Today's Reading
"Didn't you get all my texts?" She sounds frantic. It makes me laugh a little because I know that even though this is our first stop of the night, she's already a little tipsy. Stacy is a lightweight. And when Stacy gets tipsy, she turns into the star of a reality TV show. Which reality show? It doesn't really matter. A drunk person is the driving force in all of them.
"No, I left my phone on the table."
Stacy looks appalled. "Why'd you do that?"
"Because I was proving that I—It doesn't matter. How long has he been here?"
"About five minutes. He's standing over at the bar."
Nerves zing through me because this is it. After twelve years, my archnemesis is once again standing in the same room as me, and I fully intend to squash him.
My little black dress is hugging my curves, and my loose-wave, honey-brown hair is tickling my spine. I've been saving this dress for exactly this occasion. It has a high neckline but low-cut open back, making it the perfect combination of sexy and sweet. The mullet of dresses, if you will. Business in the front, party in the back. Even better, the slender long sleeves cover almost all of my shoulder tattoo, leaving only the tiniest sliver of pale-yellow sunflower petals to peek out over my shoulder blade.
I take in one deep breath before turning around and scanning each man at the bar. I search. I search again. I search one more time because..."He's not here."
"Yes, he is," Stacy says in a matter-of-fact way that gives me a sinking feeling. "He's right there." She points toward the bar, and I whip my head around to her.
"No. He's. Not," I say through my teeth. "I don't see any ugly men with greasy hair and rotting teeth!" I'm doing that thing where I'm yelling in whisper form with a smile still plastered to my face. It's scary.
Stacy doesn't back down from my intensity. She gives a look that says this ends here and now. "That's because Ryan is not ugly or greasy."
"But you said he was!" I sound so desperate now. I'm seconds away from breathing into a paper bag.
Stacy shakes her blond head, and if I wasn't completely freaking out right now, I would tell her how pretty her new highlights look. "Nope. You always assumed he was, and I just never corrected you."
"Why! That's the kind of thing that you correct a girl about."
Her eyes go wide, and her mouth falls open. "You've got to be kidding me! The last time I tried to mention anything remotely complimentary about Ryan, you took my fifteen-dollar glass of wine and poured it into the restaurant's ficus!"
I did do that. And I stand by it.
"Now! Like it or not, Ryan is here, and he's not ugly, greasy, or unhygienic, so it's time to put on your big girl panties and woman up."
Right. She's right. This pep talk was good. I nod my head in agreement, trying to get hyped like those football players before they run out of the tunnel. I feel a new adrenaline coursing through me—an electric shock to my system that triggers my brain to switch into high alert. Because suddenly, the game—or rather, the opponent—has changed.
"Which one is he?" I go shoulder to shoulder with Stacy as my eyes cut fire across the bar.
"The navy suit with Miss USA draped over him."
Of course.
Of freakin' course.
CHAPTER TWO
June
As if he can feel my eyes on him, Ryan chooses that exact moment to look over his shoulder. The room tunnels as his gaze locks with mine. I inhale sharply, feeling punched in the gut. Gone is the boyishness of his face. Gone are the lanky arms and legs. It's still Ryan staring me down, but Ryan the man. Ryan 2.0. Ryan maple glazed and covered in sprinkles.
When he realizes it's me, he turns his body out to face me, leaning one elbow against the mahogany bar. The jacket of his slim navy suit protests at the strain and pulls tightly against his broad shoulders. He's wearing a white dress shirt with the top button undone, showing a small triangle of skin that whispers he spends a good amount of time in the sun. His dark brown hair is mussed and wavy like tides in the ocean. Confidence drips off him and zaps all mine away.
...
