Page 42 of Running Risk

RYLEE: NOW

“Come in.” I call out around a mouth full of mint chocolate chip ice cream.

Trish bursts through the door with grocery bags in her hands, wearing pink sweats. “So we’re still on the couch. Did you at least sleep in your bed last night?”

I shrug, watching the seventh season of Gilmore Girls with a large throw blanket draped over my legs. “How could Lorelai sleep with Christopher? She and Luke were perfect together.” I suck another spoonful of ice cream off my spoon.

Trish opens my fridge, stuffing the drinks she bought inside. “Hell if I know.” She opens a beer and sits on the couch next to me, pulling the blanket across her too. “So is there a reason why you’re watching this depressing episode?” She takes a pull of her beer.

“No,” I say quickly.

She looks at me, her eyes scrutinizing. “What’s going on? I haven’t seen you in a few days, and now you’re acting strange and watching the depressing episodes of your favorite show.” She reaches, grabs the remote, and pauses the show. “Talk. ”

“Hey.” I glare. “I don’t come into your home and pause your shows.” I scoop another spoonful of ice cream into my mouth.

“I’m also not showing signs that something’s wrong.” Trish tucks her legs under her as if she’s getting comfortable for a story she wants to hear.

“Nothing’s wrong,” I mumble.

“Oh, yeah. You sound like it’s all sunshine and rainbows in here.” Trish looks toward my kitchen. “Why haven’t you made any more progress on the reno?”

“I have. Look at the cabinets and the paint.” I wave my hand over my shoulder in the direction of the kitchen.

“You sent me pictures two days ago of all that and said you would start on the brick flooring ‘today,’ but the brick’s still in the boxes and not on the floor.” She raises an eyebrow.

Trish knows that once I start a project, it’s nearly impossible for me to quit until it’s done, especially when there are deadlines and contracts with partnering businesses.

But I didn’t work today. I should have known she would be grilling me and not letting me mope around without talking about it. Damn friends.

“Didn’t feel like it.” I shrug.

“Okay—” She taps her nails on the remote, the steady rhythm of the clicking drives me mad.

I whine. “Ugh. Fine. Just quit the tapping.” I yank the remote from her hand.

She laughs, shimmying her shoulders with success.

I don’t even know what to say to her. What?

I was having mind-blowing sex with Clayton, only to freak out right in the middle of it because it felt like way more than just sex.

And I’m afraid to let him get close again?

I exhale, preparing myself for a long night ahead of talking about my feelings with my nosy best friend. “It’s Clayton.”

She gasps, placing her hand against her chest. “Noooo,” she says in a mocking tone .

I roll my eyes. “Shut up.” I shove her, making her smile like a Cheshire cat.

“Okay.” She holds her hands up before leaning back into the couch. “Let’s hear it.”

I exhale, laying my head on the pillows.

“I don’t know what I’m doing. First, he was hot and sexy at the bar that night and took such good care of me afterward.

Then I was spitting out a suggestion of casual sex.

He didn’t seem to have a problem with it.

” I angrily take my last bite of ice cream and continue talking with a full mouth.

“But every single time, he’s made it feel like it’s more.

” I swallow and look at her. “Like . . . so much more. And I can’t do that, especially with him . ”

She nods, pausing to take everything in. “But it’s Clay.”

I nod my head like she’s stating the obvious. “Yeah. I know it’s Clay. Duh.”

Shaking her head, she places a hand on my shoulder. “No, what I mean is.” She pauses again, seeming to want to choose her words carefully, so I sit up straighter. “Did you honestly think you could do something casual with him?”

I open my mouth to speak, but she puts her finger up to stop me.

“Hear me out.” She takes a sip of her beer. “This is the guy who up and left, leaving you devastated.”

I scoff. “I don’t need the reminder, Trish.”

“That’s not why I’m saying it. You wouldn’t have been devastated if he didn’t mean more to you than just a friend.”

The line deepens in my forehead between my eyebrows. “Of course, he was more than just a friend. He was my best friend, and the one I did everything with.” I have told her many times what kind of friend he was to me, and why it was hard when I lost him. This isn’t anything new to talk about.

“Are you attempting to tell me you didn’t have a thing for him?” She levels me with a look .

I’ve never admitted out loud that I liked him back then, but I have a feeling everyone knows. My parents used to joke around that we would be perfect together, and I always blew them off but secretly hoped it’d be true.

“I just . . . I can’t go back there,” I say in almost a whisper, while I fidget with the edge of the blanket.

Trish’s shoulders slump as her head cocks to the side, wrapping her arms around me. “I know it was hard, but girl, you are stronger than you’re giving yourself credit for. And I think he wants you more than you want him.”

I shake my head as tears stream down my face. “He left,” I say, my voice cracking.

“You need to talk to him and hash out the past.” Her arms squeeze me tighter like I’m in a warm and safe embrace.

I scoff. That man can barely speak in full sentences, I don’t know how we’ll talk to work through our problems. “I wish I could move on and get over the past, but he made me feel like everything we were to each other was easy to throw away. He didn’t treat me like he cared about me for even a second. He left and never looked back.”

She nods, understanding what I’m saying. “Come on.” She lets go of me and pulls my legs on her lap. “Let’s watch Grease 2.” Before I can say anything, she points the remote at the TV, turning it on.

“You hate this movie.”

Her nose scrunches as she scoffs. “Eh. It’s not my favorite.” She looks at me as the opening credits start. “But it’s yours.” She winks.