Page 19

MARLOW

The bar is packed. The other rangers grumble things about tourist season as we all settle into our regular corner, occupying both the booth and nearby high-top table.

Ryan and I keep our distance once we enter the bar.

We’re orbiting around each other, but not as closely as we’ve grown accustomed to these past few weeks.

He is standing at the high-top between Jack and Hunter.

I scoot into the booth beside Abby, who is discussing the horrors and merits of water birth with Vickie, a developed recreation tech who spends most of her time in a gatehouse at the campsite.

Their conversation barely registers in my brain.

Instead, I’m fully invested in watching Ryan.

I’ve gotten so used to looking at him up close, little glances from only a foot away, his face illuminated by the glow of the television screen.

Up close like that, he’s all dark eyelashes and evening stubble.

I’d almost forgotten what he looks like from afar.

Despite being slightly shorter than the two giant men at his sides, Ryan stands out. I’m pretty sure I’m not imagining it. They’re all objectively good-looking guys, but Ryan has that thing . That homecoming king charisma that’s hard to ignore.

And there are very few women in this bar ignoring him right now.

Ryan looks over at me, an amused smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.

Heat prickles at my cheeks, but I don’t look away.

I can feel his stare in all the places I shouldn’t, like between my thighs and all the way down to my toes.

There’s nothing friendly about the way it feels.

It’s pure sexual tension, stretched thin between us now that we’re farther apart, like a rubber band about to snap.

Ryan peels his gaze away slowly, licking his lips quickly before pressing his beer bottle to them.

When he pulls his phone out of his pocket and starts typing, I can’t help but feel slightly jealous of whoever is on the receiving end of his message.

It feels a bit like losing a silent battle for Ryan’s attention.

I adjust my gaze back to the women beside me, trying to track where they’ve both landed in the great water birth debate. But when my phone chimes in my purse a second later, I jump on the opportunity to not hear the answer to the question: “Does the placenta float?”

The message on my screen is from Ryan: It’s not polite to stare.

His eyes are on me again when I look over at him, but he quickly looks away and laughs along with something the guys are saying.

As I’m trying to craft the perfect retort, Abby leans into me and smiles. “You two aren’t nearly as subtle as you think you are,” she says with a quiet laugh.

I quickly press the button on the side of my phone, turning the screen black even though I’m sure she already noticed Ryan’s name across the top of the screen.

“I wasn’t aware that friendship required subtlety.” I keep my voice low so that Vickie doesn’t overhear, but when I look up, she’s sliding out of the booth with her phone pressed to her ear.

“Are you two seriously still doing this ‘friends’ dance?” she sighs. “The sooner you guys accept the fact that you’re going to hook up, the sooner I can start envisioning a future where all four of us grow old together, sipping iced tea on the porch and going to Friday night bingo.”

I roll my eyes. “Sounds like you’ve already gotten a head start on that. And there’s a huge leap between hooking up and living happily ever after in your weird bingo fantasy.”

Abby opens her mouth to say something, but all that comes out is a strained little rasp as her jaw falls open.

Following her line of sight, I see a tiny woman walking into the bar.

Actually, ‘walking’ doesn’t quite do it justice.

She’s strutting like there is an eighties rock anthem playing that only she can hear.

Her blue jean cut-offs can’t quite contain the bottom curve of her butt cheeks and her flimsy white crop top looks like it was taken directly from a slutty Little Bo Peep Halloween costume.

It’s a lot …and it’s Kayla.

She glances around, spots Ryan across the room, and might as well sprint in his direction.

Don’t get me wrong – I’m all for women wearing whatever they want.

Dress up, dress down, wear glittery pasties to church for all I care…

just don’t do it for a man’s sake. Especially if that man is Ryan and the woman is not me.

Suddenly, I’m feeling pretty frumpy sitting over here in my sundress and sandals.

I adjust the left strap that keeps falling out of place on my shoulder and take a long, miserable sip of my vodka tonic.

“Who is that?” Abby asks.

“Kayla…she’s one of the new interns.”

“She seems…batshit.”

“Pretty much.”

Ryan and Hunter have their backs to the door, so they don’t see Kayla coming until she wedges herself into the tiny space between them. Her boobs press into Ryan’s arm and then hover just above the table, as if she’s offering them up for the taking.

To their credit, none of the men seem very interested in Kayla or her boobs.

Hunter takes a full step to the side, while Ryan shifts more subtly onto his other foot to buy himself some space.

Emmett looks annoyed and Jack – bless him – seems completely oblivious.

It’s like he’s too tall to even see her.

To the most giant man at that table, Kayla is a tiny ant and her boobs are imperceptible.

She is persistent though.

“Hey, guys!” she chirps. “Hope you don’t mind me crashing the party. I just turned twenty-one last week.”

Emmett and Ryan wish her a happy birthday flatly between sips of beer. Hunter exits the conversation without a word and heads toward our table.

Abby is a lucky woman. There are no gray areas with Hunter. His bullshit tolerance is exactly zero, which means that Abby has no reason to ever be concerned about women like Kayla. It also makes him a pretty great boss. He’s straightforward and sets reasonable expectations for all of us.

“Here, take my spot,” I say to Hunter before he can slide into the booth across from us. He objects, so I add, “I need to order another drink anyway.”

It’s true, too. I’ve been slurping anxiously at the watery remnants of my drink ever since my staring contest with Ryan. Now that Kayla’s here, I definitely need a refill.

Ryan glances up for a second but doesn’t meet my eyes. It’s a little jab to my stomach. As I walk by, I overhear Kayla asking who is going to buy her first drink. It’s clearly directed at Ryan. I don’t linger long enough to hear his answer.

The bartender tries to flirt with me a little while he pours my drink.

Even though I’m not interested in him, it’s a tiny bump to my confidence level.

Then I turn around to leave and see Ryan walking up to the bar, Kayla practically glued to his side.

His face is unreadable. Not that I really try.

I’m too preoccupied with trying to flee the scene so that I don’t have to bear witness to anything too upsetting. It’s an exercise in self-preservation.

I spend the next half hour floating between people.

Vickie and I catch up for a few minutes.

Emmett and I joke around until he sets his sight on a girl across the bar and decides to make a move.

Even Jack talks to me for a little while.

It’s dry shop talk, but it is more words than we’ve exchanged since I started working for the Forest Service.

Eventually, I lose sight of both Kayla and Ryan. A flutter of panic hits my stomach. After a quick glance around the room, I find Kayla cozied up at the bar. The bartender is leaning forward, practically drooling over her boobs, as she giggles over something he just said.

Even the damn bartender.

Not that I give a shit about who the bartender flirts with, but the confidence boost his attention gave me a few minutes ago is completely gone.

Excusing myself from the conversation with Jack, I trot off to find Ryan. We’ve been here for over an hour now. Time to put our plan into action.

When I can’t find him, I assume he’s in the restroom.

I linger at the corner of the bar, waiting for him to emerge, but he doesn’t.

Making another quick sweep of the bar, I finally spot him.

He’s in a dark corner, talking to a short, curly-haired woman.

They are standing close together, their movements tense, almost like they’re arguing.

There’s no sugarcoating it: I’m jealous again.

And I’m leaving.

On my way out, I text Ryan: Heading home. Stop by later if you want.

Because even though I’m jealous and irritated and a little sad, I still want to see him.

But I also have to wonder if he still wants to hang out with me and watch television when he could easily find some other way to spend his evening.

If not with Kayla, then with the other woman. Or any other woman, really.

At home, I throw together a peanut butter and jelly sandwich and eat it while staring at my phone, which never lights up with a reply from Ryan.

Afterward, I question all of my life choices and wonder how I ended up here, waiting on Ryan Ehler – of all people – to text me. I used to think the women that chased after him were ridiculous. And now, here I am, waiting for him to call.

The man put his fingers inside me weeks ago and I’m still fighting off the effect it had on me. Imagine if we’d had sex. I’d probably be outside his window wielding a boom box and a proclamation of eternal love.

Not that I love Ryan. I don’t. But there are…feelings. Ones that I can’t quite grasp – mostly because I spend all my time suppressing them into oblivion for the sake of being friends with him.

Maybe I should tell him that being friends isn’t working out.

I mean – is it? We’re getting along, but it feels so fleeting and temporary, like it’s a placeholder for something else.

Probably for our imminent demise, the moment when this all comes crashing down on us and ruins everything.

Maybe that’s tonight. If he blows me off to take some random woman home – or worse, to take Kayla home – I can’t see us hanging out anymore.

It would feel like the end of…something.

I’m tidying up the kitchen when there’s a knock at the door. My stomach tumbles in equal parts happiness and annoyance.

Ryan looks a bit frazzled when I open the door. He pauses for a beat before stepping inside.

His greeting is a heavy sigh. “Well, this has been a weird fucking night,” he says as he perches on the sofa and starts unlacing his boots.

“Yeah.” It comes out strained, somewhere between an acknowledgment and a question.

“What’s for dinner?”

“I already ate.”

Ryan glances up at me. The disappointment on his face is overwhelming.

“I can make you a peanut butter and jelly sandwich,” I offer.

He nods and I walk off toward the kitchen. After assembling the sandwich, I add some apple slices and chips to the plate and carry it over to the sofa.

Ryan looks exhausted. He’s slumped down on the couch like he could fall asleep right then and there but perks up slightly at the plate of food.

“This reminds me of elementary school lunches,” he says around a bite of an apple.

“I thought you might eat at the bar.”

He shakes his head and finishes chewing. “I was holding out for a world-famous Marlow culinary adventure.”

This is Ryan’s new favorite thing to tease me about.

When we eat at his place, it’s always vegetable lasagna, pasta primavera, grilled portabellas with balsamic glaze and risotto.

At my house, it’s pre-made veggie burgers or macaroni and cheese with a can of green beans on the side.

I never really learned to cook very well, but Ryan definitely has a knack for it.

He’s already mastered a handful of vegetarian dishes that I’m sure he never even attempted before I came along.

“Well, you got one,” I say.

“Glad I waited. What kind of jam is this?”

“Raspberry. I can’t stand grape jelly.”

“Huh,” he says, examining the last bite of his sandwich before cramming it into his mouth. He carries his plate over to the sink, washing and drying it before returning to the sofa.

He’s different tonight, a little less steady than usual. His movements are heavier, like his body is just clanking around and running on fumes.

“You okay?” I ask.

“Yeah, apparently I’m just out of practice when it comes to happy hour.”

“Aww, did all the female attention overwhelm your delicate sensibilities?” My voice is sugary sweet mocking.

“Yes, actually,” he laughs. “That Kayla girl is fucking annoying. Is she like that all the time?”

“She’s usually on her best behavior when I’m around. Unless you’re around, too.”

“She pretty much demanded that I buy her a drink tonight.”

“I heard that,” I say. I can’t stop myself from adding, “Did you?”

“Of course not…but she followed me to the bar anyway and then flirted with the bartender to try to get a free drink.”

A wave of relief passes through me.

“Well, seems like that worked out for her. I saw them canoodling just before I left.”

Ryan straightens a bit and frowns. “With Eric? The tall, skinny guy with long hair?”

I nod, caught off guard by his change in tone. Ryan drags a hand slowly over his face. Maybe he knows the guy and doesn’t want him to get involved with Kayla. Whatever it is, Ryan shakes it off quickly and fires up the show.

We both relax on our respective sides of the sofa, leaving a tiny sliver of space between us. Our own little safety zone.