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“Well, that makes me feel better. I was nervous you were even more of a nut job than I was told.” He smiles at me, and I laugh. “I don’t remember really anything else about you back then, but I don’t know. This seems to suit you better. You look good as a badass.”
And now it’s my turn to blush, especially when a rare swear word comes out of Ryan’s mouth to really send his point home. I dip my head and start tracing circles against the top of the counter with one of my fingers, when the tea kettle starts to whistle.
The day I quit my job at my father’s company, I decided to go in there asme.Who I really am, and who I felt really comfortable being, instead of the Stepford daughter they made me into. I put my nose ring in, threw on a T-shirt that put my sleeve of tattoos on one arm on full display, and donned a pair of skinny jeans and my Doc Martens. My father took one look at me and called me trash. It absolutely killed me.
Ryan telling me this look suits me and that I look good brings me right back to life.
After pouring the boiling water in both of our mugs, he asks me how I take my tea and then doctors mine up the way I like it—with a crap-ton of honey and a splash of milk.
He hands me my mug, and we both take a drink. It’s absolutely perfect, and I let out a moan after I take the first sip. When I see Ryan hasn’t added anything to his own tea, I nod toward his mug as he brings it up to his mouth.
“You don’t like honey?”
He immediately chokes on the sip he was taking, sputtering and coughing, and a little bit of tea dribbles out of his mouth and down his chin.
“Looks like I’ve got a hole in my lip.” He chuckles with a little embarrassment, and I laugh at his dad joke as he grabs a napkin out of the holder in front of him and wipes off his chin before continuing. “Ireallylike honey. A little too much. I should probably stay away from it. That stuff is addicting. Very bad for you. But also very good. It’s a conundrum.”
He’s so adorably weird that I can’t wipe the smile off my face as I take another sip of tea.
“We had a nanny growing up that used to bring me those Bit-O-Honey candies every time she came over, and I became obsessed with them. I order them in bulk online now. I’m like a little old lady who always carries hard candy on her.”
“Well, that explains it” is what I think I hear Ryan whisper under his breath, but before I can ask him, he quickly changes the subject. “Do you want to watch something on TV? I mean, you don’t have to if you don’t want to. But I figured since we both can’t sleep, we might as well do something while we drink our tea until we get tired.”
I quickly nod. I like being with him now that things don’t feel so awkward. He makes me laugh, and I’m nowhere near ready to go back to my room by myself to stare at the ceiling again.
“What do you want to watch? Anything you’ve been bingeing lately?” Ryan asks as we move into the living room. He grabs the remote off the coffee table and takes a seat at one end of the couch, and I carefully sit down at the other, making sure I don’t spill my tea as I curl my legs up under me.
“I was actually watchingGossip Girlin my room earlier, but you definitely don’t have to suffer through that.” I chuckle, but his head whips around to look at me.
“Shut. Up. What episode?”
“Um, I think I just finished season three, episode ten,” I tell him.
“When Vanessa kisses Dan in the play,” we both say at the same time, making my eyes widen in shock.
“My, my, Mr. Hutton. Do you have a secretGossip Girladdiction?” I smile at him as he turns on the TV and quickly pulls up the streaming service that currently has all the episodes.
“Oh, it’s no secret. My love forGossip Girlis strong, and I don’t care who knows it,” he informs me as he pulls up the next episode where I left off.
After he presses Play, he sets the remote back on the coffee table. Reaching back behind him, he grabs the chenille blanket off the back of the couch and then leans across the cushions to drape it over my lap.
“I willcrushyou atGossip Girltrivia.”
He grins at me and then leans back into the cushions, kicking his feet up on the coffee table and crossing them at the ankles as the show starts. While I stare down at the blanket in my lap, wondering why my heart is racing over something as simple as a guy making sure I’m not cold.
“Bring it on, buddy,” I finally mutter to him as I force my eyes up to the TV.
