothappen, whether I live with the guy or not, no matter how good he looks.
Any friend of Tristan’s is forever off-limits for the ick factor alone.
“I’m just gonna blurt this out and get it over with, so we can move on and never speak of it again, okay?”
Rolling my eyes, I rotate my hand in a “hurry the hell up” motion and wait for him to continue.
“IneverhadagirlfriendIliedabouthavingagirlfriendbecauseIdidn’twanttolooklikealoser,” he spits out all in one breath.
I just stand here blinking at him for a full minute, trying to process what he said.
“I’m sorry. Come again?” I finally ask after an embarrassed laugh comes out of him to break the silence, and his cheeks get a little flushed. His eyes look away from mine to stare at his feet again. “It sounded like you said you lied about having a girlfriend.”
Ryan lets out a sigh, closing his eyes for a moment and making me want to hug him. The adorable jerk.
“Look, it was months and months ago. I was dating someone off and on for a while. She started liking someone else while we were off, so to make it easier on her, I told her I had a girlfriend, so she wouldn’t feel guilty or anything,” Ryan explains, making everything inside of me melt into a puddle of goo. And then in an anxious ramble, he says, “I blurted it out without thinking. And I kind of, sort of never went back and explained it to everyone, so it’s just been going on now for a while, because I get nervous every time someone asks me about this fake girlfriend and when they’re going to meet her, and I’ll just look like an even bigger idiot if I come clean now, so I just keep telling them she travels a lot for her job, and I figured the next time she’s mentioned, I can just tell them we decided it wasn’t working, and we’ve parted ways, but she’s still a lovely woman, and we’re going to remain friends, but notthatgood of friends, where she’ll ever need to meet them.”
He finally stops to breathe and then shrugs, looking like the grimace-face emoji. “See? This is why I don’t lie. It’sscary.”
He lets out a deep breath, and all I can do is laugh. That long-winded explanation is just crazy enough that I know he’s telling me the truth. And he’s so embarrassed telling it to me that he looks like he might throw up. I highly doubt anyone would put themselves through that kind of mortification just to convince someone he doesn’t really have a girlfriend, so it’s okay to live with them.
The fact that I still want to kiss that mouth of his, and now I have the sudden urge to wrap my arms around him and give him a comforting hug, tells me it’s still not a wise decision to stay here. He might not have a girlfriend, but he’s still off-limits.
“Can I show you the rest of the house before you decide I’m a complete loser?”
“I guess,” I reply, even though I’m still on the fence about staying here, and now I want to punch him for calling himself a loser.
For fuck’s sake, I need a drink.
Leading me into the kitchen, he pulls open the fridge. “I cleaned out that middle shelf for you. You’re welcome to anything else I have in here, but I just thought you might like your own shelf. I promise I won’t touch your cheese. I don’t want to die.”
I jokingly told him in one of our text exchanges that the last man who touched my favorite cheese without asking is now at the bottom of Lake Michigan. I laugh, even though there’s a damn lump in my throat. Currently on “my shelf” is a jug of hazelnut coffee creamer, my favorite garlic-and-herb Boursin cheese, and a bottle of honey mustard, my favorite condiment. I can’t help but smile, thinking about the twenty-minute text argument we had about how disgusting plain, yellow mustard is.
Ryan shuts the fridge door, and we move on to the pantry, where I also have my own shelf. It has my favorite cereal, my favorite chips, a box of my favorite flavor of Nutri-Grain bars, and a few boxes of my favorite fruit snacks. Before I can get choked up again over how thoughtful he was, when I haven’t even decided if I’m going to stay here, Ryan quickly moves right along with the tour. He opens the door next to the pantry to show me where the garage is, and then we walk back into the living room and step out onto the deck so he can show me the view and the small shed off to the side of his property. My hands immediately itch with the need to escape out there and set up my painting supplies, but I keep my cool, just smiling and nodding at everything he shows me.
I’m honestly the most surprised at the cleanliness of this place, considering he’s a single guy living alone. It’s even more impressive than the beautiful décor.
Moving back into the house and down the hallway, he opens the door to his bedroom, and the first thing I notice is a bookcase filled with the biggest Lego displays I have ever seen. There’s a giant Titanic ship, the house from the movieHome Alone, and the Millennium Falcon fromStar Wars, just to name a few. They’re awesome, and I have the sudden urge to start playing with Legos.
“Sorry about the bed. I didn’t have time to make it today.”
Before I have time to comment on the Legos, my eyes fly right to his king-sized bed, and I have to struggle to push away thoughts of him naked on top of the navy-blue comforter that’s bunched up on one side of it.
