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He’s thirty now and he should look that old, but he still only looks twenty-five at most. Maybe it’s because of his thick, dark hair and his light-colored shirt. He always did like the paler hues—Arctic blue, lemon yellow, pink even. Tonight, he’s wearing a mint green shirt even though most of the people in the room are in emerald or ruby red. No tie. Just a Paul Smith scarf draped loosely around his neck. It’s fashionable, but I would have preferred him without it so I could have seen more of the sculpted muscle beneath the thin fabric of his shirt. I’m pretty sure he has a chiseled chest to go with that six-pack. Between him and my brother, he was always the fitter one, but not because he was conscious of how he looked. He was just more disciplined. Too disciplined, sometimes. Too stiff.
Not right now. Right now, he looks perfectly relaxed. He even has a smile on his face as he listens to the pregnant woman in front of him.
I frown as jealousy pricks my chest.
Yup. Jealousy. Because ever since that Christmas party at Hawthorne Mansion, I’ve had a crush on Ryker Hawthorne. And not a silly schoolgirl crush. A serious one, the kind where I’ve dreamed of kissing him, where I’ve imagined him naked and us having sex as I lie in my bed.
It got so bad that I secretly went through Joel’s phone just to get his number. I summoned the courage to send him a few messages, but he never replied. Once, I used a different phone to call him, but as soon as I heard his voice, I froze. Oh, and when I was back in Chicago to finalize the sale of the house Joel and I grew up in, I stood for a few minutes in front of the Hawthorne Tower just wanting to see him. But I didn’t. And eventually, the crush waned. But it never completely disappeared.
It was just like the moon. Sometimes, it’s like it’s not there. I’d stop thinking of Ryker. Some days, I’d forget he even existed. I’d go out with some other guy and have fun. And then Joel would mention Ryker or I’d see a picture of him online and the crush would hit me like a full moon, taking up a big chunk of my sky.
Right now, it’s taking over my whole sky.
Fuck. Why couldn’t I have realized what I felt for him sooner? I’ve known him since I was—what? Three? And why can’t I just forget about him? In spite of the way Ryker acted that night, he clearly lost interest in me afterward, since he never replied to my messages or liked any of my posts or called me even once. And yet I just can’t forget the look in his eyes before that stupid goblet broke and I cut my stupid finger, or ignore the fact that he hasn’t gotten married. According to Joel, he isn’t even seeing anyone. Why?
“Ooh. Hottie.” Christy puts her arms around me. “Though frankly, that older, buff guy with the brown hair is more my type.”
I glance at him. Like Ryker, I also recognize him at once. Asher. So he’s here, too. And Ethan. Maybe they’re having some kind of family gathering. Then again, I don’t see Mr. Hawthorne, so it must be just a boys’ night out.
I look over my shoulder at my friend. “Where have you been? I was beginning to think you got flushed down the toilet.”
She takes her arms off me and purses her lips. It’s a sign she’s gathering her courage to tell me something that I might not like hearing.
“Just say it,” I urge her.
Christy draws a deep breath. “My mom called. She and my stepfather are here in Chicago.”
“Really?”
“They’re in my apartment, actually. Well, waiting outside my apartment because my super is on vacation and his nephew must already be passed out drunk.”
Which means she has to go.
“Then go,” I tell her. “Don’t keep them waiting. It’s cold outside your apartment.”
She frowns. “But then you’ll be all alone…”
“I’ll be fine.”
“We haven’t seen each other in a while and I was really looking forward to catching up.”
“I think we already covered at least five years during dinner.”
“We were going to get drunk like the old days…”
“I can still get drunk.”
“You were supposed to stay at my apartment,” Christy says.
Right. I guess I can’t do that now.
“Well, I guess I’ll just stay at my own apartment. I have one here, remember?”
It’s mine and Joel’s, actually. After we sold our parents’ house, he insisted on buying one so that we’d still have a home in Chicago and a place for me to stay when I’m not traveling or crashing at his. I’ve never actually been to it—I’ve made a conscious effort to stay away from Chicago—but I have the keys.
