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"What happened?"
I give Tyra a more accurate account of the events and promise her to be careful. I know she feels responsible for Randy's crazy actions, but I assure her the fault is all on him.
“So…” she trails off, leaving me to wonder what she's thinking.
"So?"
"You and Ryan? Are you going to tell him? Are you going to try to make it work?"
I glance at the man in question to check he's not listening. He and Luke are talking hockey and how to beat up Boston's ego.
"Yes, and no," I whisper. "I'm going to give us a chance, but I'm not ready to share the rest."
"Avery, Ryan's in love with you. You could tell him you wanted to become a Scientologist, and he'd at least consider drinking the Kool-Aid with you." I don't know about that. Scientology is nuts.
"I'm just not ready."
"When will you be ready?" Tyra asks, concern in her voice. "The longer you put it off, the harder it will be."
"Not long. I promise." I pause for a few moments, holding the phone to my ear, trying to explain my reluctance in a way Tyra can understand or at least sympathize with.
"We're new again. I've gone this long without him, and call me selfish, but I want just a few weeks without any drama. I want to be the old us for a little while. Plus, playoffs are starting, and I can't drop a bomb on him like this now.”
"I suppose you're right," Tyra puffs out. "But I'm giving you a deadline. You're telling him the truth as soon as the playoffs are over."
I ponder Tyra's suggestion. The NHL Playoffs run from the second week of April until the beginning of June. If Toronto makes a deep playoff run, that gives me two months to make Ryan love me so much that he won't care about the things I can't give him.
"I promise. When playoffs are finished," I whisper.
With any luck, the Northmen will win the Cup and everyone will be in such a state of euphoria it will obliterate any of my bad news.
I end the call and hand the phone back to Ryan.
"Who wants food?" Holly beams, plopping down on the couch beside Luke. How she does so without spilling her wine is beyond me, and the laws of physics. "It's too late for cooking, and I want pizza.”
We all, miraculously, agree that Hawaiian pizza is the way to go—seriously, whoever says pineapple doesn't belong as pizza is missing out. The guys immediately turn on SportsCentre and continue talking about the team's upcoming series with Boston. There's bad blood. Boston has eliminated Toronto from the playoffs two years straight in seven games. The team is hungry for revenge.
By the time the food arrives, I'm starting to feel antsy. I know Holly will go up to Luke's apartment to sleep, which will either mean Ryan is going to stay with me or leave. I want him to stay.
We've been dancing around getting back together since the second he flew into Toronto.
I'm excited and nervous at the same time.
My body craves his touch. I want him all over me; inside me. I want to wrap myself around him like a scrunchy and never let go. I feel wired, like my skin is too tight for my body, and my blood is moving too fast.
It's been seven years since I've had sex. What if I'm not what he remembers? When you're a teenager, everything is awesome, especially sex. I don't know if Ryan has been with any other women, but I can't imagine he's been celibate for seven years, despite what Tyra says. He was a professional athlete living in LA, the capital of hot, expensive, sexy women.
The thought makes me grimace. I turn and look up at Ryan. His dark hair is slightly too long and curling at the ends. His bow-shaped lips curve into a little smirk like he knows something I don't that he'll share it with me later. His face is still the same as when we were kids, but also different.
He has laugh lines now around his eyes, which are still a startling blue. I used to daydream about his eyes, with their vivid colour and flecks of amber if you look closely. His nose is long and straight, with just a tiny kink, and his solid cheekbones and brow give him a severe look if he doesn't smile.
There are other slight differences too. He has a small scar on his chin from where a stick clipped him. He has a day's worth of scruff along his jaw, making me want to rub my hands and lips against the uneven surface.
Curling into his side, I lay my head on his chest and inhale. I've missed how he smells—a mixture of mint, verbena, and something light and spicy. In high school, I outright forbade Ryan from wearing any of the Axe body spray teenage boys regretfully seemed to think they needed to bathe in. Instead, I went to the mall and chose a subtle cologne that smelled of cool mint with a hint of citrus.
He's still wearing the same scent I chose for him. Something about that fact has lust coiling inside me, and a shiver runs through me.
"I'm beat," Holly stands from the couch, pulling Luke with her. "I think I'm going to call it a night."
