Total pages in book: 102
Estimated words: 105306 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 527(@200wpm)___ 421(@250wpm)___ 351(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 105306 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 527(@200wpm)___ 421(@250wpm)___ 351(@300wpm)
Ryann is in my arms.
“Since when are you a hugger?” her muffled voice asks, pressed into my chest.
“Since now.”
Since right this second.
Was kind of worried about the little shit.
Worried about her? Why?
She’s a big girl, can take care of herself, but I care about her—we’ve spent a decent amount of time together lately, and I can trust her.
I trust her a lot.
Can’t say that about everyone I hang out with, including the guys on my team. Some of them have my back, but a few of the others would stab me in it.
Ryann isn’t a user.
She’s my friend.
“Are you patting me on the back?”
“Am I?” I didn’t realize I was doing that.
She pulls away. “Yes.”
Walks to the other side of the room and sits on one end of the couch.
I follow, sitting myself in the middle.
Ryann doesn’t say anything, biting down on her bottom lip. She looks worried and distracted.
“So.”
I nod. “We have shit to discuss, and we might as well dive in, eh?”
“First tell me what’s in the backpack.”
What’s in my backpack? That’s what she wants to talk about first?
“Stuff.”
“What kind of stuff?”
“You know, clean clothes and whatever.”
Her brows go up. “Were you heading to the gym or something?”
“No. I was headin’ here.”
“Where were you before you got here?”
“Home.”
She considers this. “Did you just swing by with a backpack and clean clothes because we have shit to discuss? No party games?”
Is that sarcasm? I can’t tell. “I thought we’d…you know, talk it out then hang?”
“Talk it out and then hang,” she deadpans with a blank expression that’s hard to read.
Does she not want me here? I thought we enjoyed each other’s company, and I certainly didn’t come here expecting anything other than to run away from the noise inside my head and the paps camped outside my house.
“Can we stop speakin’ in code and get to the point?”
“I’m not speaking in code.”
“No, but you sound pissed and I have no idea why. I know this situation ain’t ideal, but we can make the best of it until it blows over—and it will blow over.” Trust me.
I’ve seen the media stalk and hound my older brother. In fact, he had to hide out in the middle of nowhere when he was switching football teams—which is how he met his girlfriend, Posey.
Hiding out like a big ol’ chicken, scared the paparazzi were gonna get him.
Ha!
Slowly, Ryann nods, acquiescing to my request that we talk.
“First, I wanna apologize for all this. This isn’t what I had in mind when I asked if you’d, you know…”
“Be your fake girlfriend?”
“Sure. If that’s what we’re callin’ it now.” I tilt my head and study her. “Are you sure nothin’s wrong?”
Ryann moves her arms up and down in her lap. “Of course something’s wrong. I’m holed up in my apartment because there are weirdos out there with cameras waiting to take my dumb picture. I couldn’t go to class because I was freaked out, and I didn’t want to work tonight—also because I was freaked out.” She takes a deep breath before continuing. “Look, I know I’m overreacting, and I know this is going to blow over. That’s not the real issue here.”
“It’s not?” ’Cause from where I sit, that’s plenty of good reasons right there that she just listed.
“No.” She’s wringing her hands in her lap. She tilts her head back, looking up at the ceiling. “Ugh, God, I hate this.”
“Hate what?”
“Hate how this is so hard.”
“What’s hard?” And no, I’m not trying to make a dick joke.
“This…telling you how I feel.”
“You’re telling me how you feel?” I am so confused right now.
She stares at me, frustration etched across her brow.
thirty-three
ryann
“I’m as cold as ice, but in the right hands, I melt.”
– Ryann Winters
I can’t get the words out of my mouth.
“Tell him, Ryann. Worst-case scenario, he says he doesn’t feel the same, and you can know and move on, end of story.”
Winnie’s sage advice runs on a loop through my brain as I make eyes at Dallas, seated only a foot away from me on the couch.
“I…” I clear my throat. “Yes, I want to tell you how I feel.”
Oh God.
No, I don’t.
I don’t—I’m scared.
I can’t do it.
“Feel about…?”
Dallas looks genuinely confused. He also looks concerned, an expression that only elevates my anxiety.
Abort, abort!
“About…” I hedge.
You.
Us.
This.
“Ryann? Are you okay?” He’s reaching across the span of space, putting his hand on my thigh, his large palm warming my skin through the fabric of my leggings.
I nod, still unable to spit it out.
“Should I try to guess?”
Dear God, no, please do not try to guess!
This is a disaster.
I uncurl myself from the couch and stand. “Can you give me a second? I have to use the bathroom.”
Translation: I have to go text Winnie to help me out of this mess.
Dallas cocks his brow. “Should I find something to watch on TV?”