Now I just want to go home. Back to my dorm. Britt is gone for the weekend again. I’ll have the place all to myself to wallow in my self-pity while watching reruns of I Love Lucy on Netflix.
“You’re welcome,” Nancy sings and walks away.
“Let me go,” I whisper to him, deflated. Ryan holds my hand tighter. I try to pull my hand back, but he won’t release it.
“The hell I will.” The hard look in his eyes as he holds me in his gaze paralyzes me. “Now, are we going to do this? Or are you going to let someone like Nancy Pettigrew get to you?”
“I hate that bitch.”
“I’m pretty sure you won’t be getting a Christmas card from her this year, either. She’s just jealous.”
I shake my head vehemently. “No one is jealous of me.”
“You have it all, babe.” He nudges me. When he grins, it warms me, chiseling away at the hardness surrounding my heart. “Looks. A hot body. A crazy awesome personality. And me.”
“You?”
“Of course. I’m the bomb diggity.”
I laugh. “Never say that again.” Yes, he is the bomb diggity.
“Don’t ever let anyone tell you that you aren’t enough. I mean that, Emma. You are everything.”
I don’t even know what that means, but I sure like the sound of it. With a deep breath, I let Nancy’s insults go. Ryan is right. She’s just jealous I’m with someone and she’s alone at the mall on a Friday night. When her attempts to snag Ryan’s attention didn’t work, she pulled the bitch card. Because that always works out well.
We walk into Hollister. A cute, perky little size zero immediately stops folding shirts and eyes Ryan. Christ. Another one? Did they pump horny gas into the vents or something?
“Can I help you find something?”
“I…uh…I, um…”
And the stutters are back. I smack him on the shoulder to snap him out of it. “He’s looking for some jeans.”
After taking her time staring at his ass, she nods. “Follow me. I know the exact cut that will look perfect on you. My name is Samantha. I’ll be your personal shopper. What’s your name?”
“Ryan.”
I nod, impressed. No stutter that time. Well done, Grasshopper. I stay out of the way as Samantha personally fits Ryan with the most expensive jeans in the store. Shaking my head, I veto the choice. Only after finding jeans on sale do I finally approve. “You may proceed.”
Samantha forces a smile. “Are you his girlfriend or something?”
“Or something,” Ryan and I say in unison, then smile at each other.
He disappears into a fitting room after Samantha hands him a stack of jeans. When he emerges, he has on what could be classified as the nicest fitting jeans in the history of nice fitting jeans. The way the material hugs his ass would cause a riot. Got to love the right jeans. They make all the difference.
“We’ll take them.” I nod at Ryan. “I’ll wait for you outside.” I need to escape before I’m tempted to spend an entire paycheck on a sweatshirt.
“Wait.” His eyes are wide. “Are you just going to leave me?”
“I’m sure Samantha will take good care of you.” I slap him on the shoulder before walking out and taking a seat on a bench. After checking my phone, people watching, and checking my phone again, I go back into the store to see what’s taking him so long.
He’s at the counter paying as I walk up. “What’s the damage?”
After Samantha swipes his card with a smile on her face—she obviously works on commission—she hands it back to him, along with a register receipt. “Sign here.”
I steal a glance at the total and choke. “Three hundred dollars? What the hell did you buy?”
He looks at me, utterly confused. “Jeans.”
“Not three hundred dollars’ worth. No guy has three hundred dollars in his entire wardrobe, let alone in jeans.” I grab one of the bags and look through it, then the other, then the last one. I remove one of the pairs of jeans I deem the least sexy and add them to the bag with the exact same jeans, and thrust them at Samantha. “We’ll take three.”
“But I’ve already rung up the sale.” Cute perky little size zero is no longer smiling.
“He doesn’t need so many of the exact same style. We’ve got three. We’re good.”
She thins her lips and punches her finger on the keys of the cash register, voiding the sale. She then rings up the three pair. “That will be one fifty.”
Ryan doesn’t say a word as he hands her his card. She swipes it to void the first sale, then swipes it again for the new sale. After he signs everything, we hurry out before Samantha wrangles more money out of him.
“I can’t leave you alone for a minute.”
“What? They were on sale.”
“You don’t need six pairs of jeans. There’s only, like, three different styles and you’re wearing one. Let’s get you some shoes.”
He slows and looks at the boot-like shoes on his feet. “What’s wrong with my shoes?”
“Nothing if you’re in the seventh grade. Let’s get you some Vans or maybe Toms.”
“Shoes have names?”
“Any shoe worth wearing.”
We pass by one of those little photo booths and he slows as that lopsided grin flashes. His eyes glimmer and he shoves me inside. I look like death and am not about to have it immortalized, so I try to step out but he pushes me back inside and then traps me by sitting next to me.
“Ryan—”
“Get ready.”
The flash catches me off-guard and as I try to escape, he grabs my hips and holds me down by putting his legs on mine. “Resistance is futile. You will have your picture taken with me.” I give up and laugh, drawing a laugh from him. That’s when the second flash hits us.
Oh, what the hell. Why not have a little fun? He steals a kiss on my cheek and I feign shock, dropping my jaw and lifting my gaze just as the flash goes off.
“One more. Let’s make it count.” He leans against me and we smile into the camera. It flashes and I can’t see.
“There. Happy?” We step out of the booth and he grabs the strip of photos before I can rip them up.
He grins and slips them into his wallet. “I am now. Ready to find some shoes?”
I break out of my paralysis of staring at his stunning smile and nod. “Shoes.”
We walk into the shoe store and he immediately points out the running shoes. I give him a shake of my head just as a sales guy in a striped shirt approaches. “What are we looking for today?”
“Running shoes,” Ryan answers and then nods at me. “For her.”
“Ryan—”
“She’s a beginner, so something light. Good arch support. Measure her.”
“I know my own size.” I turn to the sales guy. “I’m an eight.”
“Let’s see what we can find.” He leads me away from Ryan and I don’t have the balls to tell him that I’m not going to buy running shoes. “Remove your shoes. Let’s get you measured.” I do and step onto the little metal contraption that miraculously deems a person’s shoe size like those machines that base the type of lover a person is by a single grip. “Looks like your boyfriend was right to have me measure you. You’re an eight and a half.”
“He’s not—” I stop and blink at him. “I’m a what?”
“Eight and a half.”
“Since when?” No way. I’ve been a size eight since my freshmen year in high school.
“I’ll just bring out a couple different styles.” The guy scurries off before I can say anything else.
I storm over to Ryan, ready to unleash on him, but he stops me by holding up the perfect pair of Vans. “Will these do? They’re fifty percent off.”
“Nice find. Let’s pay for them and go before the sales guy comes back with shoes for me.”
“Nope. You’re getting a pair of running shoes. Come on.” He grabs my hand and drags me over to the sales guy. Ryan tilts his head as he scratches his chin and studies
the two shoes the guy brought out. He points to the ugliest-ass pair of shoes I’ve ever seen. “Those.”
“No way. I’m not wearing those.”
“I bet they fit like a glove.”
“They’re lime green.”
“I’d call them more like a yellow.”
“Ryan!”
“Just try them on,” he insists.
I decide to humor him. What does it matter? I’m not buying them. I slip my foot into the shoe and as the sales guy laces me up, I try not to moan. Sweet heaven in summer. It’s like a foot orgasm. It’s a footgasm. I nod for the guy to lace up the other one. When I stand, I nearly collapse from the sweet, sweet rapture. I’ve never had a shoe feel so good before.
Closing my eyes, I release a shudder and smile. If I get to wear these every morning, I wouldn’t mind pretending to run with Ryan.
“We’ll take them,” he tells the sales guy.
I don’t even argue. I want to sleep in them. When I find out the price, which is as much as Ryan spent on his jeans, my smile falters. “I don’t know how I’m going to afford food now.” I swing the bag holding my new shoes as we exit the store.
“We’ll pool our money and buy only the best Top Ramen. Have you ever had eggs in your Ramen? It’s a good boost of protein to counteract all the empty carbs.”
“We’ve already established that I don’t cook eggs.”
“We should get you over your fear of eggs.”
“I’ll add it to my bucket list.” My stomach grumbles and I push a fist against it. “Let’s not talk about food. I’m starving and only get decent food when I’m at work.”
“Hey, what about breakfast? I made you a bagel sandwich worthy of being on the menu.”
“That only carries a person so far.” It’s the same breakfast he made for me a week ago. It didn’t tide me over then, and it isn’t working for me now.
“What’d we do for lunch?”
“Each other.” I laugh, drawing the same from him.
“I’m a terrible provider. How about this? Dinner is on me.”
“Hey, big spender. Did you suddenly come into money or have a rich daddy or something?”
He stiffens as his expression hardens. A second ago he was laughing. Now he looks ready to punch something. “Why would you ask that?”
Why’s he looking at me like I just insulted him? I’m confused and even a little scared. “I was only kidding. Why are you freaking out?”
He narrows his eyes as he studies me. I seriously have no idea what’s going on. Maybe I pushed him too hard today and he snapped. That’s the only explanation for suddenly going bat shit bonkers. “Never mind.”
“Ryan, talk to me. What’s wrong?”
“I don’t want to talk about it.” He pushes past me and doesn’t slow until he’s at the wall of glass doors leading outside. By the time I catch up to him, I’m winded. I really wish he’d stop making me run after him. He looks at me and frowns. “Are you out of breath? Again?”
“Not,” I pant, “another word.” I recover and promptly punch him in the shoulder. He flinches and retreats. “That’s for making me run.” I punch him again. “And that’s for going from Dr. Jekyll to Mr. Hyde.”
He laughs as he rubs where I hit him. “Ouch. Boyfriend abuse.”
“That’s nothing,” I counter. “Get all weird on me like that again and I’ll use both fists next time. Now, you were saying something about dinner?”
“Yes, dear.” He holds the door for me. “For the record, the only way I can afford dinner is using a two-for-one coupon for hoagies at the CUB.”
Ah, the good old Campus Union Building. The central hub for all the activity at BU, with two cafeterias, a restaurant downstairs, and a movie theater. It even has a coffee shop at just about every entrance into the building. It’s walking distance from everything, which means no more riding bitch on the Vespa.
“Hoagies from the CUB? How gourmet. You really know how to treat a girl.”
“If we dig around the couch for spare change, we may be even have enough for some better vodka and cherry syrup if you want to get really fancy. Of course, I’ll expect something in return for using all my spare change. Say, letting me practice stealing kisses.” He sneaks up and plants one on my cheek.
I laugh and lean into him as we walk out of the mall and over to the Vespa. Damn, he’s fun when he’s not freaking out over some random comment about money. It’s a touchy subject. Duly noted. “Let’s see. A Friday night at home, hoagies and maraschino martinis, all while we boil your shirts. God, Ryan. We’re living the dream.”
He winks. “Only the best for you, baby.”
31
{Emma}
Who knew boiling T-shirts would be so messy? I’m drenched in sweat from the steam, I have water all over the stove, counters, and floor—which could be sweat since it’s literally dripping off me—and I’ve used every towel Ryan owns to sop up my mess.
What the hell is that smell? It’s like a cross between gym socks and sweaty ball sac. “You told me these were clean.”
“I said clean-ish,” he clarifies and sweeps behind me. I swear I feel his lips on the back of my neck. By the time I whip around, he’s at the other end of the small kitchen, making us two fresh drinks.
“Did you?”
“Did I what?” He grins and I know he just pulled a fast one. “I have to admit, vodka and cherry syrup is good, and I don’t even like cherries.”
“That explains so much,” I tease and hold up the long metal tongs to protect myself in case he sneaks in another attack. My libido can’t take much more of this before I drop everything, including my clothes, and just go full-on sexual assault mode. After we got back from the mall, we attacked each other on his couch looking for spare change. Then on the floor. Then back in his bed. As much as I love hand-jobs and oral sex, I’m sore as shit and need a break. I never thought I’d have so much sex without actually doing the deed. “And they are called maraschino martinis. Get it right.”
“Semantics.” He grins and kneels in front of his DVD rack. “Which movie should we watch?”
Staying in and watching a movie as we boil shirts on a Friday night isn’t exactly my idea of a good time. However, since I can’t afford to pay attention after my shoe purchase, I’m stuck. I don’t dare mention money to him for fear he’ll go all Jekyll and Hyde on me again. “Surprise me.”
“Are you in the mood for a chick flick?”
“The fact you even have a chick flick disturbs me,” I toss back and glance over my shoulder. I have to admit, I’ve done a hell of a job with him. He’s in a pair of long gym shorts and a loose tank, barefoot, and sporting the haircut rather well. He keeps stealing these little looks at me and when I catch him, he darts his gaze away and grins. It’s irresistible as hell.
I turn off the burner and move the pot. Once I wring out the final shirt and add it to the others across the counter, I glance at my clothes. Definitely time for a quick change. Luckily I had the foresight to grab a few things out of my dorm this morning, knowing I’d end up staying here again tonight. I could definitely get used to playing house with him.
Not an option. Why am I even thinking like that? This isn’t real. He’s not my boyfriend. He’s just a friend who happens to be incredible with his hands. We already agreed on the breakup. It’s not a matter of if, but when. I have to remember that. I hate it, but it is what it is.
Once I’m in my fuzzy-butt PJs with “Bite Me” across the ass and a spaghetti strap tank, I pad back, grab my drink as I walk by the counter, and join him on the couch.
Ryan stares at me as I sit. “Could you possibly get any sexier?”
I glance at my clothes and then touch the messy bun at the top of my head. What little mascara survived my crying in the dressing room has since melted off my lashes. “Just you wait until I stop shaving my legs.”
“Can’t wait.”
I grin and sip at my drink. “What are we watching?”
“You’l
l see.” I like the way he scoots next to me and casually drapes his arm across the couch behind me. I have to admit, it’s a pretty smooth move. When he hits play on the remote, I wait to see what torture he has in store for me. Guys like Ryan watch movies about dragons and short hairy men from Middle Earth. If he makes me watch anything with a sparkly vampire, I’ll pitch a fit. I’m more team werewolf and still think she chose the wrong guy. I’d much rather be a wereanything than a sparkly nothing. But maybe that’s just me.
When the opening credits for Easy A come on, I jerk up straight. “How’d you know this is my favorite movie?”
“Because I’m your boyfriend.”
“Fake boyfriend,” I clarify and settle down. I really do love this movie. I can’t help but feel a kinship to the protagonist. The red hair. The hazel-green eyes. The snarky attitude and even snarkier comments. Even the best friend who likes to call us bitch a lot. Oh, yeah. We were totally separated at birth.
I sip my maraschino martini and act out the scenes, word by word. Ryan says nothing and even laughs on cue as I recite something hysterical. By the time the protagonist is at her black moment bawling her eyes out, so am I. Ryan remains silent and disappears, only to reappear with toilet paper. I cry into my makeshift tissue, cursing every douchetard on the face of the planet.
When the closing credits roll, I’m energized. I always am after this movie. “I want my life to be like a John Hughes movie, too.”
“No, you don’t. John Hughes made the girls in his movies weak, relying on a guy for true happiness.”
“Damn it, Ryan. Don’t ruin this for me.” I smack him and he shrinks back. “When a woman is pouring her heart out to you, no matter how ridiculous it sounds, you listen. When she pauses, you ask her for more.”
“What if I don’t want to hear more?”
I smack him again.
“Boyfriend abuse.” He puts his hand up when I raise mine to smack him again. “Okay, okay. Start over. Which John Hughes movie would you want your life to turn into?” He leans on his elbow as he studies me.
Reluctant Hero (TREX Rookies Book 1) Page 22
